Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Author’s Note
- A Spade’s a Spade
- By Design
- Bawdy by Nature
- Tally-ho
- Labradoodle-dee-doo
- Nine Lives
- Anubis
- The Curious Case of the Missing Orgasms
- A Good Smiting
- Sausage, Please
- At Your Service
- Absolutely Filthy
- Blamo
- Because, Reasons
- An Arrangement
- Ophelia
- Sex Palace
- Birthday Bitch
- Heartless
- A Certain Rightness
- Biohazard
- Girls Like Her
- Gravity
- Best Laid Plans
- Scorched Earth
- Hey, Dummy
- All You Ever Wanted
- Directions to Hell
- All Hail the Dumbassador
- First and Always
- Sign For It
- Epilogue
- Mum’s The Word
- Thank you
- Also by Staci Hart
- About the Author
“Exactly.” Tess sighed. “Although I don’t know what we’re going to do with Lila when Ivy is on maternity leave and isn’t here to manage her. Today was bad enough, and Ivy was just at a doctor’s appointment.”
Dad dusted off his hands. “If she got past you, Tess, I fear for us all.”
“I tried to tell her it wasn’t your fault,” Tess said, her eyes full of apology. “Those flowers went through three florists before it got to the wedding—which I told her—but she stormed right past me to yell at you about it.”
I shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, Tess. I can handle her.” At the disbelieving quirk of her mouth, I added, “I mean it. She can get as mad as she wants, I won’t get riled. I’ll hold the bucket so she can dump all her rage into it, and when she’s empty of it, I’ll get whatever done that she needs done. Trust me when I promise you this—Lila Parker cannot get to me.”
At that, Tess laughed. “Famous last words.”
And oh, if I’d only known how right she was.
2
By Design
LILA
A whistle split my lips, my dirty hand in the air to hail a cab.
Eyes were on me, likely marking the filth on my suit. Or perhaps my height or my red hair, the latter calling regular attention. Not that I minded. I wouldn’t wear so much white if I didn’t want to be seen.
White, I’d found, called more attention than red ever could.
Of course, it also fell prey to every surface it touched, especially when I went to that goddamn dirty greenhouse where that goddamn dirty gardener always found a way to get under my skin. And his stupid cat, too.
A taxi screeched to a quick halt in front of me. With the snap of the handle, I was sliding into the back, digging in my purse for my phone.
“Twenty-Third and Sixth,” I said with more bite than I’d meant. With a sigh, I added, “Please.”
With nothing more than a nod, he took off.
In the fifteen minutes I’d spent at Longbourne, my phone had become a mess of messages and calendar alerts. And while I absently cleared them, Kash Bennet dug his way through my brain with his shovel and that smirk and his idiotic T-shirt.