The next morning, as I lock my Bronco in the parking lot of Seven Sinners, my mind is still on the tangled sheets of my bed and the filthy dreams that had me waking up sweaty and begging. Every twinge of my sore muscles keeps last night firmly fixed in my mind.

I’m addicted to this stranger, and I don’t even care how crazy it is.

Those thoughts evaporate like water on a blazing-hot tin roof when the yelling starts.

“How dare you pass off some piece of trash as my art!”

Gregor Standish’s insult slams into my belly like a sucker punch as he slams the door of a Range Rover. He storms toward me, his face mottled and red.

“Mr. Standish—”

“Did you see this garbage?” He waves a newspaper in my direction as he advances.

Stepping away from the flapping pages, I clear my throat. “Sir, if you’ll please—”

“They put my name under the picture of that abomination. I’m going to be the laughingstock of the art community by lunchtime.”

“Sir, please—”

“I can’t have my name associated with that tasteless pedestrian refuse masquerading as art!”

Each word scores a direct hit, reinforcing what I’ve always feared—my work isn’t good enough to be seen. The burn of tears stings the back of my eyes. The death of a dream is never painless, even if it’s an arrogant asshole wielding the executioner’s ax.

I straighten my spine, determined not to allow him to see how deadly his strikes are. He can never know that the piece was mine. No one can.

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Standish. If you have a complaint to lodge, you can do it civilly or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” I inject authority into my tone, even though I’m crumpling on the inside. Shoring up my defenses now is too little, too late, but I have no choice but to pretend.

Standish’s face turns an even darker shade of red, and if he wasn’t such a jerk, I might worry about his blood pressure. As it stands, I can’t find it in me to give a damn about his health. Not when he’s eviscerating me.

“My artwork—my actual art—is inside, and if you try to keep me from it, I will take everything from this company and that bitch who runs it.”

As soon as he insults Keira, steel lodges in my spine and I level a hard stare in his direction. “Mr. Standish, it would be in your best interest to stop right there.” He opens his mouth to spill more vitriol, but I keep speaking, a new confidence in my tone. After all, it’s much easier to stand up for her than for myself. “You will not like the consequences of your actions if you don’t.”

The expression on his face turns snide. “Don’t you tell me what to do. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he’s the one who doesn’t have a clue who he’s dealing with, and any further comments are going to mean that he ends his day in a body bag, but I don’t. This man will not be calmed with reason or threats. He’s completely unhinged.

“I looked you up when you wouldn’t answer my calls. No wonder you’re so completely inept at this job. COO? You’re still a glorified secretary.” His glare turns gleefully cruel. “I don’t know why I was surprised. You’re just swamp trash, which is exactly what that sculpture looked like. So you tell whoever made that piece of garbage that I’m coming after them too for trying to pass it off as mine.”

Direct. Hit.

Instead of staggering backward and letting him know he’s scored a painful point, I square my shoulders. “The mistake was innocent, Mr. Standish, and might I point out, sir, that it wouldn’t have happened if you had allowed us to move your piece, or if you had actually shown up on time, per the instructions I provided you.”

He wrinkles his nose like someone just waved a hunk of rotten gator meat under it. “You should’ve waited. Just one more example of your mismanagement. This was no innocent mistake. This was planned.”

As much as I want to shout at him and tell him it’s not in any way, shape, or form my fault, and he couldn’t be more wrong about every single one of his conclusions, I know that screaming in the parking lot isn’t going to be helpful or productive.

I’d much prefer to shoot him in the parking lot, but prison orange isn’t exactly my color.

My brother would get rid of the body, though . . . The unvarnished thought puts a bloodthirsty smile on my face.

“I’m not going to argue with you any longer, Mr. Standish. Please accept my apologies, and maybe we can both agree that Mary’s House still received a substantial benefit from the auction last night, even with the mistake. Therefore, the purpose was still served and you get to keep your piece, perhaps to donate for an even larger benefit to a charitable organization in the future.”

I’m congratulating myself on sounding poised and professional, when what I really want to tell him is if Mount doesn’t kill him for what he said about Keira, someone else surely will for being such a nasty human being.

Standish’s face screws into an evil expression as he darts forward, wrapping his fingers hard around my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin. “Only someone so plebeian would ever think something so simplistic.”

I yank my arm free, and his nails scrape my skin.

“Do we have a problem here?”

The door slams behind Louis Artesian, the head of distilling operations, as he comes toward us.

“Yes, we have a goddamn problem,” Standish says, his lips curling.

Louis looks to me, concern edging his tone. “Do you need me to call security?”

I meet his kind brown eyes before looking pointedly at Gregor Standish. “That’s up to Mr. Standish. If he wants to collect his artwork, he’ll need to contain himself.”

“How dare you, you—”

My phone rings, interrupting whatever insult he’s planning to throw at me next. I pull it out of my bag and look down at the screen. Keira.

“Excuse me, Mr. Standish. I’ll speak with Ms. Kilgore about your concerns. If you’re able to calm down, perhaps you’ll be allowed inside the building to collect your art.”

I walk away from him as he sputters at Louis, but I don’t look back as I answer my phone. “Good morning, boss.”

“What’s going on?”

I unlock the back door, open it, and make sure to lock it behind me. “Standish is having a meltdown in the parking lot. Making accusations and threats. I tried to explain, but he’s not listening.”

“Of course not. And I’m also not that surprised because I just read the one-star review he left for Seven Sinners on every single online platform in the known universe. V and I are almost there. He’ll take care of him.”

In Keira’s world, taking care of someone means something different than it does to most people.

I open my mouth to ask if she’s sure that’s necessary, but Keira has already ended the call.

This is not how I expected my day to go.