Total D*ck(32)

She set her glass down and scratched Matisse’s head. “I mean that once you get done with this lawyer nonsense and settle down, it will be with someone from an appropriate family. Not some riffraff ambulance chaser. You have a name, a reputation to protect.”

The room seemed to have grown hotter, and my cheeks burned.

“Mother, who I see is none of your business.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you are seeing him.”

I stood. “If you intended to scold me, you have. Can I go now?”

“There are plenty of lovely young men, ones whose mothers have told me are more than interested in you. Trevor Scales, Van Robins, even William Rabelais. They’ve all expressed a desire to get to know you. What about them?”

I shrugged, which did nothing to alleviate the feeling that I was an unruly twelve-year-old. “What about them? I’m not in the market for a husband. I have a career. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

She scooted an irritated Matisse from her lap and rose. “But you need to think of the future. Of children.” She swept her hand in an arc toward the rest of the expansive house. “One day, all this will be yours and what will you fill it with?”

It always went like this—her trying to tell me to get married, and me telling her that I wasn’t ready. She never listened, only pushed. “Mother, I have to go to work.”

“On a Saturday?” She picked her drink back up and took a dainty sip. I knew she’d finish the bottle before dinnertime.

“Yes. I have a very important case I’m working on. Now, if you’re done getting onto me, I’d like to go.”

Her face softened as much as the Botox would allow. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“I know.” I air-kissed her cheeks and turned to leave.

“Just don’t fall for any song and dance from that Granade man. He’s not in our league. He never will be,” she called behind me.

I gave a weak smile to our butler and hurried to my car. Mother would never change. The stratification of society was written in stone for her. Being the eldest Carmichael heir had been a full-time job since the day I was born.

I peered into the rearview mirror. I had my mother’s eyes, but not much else.

She was right about one thing: Kennedy was a different breed, and not based on status. I needed to keep him at arm’s length. Kennedy just needed to respect my space. I sighed and straightened my shoulders. We would keep it professional from there on out. I would make sure of it.



I tossed my bag onto the conference table and sank into the seat at Carey’s elbow. The sun was already low on the horizon, creating angular shadows from the downtown high-rises. I’d gone over my mother’s scolding as I drove, but it was the same song I’d heard all my life.

Frustrated on all fronts, I hoped a trip to the office would get me back in control. The legal world I’d made for myself was mine. Even though I was an associate—a small cog in a much larger machine—I was doing it my way. My career was a creature of my own invention. The fact that my mother frowned on it made it all the more rewarding.

I cleared my head of family responsibilities and focused on Carey. “Hey, how are you feeling? About Fluffy? We haven’t really had time to talk about it.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It sucks. He was a nice guy. I hate that he got mixed up in whatever Discord was doing that led to this.”

“I’m glad you got out of the hacking business.” I patted his arm.

“I didn’t really have a choice. Iron bars wouldn’t look good on a guy like me.”

“Keep on the straight and narrow. That’s the way to do it.” I nodded.

“Well, let’s not go too far. I still know how to do the high jinks.” He grinned.

“Like riding a bicycle, right?” I glanced to Carey’s computer screen. “Any luck?”

“Nope. But I did find some really interesting shibari bondage art porn. Interested?” He hovered his finger over his keys, waiting for my go-ahead.

“I don’t even know what you just said, though I did make out the word ‘porn,’ so I’ll have to pass.” I put my head down on my arms, exhaustion setting in from the mental battles I’d been waging at the luncheon and then at Mother’s.

“Come on. If you hate it, I’ll turn it off.” Carey elbowed me. “Live a little. A tiny ‘fuck you’ to the man would do you good.”

I wobbled my head back and forth on my arms. “It’s against the rules. I’m pretty sure there has to be a line or two in the Stone and Porter employment manual about no porn at work.” I was too tired to debate the inherent sexism of porn and how watching it would, in many circles, be high-fiving “the man.”