Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Why do you say that? Hugh’s good-looking and kind.”
I finally reached out to take her hand. “Abby, I couldn’t agree more. But I’m not happy ever after material, and Hugh knows that. Just friends.”
I heard a slight intake of breath and turned. Hugh stood in the doorway, his eyes glancing past me to Abby.
“Very good friends,” Hugh added. After making sure Abby wasn’t more injured than he’d expected, he held out his hand to me.
I stared at it.
I wanted to pull him against me, bury my nose in his neck, and inhale his scent again. I wanted to thread my fingers through his curls, tilt his head back, and hear his breathy gasp before I brushed my lips against his. I wanted to taste him and touch him and reach across the bed in the morning to caress his sleep-warmed back. I wanted to see him smile in the sunshine and feel the little hop-skip of my heart when I glimpsed his adorably crooked canine.
I wanted to tell his sister it had all been a big, fat lie.
Instead, I forced a smile and took his hand. “The best,” I agreed.
Then I made my goodbyes and left before I could change my mind.
“Peter says he can’t possibly get a prototype until…” Lesya sat in the chair across from the desk in my office, consulting her tablet. “The third week of May.”
I snorted. “Tell Peter to try again. This is the third delay in as many months, with no solid explanation. I could get out my Popsicle sticks and craft glue and come up with a prototype in half that time. If they want our investment, they can prioritize our request.”
Lesya grinned and typed on her screen before finishing with a flourish. “Done. I omitted the part about the Popsicle sticks. You’ll thank me later.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “Is that everything on the list for today?”
“Uh, no, not even half the things.” She shook her head indulgently. “What’s up with you this week, Captain Distraction? It’s like you’ve caught spring fever early.”
“Nonsense.” I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat. “As I told you yesterday and the day before, I don’t get distracted.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m known for my laser-like focus. I built this company thanks to that focus.”
“Sure.”
“Besides, spring is obviously a million years away.” I gestured out the window, where a chilly drizzle fell on the winter-naked trees in the roof garden across the street. “Continue. What’s next on the agenda?”
“Mitch sent over an update on the Donaldson portfolio. I forwarded it to you since I know you’ll want to read it yourself, but things look good. He took care of that snag with the company down in Miami…”
As Lesya spoke, I listened with half an ear, nodding along in the appropriate places, but my gaze kept straying outside. Hugh was out in the city this afternoon getting pictures for his Real Life HEAs TikTok, and knowing him, he probably hadn’t even noticed the freezing rain, he was so damn chipper about his date tonight—“THIRD date, Oscar. Which is serious. Possibly pivotal.”—with Louis, a divorce attorney he’d been talking to for a few weeks.
On the one hand, this was a good thing. Really good. At least, that was what I kept telling myself whenever I remembered how the warm slide of his palm in mine had felt on Thanksgiving in his sister’s hospital room. Three months had passed since then, and our relationship had returned to the status quo: text only. No calling, no seeing each other.
Which was a good thing.
Really.
That was what I kept reminding myself, at least.
Hugh certainly seemed fine with it. After the Thanksgiving debacle with Terry or whatever his name was, he’d immediately jumped back into his hunt for The One with fervor, racking up a whole bunch of first dates all through December and into the new year. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told him I thought he was brave as fuck for putting himself out there over and over again, for being determined and optimistic no matter how many frogs he kissed along the way, but sometimes I felt like he was putting unnecessary pressure on himself.
In January, after he’d hit a dry spell, he’d interrupted our terrifying, weekend-long Last of Us buddy watch to assure me he wasn’t giving up, like he thought I was the one who was worried about it. I’d told him to chill out, that the world was not actually ending in a zombie apocalypse anytime soon, that he could take his time and be selective. He’d agreed… or so I thought.
And then March had rolled around.
“Oscar?” Lesya demanded.
“Hmm?” I blinked away from the window guiltily. “Oh. Yes. Yeah. I was just… pondering that last thing you said. That’s a… a good point.”
She pursed her lips. “So you agree, then?”
“I… might.” I cleared my throat. “Run it back for me one more time?”