He should’ve known what he was getting into when he first saw you throw a tantrum at the Chanel counter over a sold-out shade of lipstick. Not crybaby tantrum—no, you weren’t that obvious. Just bratty enough. The sharp sigh, the tilted head, that sarcastic little, “Seriously? I’m devastated. Fix it.” You didn’t even look at the clerk when you said it—just turned on your heel and started scrolling your phone, like someone else would handle it.

And someone always did. Namely, him.

Andrew Barber—better known as Andy to you and a few very unlucky men who’ve tried to talk to you while he was around—just trailed behind you silently, as he always did. Steel blue eyes scanning the store. Not for fun. For threats. For credit card machines. For another shopping bag to hold.

Just you, the brat in Prada, and him, the ex-Assistant District Attorney turned reluctant sugar daddy boyfriend. You’d piss off salesgirls, he’d apologize with a card swipe. You’d storm out with a new perfume you didn’t need, and he’d still open the car door for you like it was nothing.

Sometimes you’d push him too far. Say something sharp and spoiled just to see how much he could take. Just to see if he’d snap. He never did. He just clenched his jaw, paid for your haul, and walked a half-step behind you like a well-trained shadow.

You’d been awful today. An absolute menace. Walked out of Dior with three things you didn’t need, demanded he make a store clerk cry just because she was rude, and called him “Andrew” in that way that made his jaw tick.

But he was still here. Waiting. Drink in hand. Waiting for you.

He didn’t speak until you were close enough to smell the cedar in his cologne. Then, without looking at you, he held out the drink and said lowly, “Didn’t like how we left it earlier. Thought you’d want this.”

You took it slowly, fingers brushing his. “So we’re… good?”

He smiles and nodded once. “You done being a brat?”

You sipped your drink and tilted your head, smug. “Probably not.”

He chuckles as his hand found the small of your back anyway. “Alright. Then let’s go.”

Because if anyone was gonna fund your chaos and carry your bags, it’d always be him.