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Rich watched us with unabashed curiosity, seeming a little sympathetic that I’d somehow managed to run afoul of the boss after just walking through the doors. Damn it. That meant that Brody was winning this invisible battle of wills between us, and I couldn’t have that.

Brody held the door open for me, and I paused on the threshold and brought my hand up to his face. He didn’t flinch. I patted his cheek softly.

“Oh, Brody. She’s your mom too now, remember?”

Rich’s ultra-dramatic intake of breath filtered to me, and then I stepped out onto the street, satisfied with a comeback for once.

Half an hour later, I wasn’t feeling quite so smug anymore. Brody had marched me into a shop just down the street, the same one my mom liked. Inside, he’d walked around and ordered the assistants trailing us to set up a changing room, and pointed at damn near everything in the store to be put on a rack and brought over.

Now, I stood in my underwear behind the curtain, my limbs aching from trying on clothes.

“Hurry up, we don’t have all day,” Brody said from just beyond the curtain.

I yanked a cashmere dress off a hanger and pulled it on, smoothing it down my legs before ripping the curtain back.

“Yeah, I know. So why don’t you end this torture now? I think we’ve got enough to manage one day a week of intern work. What’s all this other stuff for?”

Brody sat on a velvet-covered sofa, normally reserved for boyfriends and husbands, obviously. He looked away from his phone to give me a critical once-over.

The assistant fluttered just behind me, waiting for the master’s commands.

“Just try things on faster, and then we’ll be done faster. Funny how that works, isn’t it? Good, we’ll take it,” he muttered to the assistant, who nodded.

“Is this a joke? Why are you buying so much? I won’t wear any of this except for at the office, so it’s a waste of money.”

“My father always taught me that spending money on family and beautiful women was never wasted,” Brody said and smirked at his phone. “You’re the former, if you’re wondering.”

I blew out a sigh of frustration and rolled my eyes, backing into the changing room. This whole ordeal almost felt like a punishment of some kind.

“Is this because I ripped your T-shirt this morning? Surely the punishment should fit the crime,” I called as I took the dress off and dragged on a short linen skirt and white button-down shirt. Leaving it unbuttoned, I poked my head around the curtain.

“Please, end this torture now—” I said, and then yelped when Brody appeared right beside me, pushing the curtain back with one big, tatted hand.

“Maybe it was my favorite shirt,” he said and scanned me up and down.

I grabbed the edges of the open dress shirt and clamped the sides closed.

“Or you could just tell me who you’ve decided to break my rules for to go out with, and we can leave.”

“So, this is a punishment. No. I’m not telling you, so you can go and harass some poor innocent guy.”

“Worried about him, are you? How sweet,” Brody murmured. He leaned on the wall and watched me.

“You’re being ridiculous. While we’re talking about your rules, I’m going to practice auditioning for the play tonight at a friend’s place.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am. There’s nothing embarrassing about the arts for the family reputation, remember.”

“Which friend?”

I blew out a long breath and turned to Brody. I walked up to him, reached out, and picked up his hand. He studied me curiously while I held it between us.

“Listen to me carefully, Sinclair. You’re not my dad. I’m not ten years old. Say it with me. I know you can do it.”

“Very funny,” he drawled.

I went to drop his hand and turn away when his fingers suddenly tightened around mine, and he tugged me closer. I collided with his chest, forgetting all about holding my shirt closed as I banged into him.