Rebel Desire: A (Surprise) Single Dad Romantic Comedy (Rebel Love Book 3)

by LK Farlow

  I flinch back, trying to dislodge the stupid stinging behind my eyes. I will not cry in front of this self-important jackass. Straightening my spine, I mentally fix my crown and step back out onto the sidewalk.

  “I’m not giving up!” I shout as he slams the pretty purple door behind me. Asshole or not, Stacia said he was the best, and something tells me, I’m going to need to be on my A-game to take on Megan Grace.

  If I’m being totally honest, I’m determined to work with him now, if only to spite him. He thinks he’s above me. That he’s better than me. That I’m unprofessional and forward and probably a million other things. Too bad for him I’m also clever, crafty, and really fucking persistent.

  Shaking with anger over his easy dismissal and harsh judgments, I stalk over to Main Street Yoga and sign up for an emergency class.

  Ninety minutes later, I emerge dripping in sweat and more determined than ever. Breaking Colton down will be a difficult task, but so was mastering my Tittibhasana—or Firefly Pose. I’ve never been one to shy away from a little bit of hard work, and I’m not about to start now. Especially with my livelihood on the line.

  Colton Banks doesn’t have a clue of what’s about to hit him. By the time I’m done, he’ll not only agree to represent me, he’ll see we’re soulmates, too.

  With my laptop balanced on my knees, I recline back in my cozy, burnt orange corduroy chair and wait for Mallory’s Skype call. I texted her after my emergency yoga class to give her an update, and we agreed to Skype after dinner.

  At six on the dot, she calls. “Hello, fair maiden!” I greet her with a goofy grin.

  “I hope you don’t mind; the girls are here, too!”

  “Not at all,” I say, waving to Jenny and Natalie. The four of us catch up and coo over Mallory and Natalie’s pregnant bellies before diving into the crux of our call.

  “So, Mally says you’re having some boy trouble?” Jenny asks.

  I smile as I recall the first time I ever spoke to the bombshell blonde. Mallory was interested in renting her cottage and was going out to look at it, and since I couldn’t be there in person, I demanded she bring me along via video chat, and the rest was history. I even drove to Alabama to shoot Jenny’s wedding to Natalie’s older brother Nate.

  “Yeah, spill!” Natalie says, using her mom voice.

  I quickly catch them up on everything that’s transpired, from Megan Grace, to Colton telling me off at the wedding, and him rejecting me again this afternoon. By the time I finish, I’m wound up and spitting mad all over again.

  “Wait,” Jenny says, leaning toward the screen. “He actually called you forward? How old is he? Sixty?”

  “Ugh. No. He’s…well, I’m not sure. I would say close to my age. He’d be drop-dead gorgeous if weren’t for the giant stick up his ass.”

  “Gorgeous, huh? You never mentioned he was attractive.”

  I glare at my best friend. “His excessive good looks are a moot point. The issue is I need to find a way to convince him to represent me.”

  “The answer is obvious,” Natalie says. “You need insider info.”

  “Ooh, yes!” Mallory agrees. “Do you think your client who is friends with him would help?”

  I turn the idea over in my head a few times. “It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  The girls and I chat for a few more minutes before Natalie’s daughter needs help with her homework.

  After we end the chat, I pick up my phone and text Stacia.

  Me: Hey, Stacia. Things didn’t go over so well with Colton today, and I was hoping you could maybe help me out.

  She calls instead of texting me back. “Hey,” I say hesitantly, hoping I didn’t somehow overstep.

  “What do you mean it didn’t go well?”

  “He flat-out told me he wouldn’t help me and that he never wanted to see me again.”

  She clucks her tongue. “God, he’s an insufferable jackass. I literally hated him when we first met.”

  “Yeah…he’s a real peach.” I move my laptop over to the table and tuck my legs underneath me. “Any advice on buttering him up?”

  “Can you cook?”

  “Yeah.” I nod as I say the words.

  “Food, then. He works stupid hours and typically eats out. Make him something homemade and delicious.”

  “What kind of food does he like?”

  “He really likes sweets.”

  “Like candy?”

  “Candy, cakes, chocolate, you name it.”

  “Huh. Never would have guessed someone so salty would have a sweet tooth.”

  Stacia laughs. “Salty and sweet, am I right?”

  “Too true.”

  5

  Colton

  Four days have passed since the purple-haired menace barged into my office and demanded I help her. Much to my displeasure, she’s still on my mind. It’s as if she’s hijacked my thoughts and is holding them for ransom.

  Which is the only semi-logical reason the sight of her standing outside my office, bright and early on a Monday morning, has my lips tipping up in a slight grin.

  She’s yet to notice me, a fact I take advantage of as I slow my approach and study her. She’s dressed in black overalls with a daisy print and a yellow sleeveless top underneath. Her ridiculously colored hair is piled on top of her head in a messy wad and comically large sunglasses obscure most of her face.

  I clear my throat as I approach, and she looks my way.

  “Oh, good! You’re here.”

  “What are you doing here, Miss Murphy?”

  She keeps on, as if I didn’t just ask her a direct question. “I wasn’t sure what time you started your day, so I made sure to get here early.”

  Changing tactics, I ask, “How long have you been here?”

  “Since six.” She shrugs, as if it’s completely normal for her to loiter outside of my office for nearly an hour.

  “You’re exhibiting stalker-like tendencies. Have you considered talking to a professional?”

  Much to my surprise, she laughs. “Oh, yes, I see a therapist at least once a month.”

  “Then maybe up it to bimonthly.”

  Unbothered, she simply smiles. Idly, I wonder what exactly it would take to knock that happy-go-lucky grin off her pretty, pouty lips. “Would you mind stepping aside? Some of us have actual work to do.”

  “Sure thing, Colton.”

  “Mr. Banks,” I correct her as I slide the key into the lock and open the door. I stride inside, flipping the lights on as I go. Like a lonely stray puppy, she follows.

  I carry on, business as usual, and brew myself an espresso before taking a seat behind my desk. Once I’m situated, I spin my chair to face her. “Is there a reason for your visit?”

  She steps forward, holding a small picnic basket of sorts out toward me. “I came by to bring you these.”

  I eye her and the offering skeptically. “And these are…”

  “Take a look.” She places the basket down onto my desk.

  As gently as possible, I pull back the yellow cloth covering the contents.

  “It’s not a bomb, you know?” she drawls.

  I scowl and pull back the cloth the rest of the way. My mouth instantly waters on sight, but when the smell of decadent chocolate hits me, I’m a goner. However, on principle alone, I place the basket on my desk and push it toward her. “No, thank you.”

  “Cheesecake chocolate chip muffins. Freshly made from scratch this morning.”

  “How industrious of you.”

  “Delicious is the word you’re looking for. Go on.” She nudges them back my way. “Try them.”

  “I’d rather not,” I tell her, lying through my teeth.

  “It’s not like I poisoned them.”

  I blink slowly. Poison…there’s something I hadn’t considered. Wouldn’t put it past her, though. “Miss Murphy, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve witnessed unprofessional behavior, been hit on, solicited, and now you’re here pushing food of unknown origin
on me. Surely you can see why I’m not interested.”

  “Solicited? Excuse me? I’m not a prostitute.”

  Inexplicably, arousal stirs within me. “In the sense of business. You have solicited my business. Your sex life is not on my radar.”

  Her cheeks pinken. “Oh. Right. Well, whatever. My muffins are bomb.” She leans forward and plucks one out of the basket and brings it to her lips. She inhales deeply before taking a bite. “Mmmm,” she moans, licking the chocolate crumbs from her lips. “Delicious.”

  I’m torn between kicking her out and demanding she finish the rest of the muffin right here in front of me. Ashley Murphy may not be anywhere near my type, but somehow, she makes the simple task of eating seem erotic.

  “Your loss,” she says, reaching for the basket.

  I knock her hand away. “Leave the muffins,” I growl.

  Ashley purses her lips to hide her grin. “Have a great day, Colton.” She skips toward the door. “I mean, Mr. Banks.” She winks, stepping outside, leaving me frustrated—in more ways than one.

  An hour later the stupid muffin basket still taunts me. After Ashley left, I stood with the intent to chuck them in the trash. Somehow, they ended up on the table next to my coffee machine. Now every time I refill my mug, the yellow cloth covering the baked goods all but laughs at me.

  Two hours in, I feel like the man from Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” only instead of a dismembered body beneath my floorboards, I have a wicker basket of chocolate cheesecake treats on my fucking console table.

  By hour three, I can’t take it any longer. The godforsaken muffins have to go. I stalk across the room and snatch up the basket, feeling crazed. I’m a grown man—this shouldn’t be affecting me like this, and yet I’m helpless to stop it.

  As I move toward the back door, the fan in the corner of the room blows the scent of cinnamon sugar and chocolate my way. It’s an alluring mixture of the baker and her creation.

  It’s also my breaking point.

  I grab a muffin and bite into it. It’s every bit as good as she boasted. The cream cheese filling is decadent. The chocolate, divine. It’s over the top and sweet enough to leave cavities in its wake. They’re one of the best things I’ve ever eaten, and that only pisses me off all the more.

  Ashley Murphy and her delicious muffins can go right to hell.

  Tuesday morning, I approach my office with caution, as if I’m liable to be sneak-attacked by my—I mean, the—purple-haired menace; she’s not my anything. However, I seem to be in the clear.

  I spend the first part of my day on pins and needles, but by lunchtime, I’m feeling pretty confident that Ashley has given up.

  At twelve on the dot, I head out the door to meet a client for lunch. She requested we meet at Basil’s—a local Greek place—which happens to be a favorite of mine.

  Over hummus and gyros, we go over the terms of the software sale agreement presented to her by the company wanting to purchase the rights to the dating app she designed. I go through it with a fine-toothed comb, marking the areas I think she either needs to push back on or refuse outright. Before I know it, two hours have passed, and it’s time for us to part ways. I quickly settle the bill and tell my client I’ll be in touch when I hear back from our negotiations.

  Back at my office, I dive into paperwork, drafting an email with our proposed revisions. I’m in the middle of my second read-through when the front door flies open.

  “May I help you?” I ask the plainclothes courier.

  “Are you Colton Banks?”

  “I am.”

  “Be right back.” The young man steps out and re-enters with a...is that a fucking bouquet of…who the fuck would send me flowers? He sets the massive arrangement on the coffee table in my waiting room. “Sign here,” he says, holding a small tablet out toward me.

  I scrawl my name in the designated box, effectively dismissing him in favor of the fragrant blooms now perfuming my entire office. There’s a card tucked between the stems; I grab it and flip it open.

  Colton (I mean Mr. Banks),

  Your attitude about helping me kind of stinks. Maybe these will help.

  -Ashley (A.K.A. Miss Murphy)

  I swear to God, this woman is singlehandedly driving me to the brink of insanity. Rage sizzles through my veins as I dial West’s number. He doesn’t answer, but I’m annoyed enough to try again and immediately redial.

  “Stalk much?” he asks upon answering.

  “Miss Murphy’s number. Now.”

  West’s laughter grates on my ears. “Now, Colton, is that how we ask for something we want?”

  This motherfucker is dad-voicing me. “I’m not your son, West. Give me the number.”

  “You’re sure acting like him. Calling twice in a row to demand a phone number is right up there with Asher banging his cup on the table when he wants more juice.”

  “Weston!”

  “Joke’s on both of y’all, though. All you gotta do is ask nicely. More flies with honey and all.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Hmm. Still didn’t hear those magic words. Call me back when you find your manners.” He hangs up on me, and it takes my all not to slam my phone into the wall.

  I call back, and when he answers, I say what he wants to hear through clenched teeth. “May I please have Ashley’s phone number?”

  “I already texted it to you. Sucker.”

  I hang up on him this time, rethinking our friendship for the millionth time.

  6

  Ashley

  I’m hard at work retouching photos when my phone rings. The number is unfamiliar, but most of the people calling me are potential clients, so I answer.

  “Hello, this is Ashley.”

  “Am I supposed to find your antics clever?” A growly yet refined voice barks in my ear. Colton.

  “Actually, you’re supposed to say ‘thank you.’ Or are you one of those men who feels emasculated by receiving flowers?”

  “No, I’m the kind of man who isn’t swayed by paltry attempts at bribery.”

  Why would fate assign me such a monumental jackass as my soulmate? Clearly the universe has a sick sense of humor. “Good thing I’m not trying to bribe you, then,” I say, lying through my teeth.

  “Aren’t you, though? Muffins, flowers, what’s next? Maybe a box of chocolates? Half of your peanut butter sandwich? I’m not your grade school crush. I’m a professional, Miss Murphy, and only work with other professionals, which you have demonstrated time and time again, you are not.”

  I tap the speaker button on my phone and toss it down on my desk. This man makes me insane. “You are truly the most condescending man I’ve ever met. You don’t know me well enough to have formed these kinds of opinions about me.”

  In all honesty, his extreme dislike of me hurts. A lot. Especially with how my heart and soul long for his. He means for his words to dissuade me—to break me—but every single insult and rebuff only makes me want to prove him wrong that much more.

  “They say the truth hurts, Miss Murphy. It’s not my fault you’re ill-equipped to handle the pain.”

  I clench my fists so tightly my nails dig into my palms, leaving behind little crescent-shaped marks. This man makes me want to commit felonies—you know, like murder. I wonder, since he’s my soulmate, could it be classed as a crime of passion? “I can handle everything you dish out and more.”

  Colton makes a noise low in his throat, and I can nearly picture the sneer on his face. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise, Mr. Banks. Do your worst; I’ll not only take it—I’ll return it back tenfold.”

  “You don’t have it in you.” He laughs cruelly, the dark tenor of it winding around my heart in inky swirls.

  “I’m far stronger than you give credit for.” Not to mention, my plan of attack is to repay his barbs with kindness. Something tells me that will knock him off guard far more than volleying back with harsh words or petty.

  “You mistake strength for s
tupidity.”

  “And you underestimate me.” I end the call before he can reply, crumpling down to my desk chair with my heart thundering and my pulse racing.

  I’ll show that sexy, arrogant jackass exactly who he’s up against. I may be quirky and kind, but those two qualities are exactly what give me an edge. Colton Banks is used to sharks and snakes, but he’s about to be brought to his knees by a creature far more deadly—a woman scorned.

  Two days later, I’m meeting Stacia for lunch at a little diner called Benny’s to deliver the portrait I had wood-printed from my favorite snap from her wedding day. It’s a breathtaking candid of her, West, and Asher.

  I always present my clients with a gift when delivering the flash drive containing their images. I offer them an online viewing gallery as well, but to me, it’s little touches like this that set me apart from the competition.

  In addition to surprising her with this post-wedding gift, I’m also hoping to get a little more insider info on Colton Holier-Than-Thou Banks.

  The diner is cute, with a throwback retro look. There’s a line at the door and every single seat is occupied, save for the one across from the redhead I’m here to meet.

  “Hi, I’m meeting her,” I say to the hostess, nodding my head toward Stacia. She passes me a menu as I move through the line to the table.

  “Hey, girl!” Stacia says over the rim of her coffee mug.

  “Hi!” I offer the slim, neatly wrapped box to her before sliding into my chair. “This is for you.”

  Her deep brown eyes twinkle with a mixture of joy and curiosity. “What’s this?”

  “Open it,” I urge her.

  I watch, raptly, as she peels back the paper. This is one of the best parts of my job—surprising my clients with little things like this.

  “Oh,” she breathes out the word. “My God. This is stunning. Thank you. Truly.”