Page 3 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Tucker

I can’t believe I’m being fucking sued.

This is such a waste of time and money. I should be out at the worksite, but instead I’m sitting in the waiting room of a swanky law firm waiting for my meeting with the attorney who I hope is going to shut this whole thing down.

I fuss with the tie at my throat. I also can’t believe I wore a tie. I never wear ties. Okay, I couldn’t wear ties if I wanted to, since I only own one, but I only wear it when I absolutely have to. I’m not sure that’s the case today.

I’ve paired it with a button-down shirt and the only pair of pants I own that aren’t denim or joggers. But I have the obligatory one suit, one tie, and one button-down shirt for things like weddings and funerals.

And for getting sued.

I run my hands over the thighs of my pants and shift in the chair.

I’m not nervous. I’m just very uncomfortable.

And restless to get back to work.

“Mr. Hastings, they’re ready for you,” the receptionist says with a smile.

I stand quickly. “Great. Thanks.”

She leads me down a wide hallway with doors on both sides to the frosted glass double doors at the end. The plate beside the door says Conference Room B.

She pulls the door open, and she steps to the side. “Right in here. Mr. Davis, Mr. Hastings is here.”

“Come on in, Tucker,” Christopher Davis, my fancy, expensive lawyer, says, stepping forward and extending his hand.

I give the receptionist a smile and step into the room, taking Christopher’s hand.

“Hey Christopher.”

Christopher is from Honeysuckle Harbor, which is how I ended up in his conference room.

I don’t know the guy well, but I’ve met him, and my parents have hired him before.

One of the other partners, Greg Anderson, is also from Honeysuckle Harbor.

He’s retired now, but everyone in town loves the Anderson family.

I feel a familiar cold trickle dance down my spine. The Anderson family is fine, with one exception. Finley. I went to high school with Greg’s daughters and made the mistake of crossing Finley once.

It’s not like we were friends before that one fateful moment, because I’d mostly ignored her up until then.

We did not run in the same circles, and the emo nerdy girl just didn’t cross the path of the star quarterback and homecoming king.

Cliché, I know, but I was popular and Finley was…

not…and so we just basically avoided each other.

Until the night she cursed me.

I’m not kidding.

I’ll admit I was an asshole to her, but her voodoo–witchcraft–curse–whatever that I thought was a joke at the time, has haunted me for the past ten years. To the point that whenever something bad happens to me, my buddies say shit like, “Wow, that was quite a Finley.”

They’re hilarious.

“Well, no offense,” I tell Christopher. “But I’m not that happy to see you.”

He chuckles. “No offense taken. But we’re going to clear this up for you.”

“Well, hey there, Tucker. I didn’t know I was going to get to run into you today.”

I swing toward the female voice to my left. There’s a long gray credenza at the far end of the room with a pitcher of water and glasses. And a gorgeous brunette is leaning against the credenza with a glass in hand.

I’m immediately hit with three thoughts in a row. One, she’s fucking gorgeous. Two, I’m suddenly not so upset about being sued if I get to work with her. Three, she’s vaguely familiar.

Her long dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulder blades.

She’s dressed in a white button-down shirt paired with a teal-colored pencil skirt that shows off her firm breasts, and trim hips and thighs.

Her legs look amazing in the high heels, and her makeup and nails are definitely law-firm perfect.

So, I have no idea why I feel like I know her. I don’t typically go for the dressed-up corporate types. I am definitely a blue jeans and beer type of guy, and I like girls who don’t mind getting a little dirty and who can shoot pool and tequila.

But looking at this woman as she crosses the room, I think I could make an exception.

When she’s directly across the table from me, she stops and our gazes lock. “You don’t remember me?” she asks.

“I’m…sure,” I say. “I just…”

Her eyes widen, then narrow.

Now I feel another shiver go through me. I should definitely remember her, and she’s pissed I don’t.

I rack my brain. I would’ve remembered taking this one home. So we didn’t meet at a bar and spend the night together or anything. But she does not look happy to see me.

Christopher clears his throat. “Tucker Hastings, this is Finley Anderson. She’s the paralegal who will be helping me with your case.” He looks from me to her and back. “But I take it you already know one another?”

The cold tingle down my spine turns into icy fingers gripping my heart.

No. No fucking way.

This gorgeous woman barely resembles the emo teenager I knew.

Finley was the outspoken goth girl in high school. She dressed in black constantly, dyed her already dark hair jet black, and wore heavy black makeup on her eyes, lips, and fingernails.

She could give full-on rants about the patriarchy, detailed descriptions of serial killers’ patterns, and, yes, fucked around with curses and shit.

Excuse me, but when my two best buddies asked her sisters to prom and then said I had to take Finley? Me saying, “The weird, creepy triplet? No way.” made sense.

The girl was scary.

Of course, I hadn’t intended for her to hear me say that.

If for no other reason than because it would’ve kept me from being cursed.

But also because I’m not a total asshole.

Regardless of what she thinks. I felt bad knowing she’d overheard me.

But less and less bad as time went on and more and more bullshit consequences occurred.

“Yes, Tucker and I know one another,” Finley says in a smooth, calm, and professional voice. “Though it’s been a long time.”

She pulls a chair out and lowers herself into it, then crosses her legs. Curse or not, she looks amazing now.

“Uh, hey, Finley,” I manage to say.

“Oh, excellent,” Christopher says. “That’s great.”

I take a seat in the chair Christopher motions to as he also sits. Is there a way I can tell Christopher I don’t want to work with her and not come off as a jerk?

Finley studies me across the wide table. “I’m guessing Tucker is thinking right about now that it is definitely not great.”

Nope, probably not. And I can’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I’m still a little scared of her.

Christopher looks from her to me. “Is that right? Do you have a history?”

“We went to high school together,” I tell him.

“And how was that?” Christopher asks, looking at Finley.

“High school was amazing,” she says sarcastically. “And how have you been since, like, March ten years ago?” Finley asks me.

She’s a brat.

That doesn’t surprise me.

I want to tread carefully here. It’s been a decade since high school. I’m more mature. Wiser. I know I was a dick to her then, and I wish that hadn’t happened the way it had. We’re both professionals now. And we’re sitting here with a guy who knows both of our parents. We need to behave.

Plus, I don’t want to be cursed again.

“Great,” I tell her. Yeah, I’m not about to let her know her stupid curse worked. Come on. “I own my own business. Make great money. Built my own house.”

She looks down at the paper in front of her. “It’s the business that’s being sued for endangerment and injury to a teenager.” She looks up and tsks. “That doesn’t seem so great.”

I lean in with a frown. “It’s a bullshit charge.

Those kids snuck onto my worksite after hours.

There are clear signs posted with the dangers and warning about trespassing.

And there are cameras, so I’ve got video showing them sneaking over the fence.

This is completely not my liability.” I glance at Christopher, desperately wanting him to nod his agreement.

“Still,” she says, looking regretful. Fake regretful. “Maybe not great for your reputation, huh? Everyone in Honeysuckle Harbor always thought you were such a great guy.”

“Everyone in Honeysuckle Harbor still thinks I’m a really great guy,” I tell her.

“I heard Marvin McDonald passed you over and hired some big-shot company from here in Charleston when he built that bigger warehouse in Honeysuckle Harbor.” She winces. “That’s too bad for someone everyone in town likes.”

Yeah, well, fucking Marvin McDonald is a dick. “Marvin is a businessman. He had to make the decision he thought was best. It wasn’t personal.” Though it fucking felt personal.

“I heard you got a pretty nasty case of chickenpox at age twenty,” she says, leaning in and propping her chin on her hand. “That’s really unusual.”

I narrow my eyes. We had definitely referred to that as a Finley. “Yep. But bounced back and I am healthy as a horse now.”

Her eyes track over my shoulders and biceps. “I guess that wasn’t enough to keep Chelsea interested, though, huh?”

Fucking low blow. Chelsea was my longtime girlfriend, who broke up with me after three years and a very near proposal. I met her freshman year of college. She ran off with her college history professor.

“Chelsea is very married with a daughter now,” I tell her calmly. “I’m very happy for her.”

While I agree that Chelsea and I are better off without one another, yes, we had referred to that breakup as a Finley too.

“Okay,” Christopher breaks in. “I’m sure there will be time for you to reminisce about your past. How about we talk about the case?”

Lord, I hope there’s not time to reminisce about our past. That will make me look like an asshole to Christopher, and there’s no reason to rehash it with Finley.

“I just wonder if maybe Tucker would like to have me removed from the case,” Finley says. “I tend to bring him…bad luck.”

I lift both brows. “You do? We’ve barely spent any time together. How can you say that? It’s not like we were friends or hung out.”

Is that a dick thing to say? Yes. But she’s so calm and cool and seemingly unaffected by seeing me again.

In fact, she seems to know about all of the debacles in my life since high school and is pleased.

I sigh. It’s hard to have secrets in a small town.

I assume her parents or sisters are aware of all of those things.

“I cursed him,” Finley says to Christopher. “I’m the reason all those bad things happened to him.”

Christopher frowns. “Excuse me?”

I roll my eyes. It sounds so stupid when it’s said out loud. Even by her.

I can’t believe she just told her boss that.

She sits forward and rests her folded hands on the tabletop. “I cursed Tucker ten years ago. I’m afraid that me working on this case might be detrimental to the outcome.”

I study her across the table. Finley looks bored.

Dammit, why does she have to be so beautiful? I remember from high school that, despite her all-black clothes, hoodie pulled up over her head, and the tattoos she drew on her pale arms, as well as her perpetual frown, she was pretty. Scary, but very pretty.

Now she’s a knockout. Her body is tight and toned, and her face, without the constant scowl and eyelashes that always reminded me of spider legs, is absolutely beautiful.

I know and still see her sisters regularly. They work at one of the best restaurants in the area, conveniently located in my hometown and run by their brother. Frannie and Fiona are bubbly, curvy blondes. But I’d use the word ‘cute’ to describe them. Finley is not cute. She’s beautiful.

My gaze drops to her hands, marveling at the medium-length nails painted a pale pink. And then I see the peek of ink from beneath the sleeve of her blouse.

A real tattoo. Not a crazy picture drawn with an ink pen during math class. My gaze travels up her slender arm. Does she have more? I’d bet good money on it. Maybe there are some piercings as well.

And suddenly, I am wondering about everything that is underneath Finley’s polished, put-together exterior.

And okay, I let myself admit for the first time in ten years that I wondered about what was underneath her creepy exterior back in high school.

Until the curse, I figured there was something else going on with her and wondered if she needed someone to talk to.

But then I made the mistake of poking that black cat and getting hissed at and scratched.

Still…what makes this girl her?

“Tucker?”

I pull my attention back to the moment and look at Christopher. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay with Finley staying on the case?”

“Can you assure me that she will not further curse me?” I ask, giving her a look.

Christopher looks at me, then again at Finley, and back at me. It’s clear he thinks we’re both a little nuts.

“Finley?” Christopher asks. “Can you promise not to curse Tucker again?” His tone is what I imagine a dad would use on two arguing teenagers.

“Tucker brought it on himself,” she says with a shrug. “It’s really up to him. If he behaves, there will be no reason to curse him.”

Christopher pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you just promise, please?”

She smiles at me from across the table. It’s a scary smile.

And I’m reminded that she bit someone in the summer after senior year.

The guy was in her face and wouldn’t leave her alone, even after she told him to back the fuck off, twice. But still, she bit him.

“I promise,” she finally says.

“Any chance you could remove the curse I’ve got?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No chance at all.”

Christopher sighs heavily. “Can we talk about the case now?”

I don’t know why, and I know my friends are going to tell me that I’m crazy later, but I don’t want Finley removed from the case.

I think it could be very interesting to work with her in this capacity.

I want to see more of this version of Finley.

It’s been ten years. I can’t say I haven’t wondered about her.

And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t find her a little interesting in high school. Scary, but interesting.

Has she completely outgrown all of that? Her sisters are perky and friendly and outgoing and sunshiny.

Did Finley just get all of the grumpy, sassy genes while the triplets were in utero? Or was it all an act? Who is the real Finley Anderson?

I kind of want to find out.

And it’s very possible that this is also the curse at work.

Maybe having Finley Anderson assigned to my lawsuit and me not kicking her off of it is the biggest Finley of all.