Page 48 of Worth Fighting For

“We have Elle Woods in the house!” James crows.

There’s a presence behind me. I turn around and see a tall, well-built man standing uncomfortably close to me. I consider taking a step back, but I was here first and he’s kind of encroaching on my personal space.

“Saw you up there on the bull,” he says in a low voice.

“Okay,” I say. I turn away from him.

“The way you rode it, phew.” He whistles.

The hair on the back of my neck rises.

“I always knew you Asian girls were wild, but man.” He shakes his head and leers at me.

I begin inching away from him, but Mushu is suddenly behind me, whispering, “Everyone’s watching, you can’t just walk away from this. You gotta show them you’re strong enough to stand up to this shit.”

“What?” I hiss.

“Oh, hey, there’s two of you,” the man says, his grin growing wider. “What’re you two ladies whispering about?”

I glance around us. Sure enough, James, Christopher, Ryan, and Thomas are watching with interest, while Shang looks about ready to murder the guy. Oh god, against all that is sensible in the universe, somehow Mushu is right. If I were to back down right now, no doubt James would report back to the uncles and aunties and let them know that I am too weak to take over their company. Ranch Mulan would definitely not be backing down. Fighting every instinct of mine, I raise my eyes to meet the man’s leering gaze and glare at him.

“Ooh, she’s a fighter, this one,” he says. “I like it when they fight.” He glances over his shoulder and to my dismay, this guy has friends with him, and they all look as ready for trouble as he does.

I pick my words carefully. “We don’t want any trouble, so why don’t we forget this happened and go our separate ways, yeah?”

“Or why don’t you let me buy you and your doppelgänger here a drink?”

I grit my teeth. Mushu and I look nothing alike, but of course to him we’redoppelgängers. “No, thanks.”

“Listen, bitch—”

“Damn it, she said no!” Mushu snaps, hopping forward. She trips, slamming into me, and I experience the next moment in slow motion as I stumble. I watch my drink smash into the man’s chest. Icy water splashes all across his face. I watch his face contort in a picture of rage, the veins in his neck bulging, his teeth gritting, his forehead turning red. His hand shoots up to grab me, and my survival instincts kick in and I lift my hand, palm up. The heel of my palm meets his nose. It’s not hard enough to break anything, but it’s a healthy bop on the nose, a sensitive place, and he screams in pain.

Everything happens in a rush. Shang is suddenly in between me and the man, and his friends are clambering forward, fists are being swung, and Mushu has picked up a chair and is holding it over my head while bellowing, and what the hell is happening? I duck under someone’s fist and hold out my foot. Someone else trips over it. When I look up, I meet Shang’s eye and he raises his eyebrows, apparently impressed by me.

“All right, that’s enough!” the bartender bellows, and a group of burly men appear, plucking people off each other as easily as though they were mother bears yanking their cubs away.

One of them pulls me up by the elbow. Shang is immediately there, holding off the guy and saying, “Easy there. We’re leaving.” He places a gentle hand on my back and together, we weave through the crowd and spill out into the cold night air.

Outside, I brace my palms on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. Shang hurries me along. “Come on, before those guys come out and look for more trouble.”

“Mushu—”

“She’s with the others.”

Sure enough, a few paces away, Mushu calls out, “See you back at the house, homies!” She waves to me.

“Let’s go,” Shang says, and I stumble after him. We get inside his car and lock the doors. The silence buzzes in my ears.

I clap my hands to my cheeks. They’re numb. “Oh my god, what happened in there? Did we really just get into a bar fight? A literal bar fight?”

Shang glances at me, amused, as he backs the car out of its parking spot. “Yep, I believe that was what we were in.”

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “I can’t believe it. I don’t get into bar fights. I—I drink matcha lattes.”

Shang snorts. “People who drink matcha lattes don’t get into bar fights?”

“No!” I cry. “Especially not those who order theirs with oat milk,” I add.

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