Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I laughed out loud, feeling way lighter than I had all day.
Me: You’re right. That sounds awful. How did you ever survive?
Firecracker: Funnily enough, I found a brand-new pair of AirPods just sitting on my nightstand this morning, so I cranked up my music and tuned them out. :) It was fate, I think.
Yeah. I was starting to think it was.
Firecracker: Whatcha doin?
I glanced over at my phone and smiled, then pushed my chair back from my desk, stretching my neck from side to side.
My Tuesday had gotten off to a rough start. It seemed I’d gotten a little too used to Nat at Sweet Buns having my usual coffee order ready when I walked in the door, so when the barista at my usual coffeehouse—a guy I’d spent arguably more minutes of my life with than half the guys I’d fucked—had spelled my name wrong, it had made me question my life choices.
Who the hell spelled JT wrong?
But the real trouble had started when Ginny from Baby Virginia Winery had called early this morning to accept the contract I’d presented the day before.
Ordinarily, signing a contract would have been cause for celebration, but Ginny had been so damn trusting and excited about what this meant for her employees that I’d strongly suspected she hadn’t really understood the part of the contract that said we’d move a large part of her operation away from her facility in Christiansburg.
There’d been a long silence on the line while I wrestled with my conscience—the deal was not sneaky or underhanded in any way. Those contract terms were industry standard, and Fortress was offering very attractive compensation that Ginny needed in order to keep Baby Virginia competitive. After all, not everyone was like Flynn, willing to turn down big money to keep their operation local.
But then a familiar, scathing voice had sounded in my head—“Is being rich the most important thing, Rainmaker?”—and I’d caved. I’d told a very bewildered Ginny to have her attorney go over everything with her one more time before she signed… and then I’d spent five full minutes banging my head against my desk after hanging up, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me.
I still wasn’t entirely sure, but the way that my heart leaped at a simple two-word text from Flynn was probably a pretty good clue.
Me: Drowning slowly under a mountain of contract research. This message is my dying gasp. You?
Firecracker: Drowning slowly under vats of mead that need to be bottled. Working on a new varietal.
Me: Well, shit. I feel like you get the better end of this deal.
Firecracker: Yeah? Well whenever you’re ready to trade in your high-profile, extremely profitable career for backbreaking labor with no job security and no 401k, come see me.
I snorted. After a day like today, he had no clue how tempting that was.
Me: Question—Would the job benefits include unlimited access to the mead?
Firecracker: Fuck no. You can’t drink my profits, Frog.
Me: Damn. What about unlimited access to the meadmaker?
Bubbles swirled next to his name for a long moment, and I bit my lip, imagining him blushing as he worked out a reply.
Firecracker: Not at this time, but I’ll ask Kendall and Dan what they think of that employee benefit at the next team meeting.
A bark of laughter burst out of me, so startling in the quiet office that one of the PAs passing my open door fumbled her coffee.
God, I really liked Flynn Honeycutt.
Me: On second thought, maybe better to reconsider the free mead.
Firecracker: lol. Is that your professional advice? I mean, if you’re sure…
Me: Very. I’ll negotiate my access to the meadmaker separately.
Firecracker: Oh, will you now? Hmm. You can try, Rainmaker. But I only handle that type of negotiation in person.
Me: I promise you, Honeycutt, it’ll be a VERY personal negotiation.
The bubbles swirled next to his name once again, for longer this time.
He was blushing. He was so definitely blushing.
Firecracker: Stop distracting me when I’m working, JT.
Uh-huh. I laughed out loud again, then sighed as I tucked my phone away and got back to work.
Me: Pumpkin pie and mead are two things that should not be together. I refuse to believe that’s your new varietal. It’s still mid-summer for god’s sake.
Firecracker: But summer won’t last forever.
I scowled down at my phone. I’d asked a single, innocent question about the new type of mead Flynn was dreaming up, and the man was being annoyingly tight-lipped about it, teasing me with nonanswers and stupid remarks.
Me: Stop the lies and spill some actual details, Honeycutt.
Firecracker: Ohhh, I see. You’re still drowning in paperwork, aren’t you?
Yes. Yes, I was. And ready for the weekend, despite it only being Tuesday night.
Me: So what if I am?
Firecracker: Sooooo, your work makes you bitter, Jon. The only people who don’t adore pumpkin pie flavored ANYTHING are bitter people.