Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Fortunately, Logan Michaelson seems amused more than anything else.
“Please, sit,” he says in a deep voice once we’re alone, gesturing to the lavish seating area. “You must be Roberta Cross. I’m Logan Michaelson.”
I nod and manage to stammer.
“Yes, please call me Rocky. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for sponsoring the pageant.”
The man takes a seat on the couch across from me, folding his long legs, his blue eyes still twinkling with amusement.
“It’s no problem, and Michaelson Homes is always ready to invest in our community. So how are you enjoying your win, Miss Cross?”
I manage to paste a smile on my face.
“It’s great! Winning is just the beginning and I hope to showcase my dedication to Millbrook in the weeks to come. As you know, I was only crowned last week, but I’m excited to get to work. Thank you again for sponsoring the pageant because it means a lot to all of us. You’re part of why we can keep doing what we do!”
He nods, amused at my obviously scripted response.
“Wonderful.”
But then those blue eyes dart to the door and he grins, looking simultaneously mischievous and devilish, if that’s possible.
“Miss Cross, I’ve been in this business a long time, so let’s dispense with the formalities, seeing that we have some time to ourselves. How are you really enjoying your win? I’d like to hear it from you.”
I glance at the door. Ursula is nowhere to be seen, and I could spill my guts to this man. But caution makes me hold back because I don’t know this person from John Doe. Maybe it’s a trap.
“It’s great!” I say in that same chirpy tone. “I’m meeting lots of community groups, neighborhood organizations, not to mention merchant associations and powerful philanthropists like yourself. I hope to learn more about each group’s platform before highlighting and elevating their missions!”
Logan Michaelson merely snorts, a bit rudely this time. What the hell! He doesn’t like my answer? Well, what does he expect?
“Listen hon,” he drawls. “I’m only going to say it one more time. What’s the skinny behind all this marketing bullcrap you’re putting out? Seriously, you sound like a puppet right now.”
I stare at him.
“Pardon me?”
He shrugs.
“I’m serious. Did they make you memorize a bunch of canned responses? You could be a telemarketer, or a parrot with your ready-made blabber.”
Holy fuck! This asshole is so rude! Suddenly, I’m blistering mad and start to fume. You know what, I’ll tell Logan Michaelson what it’s really like. I’ll dump my shit on this man and wipe that smirk off his handsome face once and for all.
“For your information, the pageant was expensive. Like real expensive, and now I have no money because of all the clothes and shit I had to buy. So yeah, you guys are forcing me into bankruptcy. That’s how it’s really going.”
One black brow rises.
“Bankruptcy? Really?”
I snort.
“Yeah, because I have no other options! I spent my savings on crap like gowns, jewelry, and heels, not to mention professional hair and make-up. I even hired a pageant coach to get my walk down pat! So now, I’m broke and looking at bankruptcy. So yeah, thanks. I appreciate it.”
Logan stares at me, but then bursts out laughing as his handsome face creases with mirth. What the hell? He should be apologizing right now for the harm the pageant’s inflicted, or at least begging on his knees for forgiveness. Instead, he thinks this is funny? My temperature skyrockets, and I can feel the tips of my ears burn.
“What. The. Hell,” I grind out, fuming with rage.
He continues laughing, but then holds one big hand up.
“Sorry,” he coughs, still choked up with mirth. “Just give me a second.”
I’m so pissed that I think about getting up and storming out, Ursula be damned. But then Logan speaks.
“Listen, I had no idea that the contest would be so … ah, financially ruinous. But I have an idea. Come by my house later tonight, and we’ll talk. You can get the address from my secretary.”
I stare at him.
“Talk about what?”
He shrugs.
“About getting you out of this mess, of course.”
I stare hard at him again.
“Why can’t we talk now?”
The billionaire merely sends me another cheeky grin.
“Because we’ll need privacy when we do. Ah, Ursula!” he greets as the door opens once more. “I was just talking with Roberta here about her duties as Miss Millbrook. May I commend you on the selection of Miss Cross as our latest winner? She’ll be a fine representative of our town, I must say.”
With that, Ursula sits, handing me a paper towel while shooting me a warning look that screams, “Let me do the talking.” Then, the rest of the meeting proceeds as if I’m not even there. Instead, Ursula and Mr. Michaelson chat about all sorts of benign topics, from the latest Fireman’s Charity Ball, to planning for next year’s Miss Millbrook event. In fact, when it’s time to leave, it’s almost as if my outburst never happened. But as Logan shakes my hand at the door, those blue eyes gleam knowingly.