So Maybe I Want A Bad Boy!

AN: sorry for the late update, will payback with two chapters. Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clad.

The trip had taken an unexpected turn.

I sat alone on the plane for most of it, watching the empty seat beside me. Harley was sick. Or was she? Anything was possible with her. She was a lawyer—or ex-lawyer, technically—so she was capable of anything. It didn't make sense for her to suddenly fall ill. No, she was avoiding me.

And I was going to find out why.

Before I could consider my next move, my phone buzzed. Liam.

Liam:Damn it, the least you could do is say hello. I made it in time for my flight—barely—and the only reason I did was because your friend racked up a $5,000 speeding ticket.

I smirked, typing back lazily.

That's one hell of a long message. You want me to read it out loud?

Liam: Fuck you. I worked up a real nasty one for you. FIVE THOUSAND. Where am I supposed to pull that from?

You're not exactly broke

Neither are you, but you're flying economy.* Liam scoffed.

Max. That bastard. Is he your spy?

Liam: Nonsense. Anyway, I don't have much time for my tea time, so I'll be direct. Have you done it?

Tea time? Shouldn't you be sleeping? It's morning where you are.

Liam: Ever heard of night shifts, smartass

Now answer the damn question.

I sighed.

You're way too invested in other people's business.

Liam: Well, given that I got her fired and. then.she *miraculously* landed in your lap, I think I deserve a play-by-play, no?

No. You're annoying. Go put up some IV drips or something. I've got places to be.

I sent the message and switched off my phone before he could respond.

Harley had really ruined my plans. A seven-hour flight, and instead of conversation, I got an empty seat and a no-show escort.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in fifteen minutes. Please remain in your seats."

Time to end this.

I stood up, ignoring the announcement, and walked straight to the restroom. I leaned against the railing outside, arms crossed, waiting.

Nothing.

She was still in there.

I closed my eyes, counting the seconds, trying to be patient. But patience wasn't my strong suit. After a few more minutes of dead silence, I exhaled sharply and waved over an attendant.

"Excuse me," I said smoothly, flashing a polite smile. "My friend has been in there for hours. We're about to land. Could you check on her?"

The attendant nodded and disappeared inside. A moment later, she returned—with Harley.

And she looked like hell.

Her hair was a mess, her complexion sickly pale, and her eyes were dull. She looked like she'd been hit by a truck, dragged for a mile, and forced to sit through her own funeral.

"You look horrible for someone who ditched their job for three hours," I said, not even trying to hold back. Though, if I was being honest, the messy hair almost suited her.

Harley scoffed, rolling her eyes. Then, without acknowledging me further, she turned to the flight attendant and smiled. "Thanks for the help. I appreciate it."

The attendant nodded but gave me a strange look as she passed by.

I ignored it.

"You called?" Harley asked flatly, walking past me.

"Yeah, I had no clue if you were dead or alive. So, I asked someone to check," I said, following her. "Besides, you weren't doing your job, dear escort, so I had every right to be worried."

"Of course. You're absolutely right. And I'm sorry—it was just a stupid tummy bug. Nothing serious."

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." She shot me an innocent look. "You're just full of surprises. First, you cuss. Now, you apologize. What's next? A formal apology for what you should actually be sorry for?"

The air shifted.

Harley stiffened, her entire body going rigid. "What do you mean?"

My gaze darkened.

"Nothing," I said coolly. "Just that your little fake act ruined my one chance at actual sleep this week. I wonder what your father would say about that."

She let out a short laugh. "Fake? I had some seriously bad mac and cheese. Thought it would kill me. But sure, let's go with your version. Sounds more dramatic."

I didn't respond.

The final announcement came, signaling our landing. We gathered our things and prepared to leave, but as soon as we stepped off the plane, security was waiting.

One of the attendants from earlier walked toward me, two guards in tow.

"Excuse me, sir. You need to come with us."

I blinked. "What?"

Before I could process what was happening, Harley put on a performance so convincing, I almost believed it myself.

"Thank you so much, sirs," she said, her voice dripping with distress. "He's a bitter ex. I didn't think it was this bad until he followed me halfway around the world."

The hell?

She turned to me with a sympathetic sigh, shaking her head like she pitied me. "See? He's in denial. Please be gentle with him, okay? Just give him some solid breakup advice. He really needs it. I just can't go back to him. His snoring—God, his snoring—I couldn't take it anymore."

I stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.

"Harley—"

"Sir, you know the protocol," one of the guards interrupted. "Please come with us. We'll just hold you for a few minutes to… detox and rethink your life choices."

Harley bit her lip, trying way too hard to suppress a smile.

I sighed. "Fine."

They led me away, but before we got far, Harley called out.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough for only me to hear.

"It's a good day to be a dog, isn't it?" she murmured, eyes gleaming. "Now our misfortunes align. Maybe now you'll understand how fast things can go downhill."

I smirked, tilting my head. "A bitter ex? You think you could even handle one, Harley? You were smarter than this in high school. Has being street smart dulled your creativity?"

She chuckled, leaning in. "Guess you'll never find out. I'm heading to our hotel. You? Enjoy your therapy session."

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she turned away. "Be gentle with him," she told security. "His heart is soft and fragile."

They escorted me into custody, where I was subjected to a painfully awkward breakup recovery seminar. But while they droned on about "moving on" and "self-growth," my attention was elsewhere.

Through the window, I spotted Harley outside, rummaging frantically through her bag.

I smirked.

Pulling out my phone, I typed a message.

Good luck getting to your hotel. I wonder if drivers here accept IOU letters.

Then, when she finally looked up, I waved at her.

With her purse. A tiny, delicate thing.

Her eyes widened.

Checkmate.

It was like we were back in high school, only now, chess wasn't the only game worth playing with her.

Bitter ex?

Ha.