Page 147 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Please don’t tell Gavin. I’m not ready to spill that dream to him yet. But yeah, I wanna do pro bono work. Fight for the little guys who don’t have anybody in their corner. And if I’m lucky, maybe take down some evil corporations while I’m at it.”
I nod. “You have my word. And between us, I think you’ll make a remarkable lawyer. I would, however, strongly advise you to leave your taser outside the courtroom.”
“I dunno… Zapping the opposing counsel would be super effective during my opening statement.”
I thought I had Petra Brinkman figured out. Sarcastic bartender with a leather jacket and a death wish for authority figures.
But I’ve been seeing the tip of the iceberg.
Petra’s not wild for the sake of chaos—she’s a storm with purpose. She doesn’t start fights for fun; she stands up when someone’s getting steamrolled. She refuses to let the world stay broken.
She’s been underestimated her whole life. Dismissed as too loud, too messy, too tattooed, and yet she’s making it her mission to fight for people who get the same treatment. All while I’m going to be trapped three thousand miles away, feeding into the very things she’s fighting against.
The irony is so brutal it hurts.
“Well, if Sterling Industries ever finds itself in a lawsuit where you’re representing the other side,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “I’ll tell our legal team to settle immediately. We’re guaranteed to lose.”
“Smart man. I like a guy who knows when he’s outmatched.” Petra places a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Should we call it a night?” she asks, glancing toward the carnival exit, where families trickle out with exhausted kids dragging oversized plushies.
“Actually, Pip, how about a walk on the beach?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly, her fingers sliding between mine. “That sounds… nice.”
I have to have more time with her.
I don’t just want Petra in my bed—I need her in my life.How the hell am I supposed to walk away from her after tomorrow?
***
“Allright,B.Yourturn, what’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done?”
She’s tucked between my legs, back snug against my chest. The salty ocean breeze nips at my skin as the two of us cuddle under a thin carnival blanket that smells like kettle corn and sea salt. My jacket’sbeneath us, doing its best to keep the damp beach from creeping in. Her bare toes wiggle adorably in the sand.
Off in the distance, the carnival is shutting down, with rides going dark one by one.
“I once demanded a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after seeing one on a television commercial.”
“That’s your rebellion origin story? A PBJ?”
“I was six. Nanny Wetherby permitted me to watch the Disney Channel after I completed my economics tutorial early, and there was this advertisement—a regular boy unwrapping a slice of happiness in his lunch.”The memory feels both silly and poignant.
“What happened after you asked?”
“Mother referred to it as ‘culinary backsliding’ and promptly scheduled an emergency consultation with our family nutritionist. She was certain that processed foods would ruin my developing palate and turn me into—her words—‘a McDonald’s enthusiast.’”
Petra releases a full-body laugh that rattles my ribs. “Please tell me you’ve had a PBJ. If not, we’re on a mission to find a 24-hour market this instant.”
“Our chef smuggled me a sandwich the following week. White bread, creamy Jif, grape jelly—I ate it in the wine cellar like I was consuming contraband.”
“You radical little anarchist.”
“Okay, I have one. Are you planning to call a truce on this whole vendetta against Fiona after she becomes Mrs. Brinkman?”
“I have considered it.” Petra sighs. “Gavin seems happy, so maybe I can stand her. But if she hurts him—so help me God—I’ll shave her head in her sleep and donate the hair to oneof her pet charities. You know, toupees for bald eagles or birds too broke for designer nests.”
“Vengeful and oddly specific.”
“Conspiracy theory time,” she announces. “I’m almost certain Nigel has a secret tattoo of Miss Muffy Von Cashmere the Second.”
