Page 36 of The Oyabun's Boy

Kenji met her gaze unflinchingly. "To keep him safe," he replied, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "At any cost."

"Hmm." Mom tilted her head, studying him like she was reading a particularly complex recipe. "And the fact that you can't seem to keep your eyes off him whenever he's in the room? Is that also for his safety?"

I buried my face in my hands. "Mom! Seriously?"

This was like watching a housecat challenge a panther. Terrifying, but also kind of impressive in a "holy shit, she has no survival instincts" kind of way.

To my shock, Kenji's lips curved into that almost-smile I was beginning to catalog like rare butterfly sightings. "Your son is... distracting," he admitted.

Mom made a sound suspiciously like a snort. "That's one word for it."

"I'm right here, you know," I reminded them, waving my fork between their locked gazes. "The 'distraction' can hear you."

Mom patted my hand sympathetically before launching back into her interrogation. "How long have you been stalking my son?"

"Mother!"

"What? It's a legitimate question. The man has a tailored wardrobe ready for you and knows how you take your coffee. That doesn't happen overnight."

Can the floor just open up and swallow me, please?

Kenji's eyes held a dangerous glint that would have terrified me if directed at anyone else. But this was my mother, and she was currently giving him the same look she gave health inspectors who dared question her café's cleanliness.

"I'm thorough," Kenji replied simply.

"Thorough," Mom echoed, nodding slowly. "That's one way to put it. Another might be 'obsessive' or 'concerning' or 'restraining order material.'"

I choked on my coffee, simultaneously mortified and impressed by her boldness. The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees as Kenji's expression hardened infinitesimally.

But instead of the volcanic eruption I expected, Kenji merely inclined his head. "Your concern for Joy is... understandable," he said. "But unnecessary where I'm concerned."

Mom leaned back in her chair, assessing him with narrowed eyes. "You know, most mothers dream of their children finding someone devoted to their happiness and safety." She took a sip of her tea. "Though they generally hope that devotion doesn't come with a body count."

"Mom!" I hissed, glancing nervously at Kenji.

But something strange was happening. The two of them were looking at each other with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—like adversaries recognizing something familiar in each other. It was the look of two predators establishing boundaries over shared territory.

The territory being me, apparently. Wonderful.

"I protect what's mine," Kenji stated, his voice quieter but somehow more intense.

Mom nodded slowly. "On that," she said, reaching over to squeeze my hand, "we are in perfect agreement."

I looked between them, feeling like I'd missed some critical part of the conversation. "So... are we done with the 'embarrass Joy to death' portion of breakfast, or...?"

Mom's smile turned mischievous. "Not even close, honey. I still haven't asked about sleeping arrangements."

"And on that note," I announced, shoving back from the table so quickly my chair nearly toppled, "I need more coffee. Or a cyanide capsule. Either works."

Kenji stepped forward smoothly. "It's time for us to go," he said, his hand finding the small of my back in that possessive way that sent electricity up my spine. "Joy has a meeting to attend."

"A meeting?" Mom's eyebrows shot up. "What kind of meeting?"

Kenji's fingers flexed slightly against my back. "Business."

The look Mom gave him could have curdled milk. "Just remember what I said about the tea," she warned, and I saw the corner of Kenji's mouth twitch.

"Duly noted, Ms. Carmichael."