Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I look over and a small grin plays at his lips. I really wish he’d take off that hat that’s making him look so ruggedly handsome.
“Ok, one,” he starts, but I’m already gone. I figure it’s only fair I get a head start. Besides, he should admire my tenacious desire to win. Since I don’t really know how to get started, I give an awkward attempt to run. It may not be the most graceful thing, but it works, and the next thing I know, the wind is hugging my face. I ski like a champion. For about a second. I wouldn’t exactly call what I’m doing skiing, more like trying to keep my legs together, which is what I should have done in the first place. Pricks of snow pelt my face, and my heart races faster than I’m flying as a tall black-clothed body whizzes past me like a gold medal skier.
“My soaps are hypoallergenic,” I yell out in a futile attempt to distract him. It doesn’t work, and my survival instincts kick in as he swooshes to a winning stop. Something I don’t know how to do. “Oh fuck,” I mutter as I drag my useless poles and then slam them down, sending myself face first into a bed of snow.
“Are you ok?” Graham asks, kneeling beside me.
“I seem to be.” I roll over, cautiously, making sure all my body parts work. “Am I bleeding? Don’t tell me if I am. If I have any major trauma, I don’t really want to know.”
With a gentle swipe that sends warmth all the way to my toes, he removes the snow from my cheeks, then releases the skis from my feet to help me up. “No, you’re not bleeding.”
“Best out of three?” I try, knowing there’s no way I could beat him in a rematch.
He smirks. “So you can cheat again?”
“Guess cheaters never win is a real thing.” Resigned to losing, I dust myself off. “Ok, congratulations. What’s your proposal?”
And then, he nearly knocks me off my feet with a snowball of words. “We’re getting married.”
Chapter 5
Graham
Maybe I should’ve softened the proposal blow. I’ve been told I’m too blunt, maybe it’s true. I have no experience in the fiancée department, but it can’t be good that Zoe is now the same color as the snow beneath our feet. Silent and owl eyed, she stares at me as if I’ve just grown another head. Which, I guess she would. On the romantic side, however, a light snow falls all around her, and if this were a real proposal, it’d be perfect.
“We’re not really getting married,” I explain. “I need someone…” I trail off, rubbing my thumb along my jaw. “I need someone to come home with me for the holidays.”
After what seems like an eternity, she finally squeaks out a “Why?”
For some reason, it reminds me of the helmet wearing little mouse approaching a trap on a demotivational poster in one of my employee’s office.
“It’s my mother. It’s complicated.” I smile, hoping my charm will help land my proposal. “Come on, you in? You did lose, after all.”
My charm must be rusty, because she gives me a little eye roll. “What would I have to do...exactly?”
“Just pretend to be my fiancée. My mother thinks I’m engaged.”
“Why does she think you are?”
“Maybe because I told her I was?” It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but my mother is relentless. “You’ll understand when you meet her.”
As a little Jedi mind trick I learned along the path to success, I speak in certainties so she’s already envisioning it as a done deal.
“You mean if I meet your mother?”
Of course, it wouldn’t work on someone like Zoe. “I know this is crazy. Really, I do. It would be a simple meet my family, and after, we can break up.” And then I throw in the clincher, because she doesn’t look sold just yet, “And your soaps will be in every cabin on this mountain.” Her eyes shine at that, and I tuck away the unfamiliar feel of disappointment that she clearly doesn’t like me enough to just go along with this insane idea. “We’ll just need to get you a ring.”
She glances at her glove-covered left hand. “A ring?”
“Yes, you know, an engagement ring.”
“Why?”
“No mother would believe her son is getting married without a ring on her finger.”
“Can’t we just say we wanted to wait?”
I step closer. “Look, we want to sell this engagement, right? Make it look real? So, you need a big fat rock.”
She laughs a little. “Ok, but I’m returning it to you after this is over.”
The non-business part of me is kind of fucking pleased that Zoe isn’t the type to milk this for all its worth. I like that. It says a lot about her character. The women I’ve dealt with in the past have all been about the money. “I’ll have Jean select something. What’s your ring size?” I grab my cell, ready to make the call.