Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You expect me to believe you’re in the dark about this?” Everything I know about him says that’s impossible.
We stand in front of his windows, the entire city at our feet.
“I met with my agent an hour ago,” I explain crisply. “Your marketing agency just offered me a deal to represent the You Do You campaign because of my thirst trap. The one for you. The one we fucking flirted over.” I point to him. “The one that got you to come to the goddamn ballpark. The one that started everything.”
My voice rises with every line. Passion and emotion storm inside me. What the hell is going on with me? I feel so much for this man that it’s consuming me. “And it’s a great offer. But I feel like you’re trying to buy my yes.”
There. I’ve put it all out there.
I expect Rafe’s cool reserve to slip into place, but he only looks mystified.
“I had no idea,” he says, as if he’s doing a lightning-fast scan of his brain for some clue. “I didn’t know a thing about this.”
None of this makes any sense. I shake my head, trying to sort out which is more likely—that Rafe is that good an actor or that he didn’t know the marketing plan. “It’s your company. You love your business. How could you miss that they offered me a deal?”
Rafe’s dark gaze pops with some realization, then he drops his head into his hands and says, “Because I fucked up.”
31
ONE NIGHT OR NOTHING
Rafe
I can’t believe I did something so utterly uncharacteristic of me, wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t so sure what had happened.
Matthew set the campaign proposal in front of me at the marketing meeting the other day, and I signed off on it. His briefing must have included the celebrities he’d booked or hoped to book, and I’d missed it.
How could I have been so careless?
I set down my glass, cross to Gunnar, and take his shoulders. “Let me tell you what happened.” I want to beg him to understand, even though admitting my mistake feels like ripping out a piece of my black heart. But the truth matters, no matter how embarrassing, and I need to tell him.
“Then elaborate,” he says, still caustic.
I despise being vulnerable. I hate letting people see my flaws. But in his shoes, I’d feel bought too. When I look into those gorgeous blue eyes and see the hurt, I’d do anything to win his trust again.
“I would never do that to you. I respect you too much,” I begin. “You have to know that.”
“I didn’t think so.” His tone says I owe him a lot more than a vague explanation. “But, seriously, Rafe. What the hell?”
With a surge of regret, I grip him tighter. “Let me check my facts. I want to tell you the truth, but I have to see if my suspicions are right.”
I go to my couch and flip open my laptop on the table. “I put my phone on do not to disturb tonight,” I explain, still a little flustered.
“Okay?” Gunnar says, clearly needing more details.
“I set it so only your texts and calls would come through,” I say, hoping this insight helps Gunnar see my intentions—I wanted to only focus on him tonight. “But Matthew—he’s my marketing director—said he was going to send me final papers this evening for our new marketing campaign and I didn’t want to deal with it knowing you were coming over.”
Except, I fear I know the answer to Gunnar’s what the hell happened question and it lies in my obsession. I click over to my email, ignoring Theresa’s note about the upcoming meetings in London with Bespoke, a company we’re trying to acquire. Instead, I open the note from Matthew, then click on the PDF for the You Do You contract. All I have to do is search for the name Gunnar Ford and it comes up immediately. I close my eyes, drop my head into my hand, and groan in utter frustration. Over myself – I missed this key detail of him.
“What the hell is going on, Rafe?”
“Matthew sent this over to me. It’s the final contract for the You Do You campaign. The one that I signed,” I say meeting his gaze. He’s wary. Of course he is. I haven’t even begun to explain myself fully. But I hope my face and the anguish I feel is a beginning. “Please stay.”
He walks from the window to the couch but doesn’t sit. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Some of the anger is stripped from his tone. But I want to remove it all. He deserves that much for the trust he has given me in our nights together.
“Please,” I implore, reaching for his hand. “I want to explain it fully.”
Gunnar takes my hand. “So talk, Rafe. Tell me what happened,” he says softly, then sits next to me.