The Hunter's Angel

B*tches of Honor

"So, Hunter," Carly voiced, drawing out his name in a sultry lilt that caused my blood to boil. "What is it you do for a living?" 

Straight to the point. As if she was trying to deem if he was rich enough to be of any interest to her. 

His tone uniform, Hunter declared vaguely, "I work in the business field." 

I ran my hand across my mouth to hide my smile at his dubious response, knowing he was referring to the fact that he quite literally took care of business. 

Catching my reaction out of the corner of his eye, Hunter's lips curved in amusement. 

Carly flashed him a ditzy smile, twirling her fake blonde locks in her finger as she eyed him up and down. "You look rather young for that."

Could she be more fucking obvious? The woman couldn't even manage fidelity at her own damn wedding. 

Looking at her with pure disinterest, Hunter said dryly, "I get that a lot from older women." 

The look on Carly's face as she turned red with embarrassment too much to handle, and I fought to keep a snicker from bubbling out of my throat at Hunter's retort. 

God, I loved my man. 

My father stirred stiffly, clearly displeased. His eyes fell once more to Hunter's tattoos, and he grimaced as he studied the ink. 

"I'm surprised they let you go into the office like that," my father revealed, motioning to Hunter's inked arms with an offended glance. "Guess business standards have changed since I started." 

Was he fucking serious? 

Anger swelled deep inside of me at his complete lack of respect towards Hunter, and I opened my mouth to tell him off, but Hunter grasped my hand before I could, squeezing it tightly. 

Hunter smiled at my father, his expression pure scorn. "Seeing as I'm the boss, I would say I satisfy my own business standards. But I understand how that could be hard to comprehend when you've only ever worked under others."

Pride rang through me at Hunter's seamless defense, and I reveled in the way my father tensed with humiliation as he looked away, clearly defeated. 

Clearing his throat, my father turned to me to shift the conversation. 

Good idea. 

"So, Layla," he started, "You still doing that internship?" 

Relieved at the change in subject, I nodded, replying, "Yeah, it's going really well. I actually think I might be getting promoted pretty soon." 

My relief was short-lived as my father ruined the lift in mood, shaking his head in dissatisfaction. Not even acknowledging my possible promotion, he protested, "I just don't get why you're still bothering with that low-paying crap. You know you can just come work for me and earn triple what you're getting at that internship." 

Frustration brewed within me at the criticism he loved to make clear every damn time he saw me. 

It was never congratulations, or keep it up! Just the same weight of disappointment. 

"We've been over this, dad," I explained slowly. "I'm not going to take a free pass."

I glanced at Carly, my expression insinuating that all she had ever done was taken free passes. She had basically squeezed every possible drop of money from my father and thrived off of doing it. 

Carly noted the look, a bitter appearance crossing her face before she substituted it with pretend innocence. Nodding in agreement with my father, her lips pouted with mock sympathy. "I would never want to succumb myself to working a job that barely pays."