His certainty. His conviction. His heartbreaking confession. They all reinforced what I knew I needed to do. Tell Denton the dick to go fuck himself and help my mother find a way off the rocky path she’d slid down. But how was she going to take the news that her marriage was ending because I was selfish enough to not want to give up Lord? Because that was ultimately how I expected her to see it. That was how I had to be prepared for her to see it. She would never forgive me for destroying her life—but I could live without her forgiveness; I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to save her.

I squared my shoulders, determination filling me. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” I looked up at Lord’s gorgeous face. “How are we going to do it exactly?”

His smile was small, but it hit me right in the chest. My heart expanded with his approval.

“I’ve got a friend who runs a rehab program. She’ll be able to help us out.”

“Rehab?”

Lord stroked my back, as if preparing me for the bomb he was going to drop. “You know we can’t do this ourselves, right? To get her well again, we need professionals. She’s sick, Elle. She doesn’t drink like that because it’s something she can control.”

Logically, I knew this, but part of me was stuck in the head of the teenager who’d been so devastated that my mother had moved on before my father was even cold in his tomb. Everything she’d done had seemed intentional at that point, including her descent into the bottle. It was something I’d spent a whole lot more effort avoiding thinking about than I had spent analyzing rationally.

“I know you’re right. It’s just … it’s hard to think of my mom in rehab. That’s where other people go.”

Lord smoothed his hand up and down my back again. “This place is nice, and if you’ve got the cash to send her there, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed by the treatment she gets.”

“I’ve got the cash. For whatever she needs.” I flicked my eyes up to his. “Denton said she signed a prenup. She’s going to lose everything when I tell him I’m not toeing his line. She’s never going to forgive me, because while I’ve got cash, I don’t have the kind of money Denton does. I don’t have what it takes to support her in a big house with all the staff without draining myself dry fairly quick.”

“She’ll have to learn to adjust.”

“Or she’ll remarry again.” I hated to say it, but I also had to recognize it was a possibility.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s focus on getting her better, okay?”

“Okay.” I hauled in a deep breath. “Now I just have to tell her. She’s going to lose her mind.”

“Let Denton break the news. He’s the dick who’s going to leave his wife. We’ll be there to pick up the pieces and deal with the aftermath.”

“Okay,” I said again. “But do I wait out his timeline, or do I just call him right now and tell him to fuck off?”

Lord considered for a moment. “I say we use the time we’ve got to line up our next steps. No need to force his hand.”

Another thought occurred to me. “What if he doesn’t follow through? What if he decides not to leave her?”

“Then we come up with another plan to get her away from him.” He smiled. “Even if it means getting another picture of your ass in the paper.”

I reached down and touched the side of my hip where my tattoo was healing and starting to itch. “Another one? Well … there is something I was thinking of…”

Lord slid his hands over my ass and pulled me tight against him again. “Uh oh, you’ve got the bug now. Next thing you know, you’ll have thug life tatted on your knuckles—in pink.”

I reached up and shoved at his shoulder. “Only if you get true love on yours in purple.”

He shook his head at me, and tucked another section of my hair behind my ear. “You feeling good about this plan?”

I pushed up onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his jaw. “I’m feeling good about this plan and a lot of other things right now.”

“Good. I’ll make a few calls before we head home.”

Home. Things were moving faster than the speed of sound between Lord and me, but I was already just as comfortable in his space as I was in my own. And the thought didn’t terrify me.

“That sounds perfect. I’ve got a few other things I want to do before closing.”

“We’ll swing by the market on the way, because I’m cooking for you tonight.”

Men should never underestimate how sexy they look in front of a stove. Or a cutting board. Or a sink filled with bubbling dishwater.

For the record, I’d offered to help, but Lord had shooed me back around the other side of the counter and refilled my glass of sparkling water. I’d been shocked that he’d had “fancy water,” as he’d called it, and the gesture was noted and appreciated.

“I really can help,” I protested. It was a weak protest though, because I was utterly content sipping Perrier and staring at his ass as he reached up to grab a bottle of spices out of the cupboard.

Lord was sautéing the trinity in a pot, and it already smelled delicious. You’d think jambalaya would get old living in NOLA, but trust me, it never did. Lord claimed that he had a special tweak that made his jambalaya the best I’d ever taste.

“This kitchen only needs one cook right now, and I’ve got it covered.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You just relax, sweet thing.”

“Why do you call me that?”

He paused before turning back to the stove and stirring the pot. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just wondered if there was a specific reason. I mean, you’ve been calling me that since the first day I showed up looking for a job.”

“That day is still burned into my brain. Especially you in that green dress. You haven’t worn it again since. Probably a good thing because I would’ve bent you over the couch and fucked you until you couldn’t balance on those sexy heels of yours.”

“The dress is in the hamper at my apartment. I need to make a trip to the dry cleaner before we can make that fantasy a reality.”