“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE kidding me,” I muttered into the empty SUV as I pulled up to the bullshit rehab place that was more like a five-star resort and laid eyes on the woman standing out front.

Grabbing my phone, I scrolled to the most recent pic of the client, even though I knew what the hell she looked like. I’d had the displeasure of meeting her almost a year ago.

Blonde, stacked, smirking at the camera, her image played me.

I glanced back at the brunette in front of the rehab place who was standing next to two suitcases in fifty degree temps without a coat. Her ass hanging out in hot pants, boots up to her knees, stomach-baring shirt, she’d put on twenty pounds of perfect curves. Flipping her mane of wavy hair that was just begging to be fisted, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she glared at the Escalade.

Fuck my life, she looked like the last brunette I was stupid enough to sink my dick into.

Slowing the SUV to a stop, I put the passenger window down and leveled her with a look.

“You?” Summer Amherst asked in disgust. “What the hell was your name? Tree?”

The same damn instinct that’d hit me downrange right before everything went FUBAR kicked at my gut. I never should’ve agreed to this bullshit assignment. This chick had trouble written all over her, and that was before you took into account her background.

“Do you speak?” she asked slowly, like she talking to a fucking idiot, before her disdain turned into a sneer. “Or do you save that for when you have a gun in each hand?”

“Do you mouth off to everyone who has to bail your ass out?”

“Only the assholes being paid to do dear ole Daddy’s dirty work. Which, super professional attitude, by the way. It almost tops the last time I saw you. I’m sure Leo Amherst will want to hear all about it.”

“Don’t forget I’ve seen you in action, sweetheart. I don’t give two fucks about your father or Trinity Media Group, and I care even less about being professional.” I was only assigned babysitting duty to pick her rich ass up from rehab because she couldn’t keep her shit away from drugs. Selling out anyone and everyone who’d gotten in her way of getting high, she was a goddamn train wreck.

“Whatever.” She reached for the locked door. “What the fuck? Unlock it, you jerk.”

“Two rules,” I stated.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Rule number one,” I continued, ignoring her bullshit. “It’s Shade. Not tree, not asshole, not jerk, not go fuck yourself. Shade. Remember that,” I commanded.

Crossing her arms, she rolled her eyes. “You done, Shade?”

Not by a long shot. “Rule number two. You get in this car, I am the law. What I say, goes. I tell you to do something, you do it. I tell you not to do something, you don’t fucking do it. I tell you to shut your mouth, you bite your goddamn tongue.”

“Is this the kind of loser André hires these days? Control freaks with a god complex who swear every other word because their vernacular sucks? Can you even get it up anymore, old man? Or is this your way of compensating for a small dick and even smaller hard-on?”

If she weren’t twelve fucking years old, I might’ve enjoyed spanking the hell out of her for that last remark. “Get it all out now, because the second your ass hits the front seat, you’re going to be fucking respectful.”

She snorted. “Am I now?”

Mildly amused at her attitude because I was wired wrong, I tipped my chin at her bullshit outfit. “You cold in that getup?”

“Seriously, how old are you? Did you really just say getup?”

“If you’ve got a better word for trolling for attention, sweetheart, I’m all for it.”

“Hmm, let me see if I get this straight.” She grasped her own chin and brought out the innocent routine like a pro—sweet, submissive voice and all. “You can insult me, but I can’t insult you, is that it?” She dropped the pretense. “Nice personality disorder, asshat.”

“Shade,” I corrected. “Answer my question.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dripping sarcasm, she wasn’t sorry. “I thought that was a rhetorical question about me being cold since you’re making me stand out here while you keep the doors locked.”

I fought a smile at my own brilliance of forethought. “Still waiting.”

She finally cracked. “Yes, you fucking asshole jerk, it’s forty degrees outside right now, and I don’t have a coat, so I’m fucking cold.”

“Then find some manners, and you can get in.”

“Manners.” She practically choked on her indignation. “Are you fucking serious? I’m paying you. Open the door, or I’ll have your job.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. I gave zero fucks about the money or if Luna fired me. This was a bullshit assignment, and I was doing him a favor. He knew damn well this bitch had run roughshod over half his employees already, and he knew I wouldn’t put up with it.

“Open the door!” she yelled.

“Manners,” I repeated. She had ten more seconds before I put the window up and drove around the block to teach her a lesson before coming back to see if she’d had an attitude adjustment.

It didn’t take ten seconds.

It didn’t even take five.

Three seconds later, the richest trust fund brat in Florida threw her hands up. “Fine. Whatever. Gee, Mr. Shade, can I please have a ride home to Miami in your warm and comfy SUV while I keep my mouth shut, my attitude in check, and your name branded on my forehead?”

I hit the unlock button.