Barry’s mouth dropped open, and he began to sputter. “I don’t know who you think you are, you little—”

“Whoa. Whatever you’re about to say, you can stop right the fuck there. We’re done here,” I said, cutting him off.

“But—”

“No thank you, sir. We’ll be moving along. Good luck with the divorce and the collection.”

“All over this little bitch?” Barry snapped, his face contorting with rage.

I crossed the room and towered over Barry. “I said we’re done here. I’d advise you to keep any further thoughts to yourself until we’re gone.”

I held out a hand to Elle, and her fingers closed around mine. We left a sputtering Barry alone in the library with his books as we let ourselves out of the condo.

Neither of us spoke until we were down the stairs, and I was pulling open the door to the ’Cuda for Elle. “Seriously, there is no mystery why that guy is getting divorced.”

“I’m with you there; let’s get out of here. I’m sorry for dragging you into that. I thought maybe there’d be a couple pieces I could pick up and flip to some collectors quick, but there’s no price low enough to tempt me to give that man money.”

Elle settled into the car, and I rounded the front to climb in.

“Don’t worry about it. I know his type. I’m just happy for his wife that she’s getting out. Some women don’t have the guts. They crumble when faced with that special brand of asshole. I hope she takes him for all he’s worth.”

Her comment sparked my curiosity. “How long has your mom been married to your stepdad?”

Elle reached for the radio dial and twisted it to a ’70s station. Music filled the car before she answered, “My dad died at the beginning of my freshman year of college. My mom got remarried pretty much right away.”

“And you mentioned a stepbrother?”

“Yeah, the prick who sold the watch. Like father, like son. Both pieces of work.”

“Sounds like your ma can’t be too happy. Why doesn’t she leave him?”

Elle stared out the window. “She’s scared, I think. No way to provide for herself—and that was if she were sober. No one would hire her the way she drinks.”

“She wasn’t always like that though, right?”

“A drunk? No. That was a new development after she got remarried, but it escalated really freaking fast. She can’t control it. It’s part of the reason I don’t trust myself to stop.”

“You aren’t your ma, Elle. Not even close.”

She didn’t reply.

We drove the rest of the way to Chains with the only sound in the car the Rolling Stones. I didn’t have anything against the Stones, but I didn’t like the way Elle had drawn into herself.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just thinking about that douche and his crazy collection. How many Kama Sutras does one guy really need?”

I forced a laugh, because she was changing the subject on purpose. I decided to let her. “Good point.”

“You know he had to be compensating for having a tiny penis. That’s the only explanation I could honestly come up with. Which means you were basically preempted from being able to buy it, because you do not have a tiny penis.”

I resisted the urge to grab my dick. It was a guy thing; don’t ask me why.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get the chance to bid. I’d hate to have to prove my manhood to you.”

“I guess I should’ve let you buy it so you would’ve been forced to. Regularly and enthusiastically. Damn. What was I thinking?” Elle joked.

I was going to have to work harder to fuck the sass right out of the woman—that was clear. But goddamn if we weren’t going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Multiple orgasms were a fantastic way to start the day, but unfortunately the happy buzz drained out of me as soon as the chauffer-driven Mercedes pulled up in front of Chains. Arnie, my mother’s driver, came around to open the back door, and I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought he shot a look of sympathy toward the window.

Shit.

My mother swooped out of the car, luckily on Tory Burch flats and not heels, because I could tell from the slight wobble to her walk she’d already had a few.

Lord had headed back to the office to take a call, but Mathieu was dusting the rack of guitars by the front door.

I really don’t want an audience for this.

“Mathieu, why don’t you—”

The chime above the door cut off my words.

“You’ve got to be joking. This cannot be the right place. There’s no way that Eleanor would lower herself to work in this dump.”

I hated when she called me Eleanor. Hated it.

Mathieu’s head snapped up. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

My mother’s nose wrinkled like she smelled something rotten. “I sincerely doubt it.” Her eyes scanned the shop and zeroed in on me. “Really, Eleanor. This cannot possibly be where you’ve been spending your time. That dirty little place in the Vieux Carré was bad enough, but this—are you out of your mind?”

Her shrill voice carried enough to have Lord coming up from the back hall into the main shop.

His presence produced another nose wrinkle and a sharp glance at me. “Don’t tell me that this is the proprietor.”

“Can we help you with something, ma’am?”

It was nearly the same question Mathieu had just asked, but with this one my mother decided to get creative in her answer. “Yes, please fire Eleanor so I can collect her and her belongings and get out of this disgusting place.”

A muscle ticked in Lord’s jaw, but he kept his words light “You didn’t tell me your name was Eleanor, sweet thing. That’s First Lady material right there.”

The disgusted sound that came out of my mother’s mouth was truly unladylike. “He calls you a pet name? Please tell me you’re not sleeping with the man. That’d be just—”

“Ma’am, I’d suggest you stop right there.” All the easiness had left his tone.

“Mathieu, could you give us a minute?” I asked.

He nodded and walked toward the back room. Twenty bucks said he’d be listening anyway, but at least I didn’t have to see the respect fade from his eyes when my mother unloaded whatever tirade she was about to unleash.