Fight Dirty Read Free Page B

kissing the puckered burn scar there. Why upset him? Morgan was gone. Andre was here. Jenna was happy. Wasn’t that enough to deal with without adding the chaos that was Morgan to the mix?
    She pulled him down to her and kissed him deeply. “Nothin g’s wrong,” she murmured. “Everythin g’s perfect.” She broke away, took another deep breath, and glanced at the clock. “Showtime.”
    They headed downstairs to their offices on the second floor. Pride warmed her, just as it did every time she glimpsed the frosted-glass door with their names on it in bold lettering. No one giving her orders, no protocols to adhere to, no bosses to answer to.
    Andre allowed her the honor of opening the door. She walked inside, expecting the smells of drywall and paint, anticipating the sight of a few folding tables and chairs scattered around what would eventually become their reception area.
    Instead she was greeted by a mahogany receptionis t’s desk sitting across from an intimate cluster of leather chairs gathered around a circular Brazilian heartwood coffee table—the same one sh e’d flagged in an interior design magazine. Beyond it, the consultation room, the only room with the drywall finished, had also been miraculously furnished exactly as she had imagined.
    She turned to Andre. “Did you do this?”
    He shook his head in confusion. Before he could answer, a petite, dark-haired woman emerged from the back office, her arms filled with file folders and steno pads. She wore a sophisticated designer suit and looked like any twenty-something executive assistant.
    Except this woman—girl, really—was no on e’s assistant.
    Jenna knew better than anyone that Morgan Ames was a natural born killer.

CHAPTER 3
    J enna,” Morgan said brightly, although her attention was on Andre. He was the wild card here. Jenna, well, Jenna would do what was best for Jenna. She always did, which made her ridiculously easy to manipulate. And right now what was best for Jenna would be to follow Morga n’s lead.
    “I’ve got the small office ready for the Greenes.” She handed Jenna the client files before turning to the coffeemaker in an alcove opposite the reception area. “Andre, I think you’ll like this.” She handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “I t’s your favorite blend. Kona and Sumatra Gayo.”
    He took the cup, holding it in front of him, ready to drink it or use it as a weapon. He never fully dropped his guard around Morgan—only showed how smart the man was. She smiled at him. It was so good that Jenna had him. After all, it wasn’t as if Morgan could always be around to protect Jenna. Mostly from Jenn a’s own poor judgment and need for drama.
    “Morgan—” Jenna started before she stopped and glanced inside the smaller office, now also furnished exactly according to Jenn a’s plans with intimately placed dark-red leather love seats and chairs. Confessional chic ,Jenn a’s notes had read, a place where clients can confide their darkest secrets. Morgan thought it was a bit melodramatic, but no one had consulted her, and right now it was all about keeping Jenna happy.
    Jenna stumbled, then finished, “Why—how—what the hell?”
    This was the fun part, plunging off the cliff without a net. Morgan lived for this, relished the exhilaration that rushed her veins, adrenaline hitting harder than the purest cocaine.
    She had no idea how much Jenna had told Andre, and it was Andre sh e’d have to win over. She knew how Jenn a’s mind worked—very much like her own, only dosed with unhealthy amounts of anxiety and self-doubt. Jenna would see the advantages to having her around. Not just to make use of her skills but also to keep an eye on her.
    Not unlike the deal Morgan had made with their mutual therapist, Nick Callahan. Wouldn’t you rather know where I am and what I’m doing? sh e’d asked at her first session with him. Easy choice for anyone who knew what she was capable of.
    “Thanks again for letting me work