“Are you serious with this?”

  Kailyn sits back in her chair and crosses her legs. She looks just as annoyed as I do. “My role here is to protect Emme and her finances. I would do exactly the same thing if I was dealing with your aunt or any other guardian. So you can be pissed off about it, but I suggest you reserve your hostility for the person who deserves it, and that isn’t me.”

  As irritated as I am by this whole situation, she has a point. My anger shouldn’t be directed at her, again, but I sure as hell can’t aim it at the person who’s put me in this position. Not to mention it’s hot as hell to have Kailyn take me down a peg or two.

  “Got it.” I tap the arm of my chair. “I need to keep detailed records of receipts and go through you for additional funds. Anything else?”

  “Regarding the trust, no.” She picks up a pen from the desk and flips it between her fingers, something she used to do in class all the time. “We can’t make or implement changes until the custody dispute is settled. So I think the most important thing we can do is discuss my role and how we’ll deal with future issues.”

  I don’t like how Kailyn’s being dragged into this whole thing with me. The finances I get, but having to involve her in anything else is complicated, especially since the antagonism between us still seems to be an issue. And Emme likes her. “I can deal with future issues. If the school calls you, then you call me and I’ll deal with it.”

  “My role as conservator means I must be directly involved, and I’ll need to be present for school meetings, should they occur.”

  Her tone gets my back up and I lean forward, getting closer. “And you need to remember that I’m her brother and she’s my number one priority, not an obligation or a job.”

  She mirrors my pose, leaning in, except she’s much more composed than I am. “How exactly do I know that, Daxton? How do I know that you haven’t spent all your savings? Maybe you’re on your last dime. Maybe you snorted or gambled all your money away, maybe you spent it all on prostitutes and now you’re looking to supplement your income with Emme’s trust.”

  “Do I look like I need to hire a prostitute?”

  Her gaze moves over me and she lifts a shoulder. All the while the pen keeps traveling back and forth along her fingers. “I have no idea what your sexual habits are, Daxton. But I can make a guess as to your type based on your friend at the diner the other day.”

  It takes a second for me to tie together the reference. “Jessie’s an attention-seeking star fucker, not a friend. She attended the same charity event as I did and made quite a spectacle.”

  Surprise crosses Kailyn’s face, possibly at my candor or my language, I’m not sure which, and she fumbles her pen.

  “Regardless, if there are any pictures floating around the internet with the two of you, be prepared for that to come out. I’m just asking the questions Linda’s lawyer will if this goes to trial, so if you have any sordid secrets, you might want to fess up now.” She sets something on the table and pushes it toward me with the end of her pen. I glance down at the tin of mints.

  It’s at that moment I realize I’m only a few inches away from her, eyes locked on hers. She grins and exhales, heavily. I feel her breath on my chin. It’s fruity, like she was eating something sweet before I arrived. I wonder what that smart mouth tastes like. I wonder if she kisses like she argues.

  “You’re having issues with personal space again, Mr. Hughes.”

  I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my hair. I’m typically so much better at keeping myself in check, but this is personal. Between that and Kailyn, my cool seems to go right out the window. I hadn’t exactly forgotten what going head-to-head with Kailyn was like, she was always a force, but this version…I like her even more than I did back then. I wonder if she has any idea how sexy she is. Probably not. Which makes her even hotter. “You always knew how to push my buttons.”

  “You’re going to need to learn how to manage those buttons better.” She motions between us. “Think of this as retraining.”

  I laugh and she smiles, some of the tension easing. “Look, Kailyn, I wanted to apologize yesterday, but you interrupted me.”

  Her smile becomes tight and she leans back in her chair. “That’s because I don’t require an apology. Especially not because you want to butter me up. This is me doing my job.”

  I prop my chin on my fist and wait for her to stop. “Can you just humor me for a minute?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, that hot-pink-patterned pen still clenched in her fist. Her blouse is buttoned almost to the top, so the amount of cleavage is disappointingly minimal.

  “Staring at my rack isn’t helping win you points, FYI.”

  Dammit. I just keep digging a bigger hole. I drag my gaze back up to her face. “I know this situation isn’t ideal for you, but I’d like to clear the air between us.”

  Kailyn sweeps her hand out. “I already told you, I won’t let the past interfere with Emme’s best interests.”

  I keep pushing, though, because she’s obviously flustered. “Back in school, my friends were assholes and I thought we had a friendly rivalry. I didn’t stop to think you might take it personally.”

  She blinks a few times. “That’s what you wanted to apologize for?”

  “Yeah. Well, that and getting all up in your space yesterday and being a jerk. I didn’t expect you to be at the school and I was worried about Emme.”

  “Right. Of course.” Her gaze shifts away. “Well, we’re both adults now, and I promise not to throw myself at you like a fangirl again.”

  I can’t get a gauge on her, so I go with a joke. “I don’t think I’d mind now.”

  She huffs a laugh. “Someone needs an ego check.” She sets her pen on the desk, arranging it neatly beside the others. “I’m over it, Dax. Just let it go, so I can, too.”

  I feel like I’m missing something. Like the progress my apology should’ve made has somehow done the opposite, and I have no idea why.

  In the week that follows, things seems to settle a little. Emme has been toeing the line post-suspension, meeting with her counselor—but only after I assure her their conversations are confidential.

  Linda has been unnervingly quiet since the suspension. So much so that it incites paranoia. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her since she sprang the custody lawsuit on me with no warning. I have a feeling she’s up to something.

  If there’s any dirt on Linda, I need to find it so I have ammunition to fight back with, which means digging, and I don’t have a lot of time for that. By the time I get home from work and Emme’s in bed, I’m exhausted. I know I have to tackle my parents’ office at some point, but with everything that’s going on, it’s low on the list of priorities.

  It’s a Friday evening—I’m missing drinks with the guys tonight. I told Felix in a few weeks Emme might be up for a sleepover at a friend’s and I’ll be able to join. Sometimes I miss having a life and freedom, and then I feel guilty because my kid sister has to live the rest of her life without parents. If anyone’s getting the shit end of the deal, it’s Emme.

  She’s been in a mood all day, complaining about a stomachache. She cried at dinner over nothing and snapped at me when I asked her to help clear the dishes. I finally let her escape to her room to finish up on my own.

  I’m almost done washing dishes when a scream comes from upstairs.

  “Em?” The pan clatters in the sink, breaking a glass I hadn’t gotten to yet. I take the stairs two at a time. “Are you okay?” I check her room, but it’s empty. Her laptop is open on her bed, and homework is strewn across the comforter, along with a tattered notebook with doodles all over the cover.

  Her bathroom door is closed. I knock. “Em?”

  “Go away!” She’s crying, a brief silence punctuated by hiccupping sobs.

  “You’re freaking me out. Can you open the door so I can talk to you?”

  “I can’t!” she shouts.

  “Are you locked in there? Can you tell me what’s going on? Did something happen?” I’m bombarded with a million different fears. Did she hurt herself? Is it that Billy kid, bullying her again? Is he attacking her on social media? Do I need to get my baseball bat out?

  Emme throws the door open, and it slams into the wall. Her eyes are red and puffy. “I got my period!”

  I take a step back, as if she’s carrying an airborne disease, not dealing with the shitty part of being a girl. Which—for future reference to all the men of the world out there dealing with teenage girls and periods—is the wrong thing to do. “Okaaaay. Do you need Advil or something?”

  She throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten it! I was just sitting there and my stomach was hurting and then I went to the bathroom and…and…” She motions to the toilet and her face crumples again.

  I try to hug her but she pushes me away. “What do you need me to do?”

  “How am I supposed to know? I don’t have anything to use to…” She flails and then drops her hands dramatically. “…stop it!”

  I’m a little slow on the uptake. It’s her first period. It takes me several seconds to understand that she doesn’t have pads or tampons. Fuck my life. “Let me check my bathroom.”

  I don’t remember seeing any feminine hygiene products when I was cleaning it out, but it doesn’t hurt to look. I leave a still-crying Emme—which really sucks—and search all the bathrooms in the house before it becomes apparent I’ve got nothing. I return to Emme’s room, where she’s locked herself in the bathroom again.

  I knock. “Em?”

  She opens the door a crack, her one red eye peeking out at me. She sniffles. “Did you find something?”

  “Um, no, but I’m going to run to the drugstore. I’ll be back in, like, twenty minutes, ’kay?” I want to ask what exactly I should pick up, but I don’t think she knows any better than I do.

  The closest pharmacy is a ten-minute walk, but since this is kind of an emergency situation, I drive. Also, carrying a bag of tampons is a little weird. It takes less than two minutes to get to the pharmacy and a minute to find the right aisle. Thankfully it’s empty.

  I’m not embarrassed about buying tampons or pads, or both, but hanging out in the feminine product aisle like an idiot isn’t my idea of Friday-night fun. I scan the aisle. There are so many options. I don’t even know where to start. Heavy flow, light flow, medium flow. Panic sets in. I don’t have the resources for this.

  I can’t call Linda because then she’ll have yet another reason to tell me I’m unfit to parent Emme.

  Which leaves Kailyn.

  Kailyn who doesn’t like me very much. Kailyn who probably barely tolerates me for reasons I’m still unsure of.

  This is way beyond her legal duties. But she’s the only person I trust right now to help me with this. I don’t even know that she’ll answer my call. It’s Friday night. She could be out on a date. For some reason I don’t like this idea, maybe because she’s sort of attached to Emme, which means she’s also attached to me—which is not rational at all, but there it is.

  Friday nights are meant for dates and boyfriend time. And now I have to wonder just how much of a nuisance Emme and I are to her life. I pull up her contact and hit the Call button. I guess I’m about to find out.

  Chapter Nine

  Dinner Date Interruptions

  Kailyn

  Holly eyes my plate. I nod to my fries. “Go ahead. I can sense your salad remorse.”

  She nabs one from my plate and dips it in the chipotle mayo. “I have pictures of Hope. She’s trying to walk.”

  She’s referring to the pro bono adoption case I took on months ago, around the same time Daxton dropped back into my life. Who knew how deeply involved I’d become in either situation. “Everyone’s doing well? Is the birth mother still clean?”

  “So far, yes.”

  “That’s good, I hope it stays that way.” The Lipsons agreed to an open adoption, and the birth mother has supervised visitations, provided she isn’t using. So far it’s helped her stay clean.

  Holly reaches for another fry. “It’s a good arrangement for everyone involved. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Well, I love doing it. It’s a lot more rewarding than trusts, if I’m honest. Speaking of, I’d like to set up another meeting with the Wilsons to go through the adoption paperwork for Eli. I figured you might want to be there for that.”

  Holly nods. “Definitely. Thank you for doing this.”

  “Of course. Let’s figure out a date.” We both pull out our phones and check our calendars. These pro bono cases are quickly becoming the favorite part of my job. Knowing I’m giving these kids a chance to grow up in a loving, stable home reminds me of my own adoption. I’d spent the first three years of my life in a state of perpetual uncertainty until my adoptive parents came in and rescued me. After we set up a tentative meeting, we move on to lighter topics.

  “Any hot dates lately?” It’s mostly a joke; Holly and I spend the majority of our Friday nights together.

  “I wish. I don’t have time to shave regularly these days, let alone time for hot dates.” She sighs. “I hate this whole online generation crap. Why can’t I just meet a nice guy in a coffee shop, or the library or something?”

  “I think you’d have to frequent coffee shops and libraries for that to happen, wouldn’t you?” I ask.

  “I guess it would help if I started drinking coffee. What about bookstores? That would work, wouldn’t it? I could just sit around and wait for some cute guy with glasses to comment on the book I’m pretending to read, and we could strike up a meaningful philosophical conversation.”

  “In an ideal world.” I understand exactly where she’s coming from. As I approach thirty I recognize that what I want in a partner isn’t going to be found at a loud bar on cheap draft night. And truthfully, I haven’t put much effort into dating since I graduated from law school and my dad passed away. Love can be too painful, especially when you lose it.

  “I’d ask if you’ve had any hot dates, but I think I already know the answer since all you do is work.” Holly gives me a wry grin. “Speaking of, how’s your teenage crush doing these days?”

  I smile a little, thinking about how he reacted in my office the other day. He was certainly riled. “Moody and antagonistic about covers it.”

  “So he’s still wearing his asshole pants?” Holly knows all about our history.

  “He apologized for being a jerk, so that’s progress.”

  “Did he apologize for what he did in law school?” Holly does her arched brow thing.

  I give my head a slow shake. “Maybe he doesn’t remember? Who knows?”

  “You think he’s conveniently forgotten that he handed in your paper late?” Holly asks.

  I stir my drink. “You know how people’s memories are, they can alter and shift to suit their own purpose. Besides, it’s irrelevant now. I got the job I wanted straight out of law school, so it really shouldn’t matter anymore.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be fine working with him?”

  “I’ll hardly see him. Our departments are on opposite ends of the floor.”

  “But you will see him if he’s working for the same firm. Don’t think I don’t remember for a second how worked up you used to get after you had a class with him.”

  “He was my competition.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it. Who’s going to mediate when you two go head-to-head at your Monday meetings?”

  “We’re adults. We don’t need to be mediated.” I’m not sure that’s entirely true, because I happen to enjoy those heated moments when I piss him off and he gets all up in my personal space without even realizing it. He has pretty eyes and a gorgeous mouth. And face. And body.

  “I predict one of two things will happen.” She stuffs another fry in her mouth, chewing slowly to draw out the suspense. “You either murder each other or screw each other’s brains out.”

  “Those are two very extreme options. Both of which will not happen.”

  “You were in love with him for years.”

  “Correction. I had a crush on the character he portrayed. A fictional character. That is not even remotely the same as being in love with someone.”

  “I just think you need to seriously consider whether you really want him working at your firm. Is it worth it?”

  I’m about to reply, but my phone rings—the only person who calls me outside of work is sitting across from me, which I realize is a little depressing. Work is my vice and my hobby, and possibly my boyfriend.

  It’s probably a telemarketer or something. I check the caller ID and frown. Daxton is calling me on a Friday night? I hope nothing has happened to Emme.

  “I need to take this.” Holly nods as I answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Kailyn? Hey. Hi. Is this you?”

  “It is, yes. Is everything okay?”

  I don’t quite catch his reply, something about being dizzy or busy. Probably the latter since I can’t see him calling me about being dizzy.

  The restaurant is loud so it’s hard to hear. “I’m sorry?”

  “It sounds like you’re out somewhere. Are you on a date?” The last part has bite.

  I sit up a little straighter. “Did you call to ask about my social life?”

  “No, I—I didn’t…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I just…so—”

  I lean back in my chair, too curious as to why exactly he has called to let him flounder for long. “I’m just wrapping up dinner with a friend.” It’s fairly vague; a friend could be male or female, romantic or not. He can draw whatever conclusion he wants. I glance at Holly, who gives me a questioning look.

  “Oh, it’s nice that you can do that. Go out with friends.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  He clears his throat. “Um, I’m real sorry for calling out of the blue, but I have a bit of an emergency.”

  I’m back to being on alert. “What kind of emergency?”