Page 41 of Bronson

He wants to spank me.

I can read it in his face.

Too bad.

Our loosely defined, messed-up deal is off.

Crossing my arms tighter over my chest, I shift in my seat.

Peter looks from Bachman to me, then back to Bachman. He clears his throat. “Listen, if you two need to talk⁠—”

“There is nothing for us to talk about,” I say.

“Thank you, Peter, we have much to discuss,” Bronson says. He reaches out, pressing his palm against the table. He’s giving me a pleading look. He pulls his hand from the table.

Where his hand had been, my butterfly now sits on the tabletop, sparkling in the candlelight. I look at Bronson.

His face softens, his eyes beg me.

“Fine,” I hiss beneath clenched teeth. I slide the necklace from the table. The clasp has been repaired. I slip the butterfly into the pocket of my dress. I’ve missed the feeling of her dangling from my neck.

“I’ll excuse myself.” Peter rises from the table. “It looks like you two have much to talk about. Ah, Paige, can you get home alright?”

Bronson practically elbows him out of the way. “I can get her home just fine, thank you,” he says rudely.

Peter hovers. Such a good man. Trying to ensure I’m in safe hands.

I’m entirely not.

“Wait,” I say.

Both men turn toward me.

I look at Peter first. “You’ve been a complete gentleman tonight. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And you deserve to have dinner with a woman who isn’t embroiled in—” I’m not sure what to call it, so I flutter my fingers towards the dangerous mafia boss who is currently staring at me with the heat of lava in his gaze, “In this.”

Peter shifts his gaze to Bronson. “For what it’s worth, Paige, I think you deserve someone more…normal. Who doesn’t storm into a public place trying to control you.”

I freeze. Yikes. Peter has no idea what the man standing next to him is capable of.

Bronson’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t commit murder.

So that’s a relief.

I release the breath I’m holding. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Then I face Bronson. “You don’t get to storm in here and claim me because another man made you jealous.”

“Paige—”

“I am choosing to speak with you, Bronson. And Peter—” I crane my neck around Bronson, who is now blocking Peter from my view.

Peter moves around Bronson, offering me a wave. “Good luck, Paige. I suspect you’re going to need it.”

I give Peter an apologetic smile. “I’ll call you.”