Page 4 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Evan

I asked the wrong sister out.

At least I did according to Christopher.

But as I sit across from Finley Anderson at a local restaurant, Raw, in her hometown of Honeysuckle Harbor, I’m feeling a number of things and not one of them is regret.

“So,” Finley says, after having ordered herself a martini from the server and nothing else. “Why are we really here, Evan?”

That catches me off guard. I have to admit I’ve gotten used to living in the South since I moved down here for law school.

People tend to ease around touchy subjects, not just come straight out and ask like Finley.

She’s spent her entire first day at the law firm refusing to conform—from walking around barefoot, to trying to recuse herself from working with a new client, Tucker Hastings, to posting a sign over the printer that says, “This could have been an email. Save the trees.”

Which is exactly why Christopher told me the minute she walked out of the conference room that I’d asked the wrong sister out.

It was a misunderstanding. He’d meant that I should ask either Frannie or Fiona Anderson out.

That they were the ones he’d been describing to me as sweet and socially adept and one of whom would make a great fake girlfriend to escort around town and make Charles happy. And make me partner in the process.

But I heard “Anderson daughter” and I thought that he meant Finley. Because, well, that was the Anderson daughter standing in front of me. It was an honest mistake.

If not really me thinking on my feet.

Because Finley is nothing like the description of her sisters that Christopher had given.

But in my defense, I’d been trying to show initiative. Get ’er done, as they say. Lock in a fake relationship, make partner, fuck Christopher. I’m running out of patience and hand lotion because I can’t bring myself to hook up with anyone else, and the blue balls are killing me.

“We’re here to make sure you pass the bar exam,” I say smoothly, determined to at least enjoy a nice dinner away from the office and my lonely ass apartment, even if Finley probably won’t work for mine and Christopher’s make-me-a-partner-so-we-can-fuck-immediately plan.

“And to get to know each other, since you’ll be working with me frequently as my paralegal. ”

“Did you take Kyle to dinner when she started?”

“Uh…no.” I try to gloss it over. “But she mostly works with Mary Grace.”

“Poor thing,” Finley mutters under her breath. But then she gives me a smile. “Where are you from, Evan? I can’t place your accent.”

“Chicago. Born and raised until I decided to go to law school at Clemson.”

“Do you miss winter? Chicago sports? The hustle and bustle?”

“Winter, no. Sports, yes. I am a huge hockey fan, so I love the Racketeers, and of course, the Cubs. The hustle and bustle, sometimes. I also miss public transportation.”

Finley sits back in her chair, looking immediately more relaxed. “Right? I hate driving everywhere now that I’m back here. I have to concentrate too much. I miss the train—aside from the fact that the subway is the sole reason I did not pass the bar exam.”

The server sets down my bourbon and Finley’s martini in front of us.

I take a sip, savoring the hint of vanilla, as Finley fishes her olive out of her drink and pops it in her mouth with a sexy little maneuver that makes me tense up.

Finley is a beautiful woman. That’s why in the moment, it made total sense to me to ask her to dinner. Hell, even eager.

I thought it was Christopher’s plan and Finley intrigues me with her sassy little smile and her tousled dark hair.

I wouldn’t have to pretend to be attracted to her, that’s for damn sure.

“How is that?” I ask.

“I got stuck on the train. It broke down. Missed the start time for the exam, plain and simple. What are the odds, right?” She gives a rueful shrug and lifts her glass to take a sip. “So here I am, groveling back home for a free room at my sisters’ and a job from Dad. It’s mortifying.”

“That’s just bad luck,” I say, feeling sympathetic. “But I think you’ll gain some valuable experience at the firm before you take the bar again.”

She makes a noncommittal sound. “So what was that this morning, between you and Christopher?”

I tense up. I can’t help it. For over a year, I’ve been trying to ignore my feelings for him, but they’re too strong.

I respect him. I admire his intelligence and drive.

I love the way his teeth are slightly crooked—and I love his calm, rational approach to the law and clients.

I also spend a stupid amount of time fantasizing about waking up together on a Sunday morning tangled up in his sheets before cooking him breakfast.

It’s a constant pain point to have to pretend to others there isn’t something brewing between us, and it turns innocent questions into landmines.

“What do you mean?” I ask, striving for nonchalance. I lift my snifter to my lips.

“You were basically eye-fucking each other, that’s what I mean.”

Fuck.

I’m completely caught off guard, and the bourbon goes down wrong. I stifle a cough with my fist while shaking my head at Finley. She is casually swinging her leg up and down over her other leg, martini in hand.

Definitely a direct, no bullshit person.

“Are you together?” she presses. “A little office romance?”

Now I shake my head violently. “No,” I manage to say, clearing my throat repeatedly. That bourbon burned.

“Why not? Don’t tell me it’s an issue for two men to be together, is it? Because I will be forced to quit if that’s the case.”

I set my drink down and eye her, wondering how forthcoming I can be.

I decide not to confirm or deny, which is essentially confirmation.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t work there if it was an issue.

It’s not about gender—it’s about who . As a senior partner, Christopher is my boss.

There are rules against that for various legal reasons. ”

“Of course, lawyers would have rules.” Finley makes a face.

That has me curious. “Why law school then?” I ask her. “You definitely don’t seem to be a rule follower.”

“Because it’s easier to work within the law to create change than it is to argue with people on social media. I know it sounds idealistic, but I want to make a difference in the world. Social justice is important to me and my plan is to work for a nonprofit.”

“That’s very admirable.”

“I can’t decide if you actually mean that.” She studies me with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“Hey, I mean it,” I protest. “With power comes great responsibility.”

Finley laughs. “You do have a touch of Peter Parker about you.”

“I could think of worse comparisons.” Leaning closer to her, I raise my bourbon glass a little and give her a charming smile. “Care to be my Mary Jane?”

“Are you flirting with me?” she asks, sounding and looking absolutely incredulous at the very thought.

It’s my turn to laugh. “Yes, I am. Is that so terrible to imagine?”

She shrugs. “What’s a little harmless flirting between colleagues? Sounds completely inappropriate and right up my alley.”

“The firm has tickets to a charitable fundraiser this weekend for affordable housing. You should go with me.”

“Is this an attempt to make Christopher jealous? Because I feel weird about that.”

Loosening my tie, I decide that honesty is my best policy. I am not a deceptive person—well, aside from pretending to the entire world that I don’t fucking have feelings for Christopher—and my gut is telling me that I can trust Finley.

“Not at all. Christopher wants me to date a woman in order to convince Charles I should be made a partner. Then he and I can be free to date.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s…nuts. Why would that convince Charles to make you a partner?”

“According to Christopher, Charles loves love. He loves his wife and family, and there has never been any hint of infidelity. He sees a family man as stable.”

Finley snorts. “I repeat, that’s nuts. But okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say it works. You’re just supposed to lie to some unsuspecting woman and then break her heart when you make partner and subsequently dump her for Christopher?”

“Of course not. I’m being honest and upfront with you about it. That way, it’s an…arrangement. A mutually beneficial one.”

“Me?” Finley puts her hand on her chest. “You want to fake date me ?”

I actually kind of want to real date her because there is something so vibrant and alive and casually sexy about her that I really want to spend more time with her.

Maybe get her naked and do dirty fucking things to that gorgeous body.

But that’s not something Christopher and I have discussed.

I feel like I need to have that conversation with him first—before I have it with Finley.

“Yes. Why wouldn't I want to fake date an intelligent and passionate and gorgeous woman?”

“Because I’m more liability than asset when it comes to convincing Charles I would make a good little wifey. You should meet my sister, Fiona. She’d be perfect for this assignment.”

Before I can protest, she pulls her phone out and starts texting rapidly.

“She’s a pastry chef, you know. She’s working right now, so I’m going to have her come out and say hi.

My other sister, Frannie, would be even better for the corporate wife role, but she has a new beau, some hottie FBI agent.

Fiona is good, though. She rocks a cocktail dress hard and still manages to project future-mother-of-your-children vibes.

” Finley sets her phone down on the table and looks up at me.

“She can go to the charity event with you.”

Is she pushing me off onto her sister? Well, hell, obviously she is.

I’m just really fucking disappointed.

Sure, that is what Christopher wanted in the first place, but I haven’t met Fiona. I have met Finley and, damn it, I want to fake date her. I want to spend more time with her.