Mister Bossy (Bad Boys in Love Book 4)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Walker gives his two cents. “She really is a nice girl. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her out on a date.” When I glare at him, he offers me an I’m-just-trying-to-be-helpful look.

  He’s not being helpful. He’s being annoying. They all are.

  “So you’re a relationship counsellor now?” I snipe at my oldest brother.

  Walker gives me a brash grin and a shrug. “Well, I am getting married in less than a month so I’m willing to bet that I got something right.”

  “What-fucking-ever…” I mumble and squirt some barbecue sauce onto my plate. Anything to get away from this conversation.

  Do I know that Jessa’s a nice girl? Of course I do. She’s more than nice. She’s kind, lovely, devoted, fun. The girl is fucking delightful. And hot as all get-out. Any man would be lucky to have her.

  But, dude—I’ve got baggage.

  A young kid who depends on me. A serpent of an ex-wife I hope falls off the face of the earth. A frigging criminal record staining my name. Not to mention my attitude problem. Jessa deserves better. It’s not even up for debate.

  The conversation is interrupted when a pair of feminine hands land on Walker’s shoulders. I look up to find our mother grinning down on the table. She’s a little bit breathless and her hair is messy from dancing. She’s been having a ball tonight.

  “What are we talking about?” she asks brightly as she squeezes the farmer’s shoulders and smacks a loud kiss to his forehead. She staggers around to my side of the table.

  I glance around, shooting my brothers don’t-you-dare eyes. Jude snickers but keeps his mouth shut. Cannon hides his grin behind his tumbler. Ma’s eyes land on Walker.

  That’s not good.

  Walker is the worst liar of us all and Ma has a superpower for seeing right through him.

  Walker clears his throat and speedily rises from the table. “Uh, I think my bride-to-be’s a-calling. We need to pick our wedding china or plan the seating chart or choose the linen or…something.” He shrugs unconvincingly as he flees the scene.

  “Make sure to save me a dance,” Ma hollers after him. She throws up her arms and wiggles about.

  Cannon, Jude and I share a look. Oh boy, Ma’s really smashed tonight.

  “Of course, Ma,” Walker promises with a wink then disappears into the crowd.

  “Anyway,” our mother says, “I’m looking forward to a dance with each of you tonight.” Her eyes flutter around the table before landing on me again. “Starting with you, Eli.”

  I groan. “That’s really not necessary.”

  She narrows her eyes on me and stares sternly. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Can’t you just dance with Jude?” I have zero qualms about throwing my youngest brother under the party bus. “We all know he’s the best dancer.”

  Cannon snorts. “Jude dances like he forgot to put on his bunion cushions.”

  I slam the smartass with a glare. “Is this your way of volunteering to hit the dance floor with Ma?”

  He cringes. “Well, uh, y’see…”

  I love my mom. We all do. But the thing is, when Ma gets tipsy, she doesn’t pay too much attention to where she puts her feet when she’s dancing. She’s a bit of a toe crusher.

  Our mother cuts in, her eyes on me. “Jude is gonna get his turn. So will Cannon and Walker. You’re the one most likely to make a stealthy exit so you’re up first.” She motions for me to get up. “Come on.”

  Sighing, I slap down my napkin. “Fine. The chicken’s cold now anyway.”

  Ma grins triumphantly as I rise to my feet. Shaking my head, I follow her through the crowd. My eyes meet Jessa’s and she beams as she watches me with Ma.

  Well damn, if I’d realized that dancing with my mother would earn me brownie points with Jessa, I wouldn’t have done all that complaining.

  The band strikes up a Frank Sinatra classic and I sway around with the lady who gave birth to me, the lady who is currently very tipsy. Our feet get bungled up a bit, but for the most part, it’s okay.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” she asks, grinning up into my face.

  “I just saw my mother twerking. I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right ever again.” I deadpan and she bursts out snort-laughing. “Ma, what the hell was that?!

  Her arm goes tighter around my back. “If you knew how happy I am tonight, you’d understand. I’ve been married thirty…eight…years. And just having you here. Seeing Jude and Cannon happy with the women in their lives. Seeing my beautiful grandchildren all dressed up. And you have no idea how many years I spent waiting for Walker and Penny to get it together and admit to their feelings.” She smiles genuinely. “Sorry for getting carried away. I’m just really happy, dear.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I say. “I’m happy to be here, too.”

  My mom is the very best and I’m so lucky to get to be her son, so lucky to be a part of this family, even though I’ve taken them for granted more than once. I’m happy that they’ve still embraced me despite my criminal past. I see that now. Finally.

  “You look so handsome tonight, Eli.” She touches my cheek affectionately. “I’m really happy you came. I was worried you wouldn’t show up. It means so much to all of us that you’re here.”

  I think back on all the things I missed while I was in jail. Cannon’s wedding and the birth of his child. I didn’t get to be their for Jude when back-to-back knee injuries nearly ruined his career. I missed Callie’s birthdays. Christmas. Family dinners and barbecues by the lake. I missed too damn much and I couldn’t afford to miss any more. At least that’s what Jessa made me see.

  My eyes search for the girl again. She’s back at her table. She’s sitting there alone now that her girlfriends have abandoned her to go dance with my brothers. She doesn’t look lonely, though. She’s dancing in her seat, having a good time. But she’d look better in my arms.

  “The girls have been really eager to get to know you,” my mom continues. “Iris, Lexi and Penny are truly incredible women. You’d love them if you gave them a chance.”

  “Ma…” I groan.

  “Sorry to pressure you. I just want to see your life back together.”

  “I’m getting there.”

  “And what about work? Money?”

  “I’m good on money.” I think back to the thick stacks of hundred dollar bills under my couch.

  “But you know that if you’re ever having financial troubles, you could turn to your father and me. We’re more than willing to help.”

  I smile softly at her. “Stop worrying. I’ve got this. I’m good.”

  She hesitates. “Or…maybe you could go back to Kingston Realties. Cannon would be more than happy to have you on board.”

  I’m so done with this conversation.

  I twirl my mother abruptly, taking her breath away. Her eyes widen with a gasp. I grin in her face. “I said I’m good, Ma.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine.” She pouts.

  My attention wanders to Jessa’s table. My aunt MaryAnn is sitting there with her now. The two of them are talking and laughing up a storm which doesn’t surprise me. Jessa is too talkative for her own good and my nutty aunt would strike up a conversation with an empty cereal box if you left her alone with it for two minutes.

  Ma’s voice brings me back. “The point is, we’re here for you. I’ll admit that when you were in prison, we lost hope that we’d ever get you back. But now that you’re here, we’d like very much for you to be a part of this family again, son.”

  “I’d like that very much, too, Ma.” I squeeze her close to my chest and over the top of her head, I see Aunt MaryAnn’s college-aged son, Dmitri, approach the table, his eyes on Jessa.

  Instantly, I want to punch the little punk in the throat. Cousin or no cousin.

  What the hell is my problem? My problem is that Jessa’s not my woman when she should be.

  Fighting this feeling is so hard. I don’t know how much longer I can do it.

  Ma pulls back from my h
ug and sees me watching the nanny. She sees the look on my face as Dmitri reaches for her hand and gestures to the dance floor. She sees my relief when Jessa politely refuses his offer. She sees the way Jessa briefly glances my way before her eyes drop down to her plate.

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?” my mother says wistfully.

  Oh, boy. “She’s just the nanny.” I’m totally trying to bullshit myself.

  “Why don’t you ask her to dance?” Ma suggests tenderly.

  My heart throbs with the fear of rejection, the fear of admitting what I feel in front of my whole family.

  I break out my don’t-push-it look for the second time tonight. “Ma, please…”

  The woman gives me the stink-eye. “Eli…”

  “No!” I snap out.

  Her shoulders drop. “Just FYI—relationships don’t always turn out like it did with Gabby. Some women are good, reliable, trustworthy…Jessa is one of them.”

  I swallow hard and let her words simmer in my head. As the song comes to an end, my daughter drops into a seat at the table with her grandfather. Her little mouth stretches into the biggest yawn.

  I release my mother. “Thanks for the dance, Ma, but it’s time to take Callie home.” Before the woman can argue, I press a kiss to the top of her head and leave her on the dance floor.

  35

  Jessa

  From my half-assed mermaid pose at the back of the dim-lit studio, I crane my neck toward the front of the room to get a better look at the woman leading tonight’s class.

  She’s got thick blonde hair cascading all the way down her back. Radiant smile. Firm boobs. Flat stomach. A juicy butt that seems to be defying gravity as she seamlessly transitions into another freakish pose I don’t even bother attempting.

  “Inhale deeply…” she says wistfully as if her limbs aren’t tied up like an old-fashioned telephone cord. “Feel the fire in your breath. Let it fill the shadows of your soul…”

  I’m not the only one struggling to keep pace with the instructor-in-training. Somewhere in the far corner of the room, one of the students emits a panicked squeak before promptly toppling over and falling, chin first to the floor. Her sudden movement swipes the guy next to her and in an instant, he’s sprawled out on his yoga mat, too.

  The freakishly limber alien-like contortionist at the front of the room doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy grinning at her own reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror as the strategically-placed cameras around the studio capture her every move.

  There’s a perfectly good yoga studio in Crescent Harbor but since I signed up for the Prasanna Light Oneness Studio mobile app, I get notifications for the studio’s yoga teachers-in-training program. The sessions are usually late at night and some of the apprentice instructors are better than others but the classes are five dollars a pop so I really shouldn’t complain.

  Most of the time, I can follow along from home because the sessions are also live-streamed—in fact, that’s what I used to do with Penny when she was pregnant—but when I saw who was hosting tonight’s class, I knew I wanted to be here in person. I’ve been following this woman’s every move on YouTube for months and at this point, I need to see her up-close with my own eyes.

  So after I put Callie to bed, I shimmied into my wish-it-was-Lululemon yoga pants and cruised on down to Reyfield, a tiny suburb right outside of Chicago, just in time for the start of class.

  I try to tell myself that I’m here for the sake of my pancake butt. I mean—who knows? Maybe some of these yoga moves will help me plump up my monodimensional bum. But the truth is, it’s my curiosity that got the best of me and lured me here tonight.

  In any case, half the people in the room are straining so hard they look like they’re about to pop an eyeball. At the front of the room, meanwhile, our instructor ninja-rolls out of her complex yoga pose like it’s nothing. “I know that you look at me, and you see a woman who has it all,” she says as she stands and slinks through the sea of sweaty, efforting bodies. “The gorgeous physique, the perfect hair, a face that belongs on a statute. But I didn’t get here by being weak. I got here by doing the work, by making the sacrifices, by fearlessly pursuing my destiny despite the cost.”

  I forget about trying to mimic the yoga poses and I just stare at her, shooting eye-daggers her way.

  The egomaniac in the expensive yoga pants continues her sermon. “You will never get where you’re wanting to go without being willing to make sacrifices…If you knew the things I had to give up to be here before you right now…You’d be so inspired…That’s why I share my story…That’s why I share my transformation…In order to inspire you…” She stops and plants a hand on some poor, toiling woman’s shoulder. “Breathe through the pain, Linette…Commit to your development. Commit to your growth…” The instructor glances at her reflection in the floor length mirror and smirks. “Commit to your glow-up. Like I did.”

  I snarl audibly.

  She’s one of those people who’s pretty and ugly at the same time. I totally get what a guy would see in her, physically. But, boy, is she a shallow bitch.

  As I’m glaring, I feel a steadying hand on my shoulder. I look up to find Isla standing beside me. She gives me a tight smile. “Lengthen your neck and lift your chest, sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting your back.”

  I nod and force a smile of my own as I implement her advice.

  Isla is the owner of this yoga studio and usually, she’s really nice. Personable. Friendly. But tonight, as she supervises this class, she looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. However, for the sake of coming across as professional, she has to force a smile as the would-be instructor’s ego train skids off the rails. I can bet Isla can’t wait till this class is over so she can give tonight’s yoga teacher a stern talking-to.

  After a few more minutes of grandstanding from the instructor, Isla has had enough. She takes back the reins of the class and leads us into a warm-down segment. “All right, everyone,” she says not long after. “I want you to softly begin coming back to yourself…”

  Slowly, all the participants shake off their yoga daze and roll up their mats.

  “Namaste, babe. Namaste.” The pretentious teacher-apprentice bows and greets her very confused students as they leave the room. “Namaste. Peace and love.”

  As everyone files out, I linger, slowly rolling up my mat, hoping to get one final closeup look at the instructor.

  “Let me have a word with you, hun.” Isla leads the future instructor to the corner of the room.

  “I really impressed myself with my scorpion pose tonight. My form looked incredible in the mirror, didn’t it?” The woman beams.

  I strain hard enough to hear Isla say, “Maybe you should focus more of your attention on your students and their journey. Spend less time on how great you are. Let’s not forget that the point of the class is your students. Their posture. Their journey.”

  The woman’s face drops. “Oh. Right.”

  Isla goes to stack the yoga blocks in the corner of the studio. Meanwhile, the teacher-in-training goes around the room, extinguishing the candles.

  The woman pauses after she puts out the candles arranged behind me. “Squat-jumps,” I hear her say. “Squat-jumps are the key.”

  “Excuse me?” I frown, confused when I look over my shoulder at her.

  She smiles at me pityingly. “I used to have an awful butt, just like yours. Squat-jumps were my savior. Now look at me,” she smacks her ass. It seems to Jello-jiggle in slow motion and my gut sizzles with jealousy. I wish my butt could do that…

  Totally unaware that her apprentice just insulted me, Isla comes up to where we’re standing. She gives me a pretty smile. “Hope to see you again soon.”

  “Yeah, see you soon,” I barely manage to say.

  Isla puts a palm firmly on the woman’s back and guides her toward the door. “Okay, evaluation time. Come on, Gabby.”

  I glare at the back of her head, my venom nearly over-boiling, as Eli’s r
unaway wife follows her boss out the door.

  In that moment, I just know—call it a premonition—but I just know I’m gonna chin-punch that bitch one day.

  And on second thought, there’s no way that butt is real.

  36

  Eli

  It’s Wednesday afternoon. I step out of the courtroom into the crowded hallway, the sound of the slamming gavel still resonating in my skull. A few feet behind me, I can hear the indistinct chatter of my lawyer speaking with my parents but I can’t process their words.

  My ears are ringing, my fingers feel tingly and there’s sweat soaking through the back of my shirt. I hadn’t realized how anxious I was about this whole thing until now that it’s all finally over. Ripping off my suit jacket, I land on a wooden bench and drop my face into my hands.

  I’m fucking overcome.

  I got my daughter back. Officially. Legally. A judge reviewed the evidence, came to a decision, made me a father again. In the eyes of the law, I am Callie’s legal custodian and no one can take her away from me.

  I’m rebuilding my life, brick by brick.

  Frank calls out to me. “Eli, I have to get back to New York for a few days but we’ll be in touch sometime this week,” my lawyer says as he shoves a sheaf of papers into his attache case.

  I stand from the bench and approach him, hand outstretched. “Thank you again. For everything.”

  I owe this old man so much. He showed up out of nowhere several months ago. He dedicated himself wholeheartedly to my case and he didn’t stop working until he got my ass out of jail.

  Now, he’s helped me put another important piece of my life back on its rails—my legal rights surrounding Callie. He’s doing this all pro bono and I don’t know where he came from or how I’ll ever repay him. I never believed in guardian angels but this man sure is one.

  He gives me a curt nod before saluting my parents. Then he melts into the crowd of lawyers and bailiffs and stern-faced security guys wandering the halls of justice alongside regular civilians.