Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Well, almost anything.
I had made a bargain with my boss, Mr. Morrison. He’d overheard me on the phone with Lakewood Country Club, a golf club not far from Boggy Creek, begging them to let my best friend Willa’s now-husband, Aiden, and his buddies hang out and golf on the day of their rehearsal dinner. The club was not budging unless one of the guys became a member. And that was not going to happen. The dinner was easy to book, but getting them to let the guys all golf at the country club the day of was not on the table. Not even with my best flirty voice.
That was when Mr. Morrison took my cell phone from my hand—yes, he took it—and told the guy on the other end who he was. He made all the arrangements for Aiden, Hunter, Bishop, Kyle, and Adam to have full access to the country club.
The crazy thing was, I thought he did it because he was a cool boss.
No, he did it because he saw a sucker. Once he hung up, he said I had to do him a favor in return. I was ready to kick him in the balls if he said I had to sleep with him, but thankfully he came back with, “I need a date for my son for the firm’s Christmas party.”
After staring at the man for a good two minutes, I nodded like a fool and said, “Okay.” I didn’t even ask a single thing about his son. Nothing. Was he a serial killer? Why couldn’t he get his own date? Was he even cute?
“Ugh, Willa is going to owe me big time for this!” I said as I sat back in my chair.
Wendy tried not to laugh. “I’ve heard whispers from time to time about Mr. Morrison’s son. He lives in California and works in entertainment or something like that. One rumor says he’s an actor, but I highly doubt that.”
“I don’t care what people think he does for a living. What does he look like, Wendy?”
“I don’t know. Do you know how hard it is to ask questions discreetly? People have started to ask me why I’m asking. I can’t tell them you’re going on a blind date with him. Mr. Morrison is super private about his two kids, especially his son. Some think they had a falling out. He never talks about him. Like ever.”
I shook my head. “Great. And no, don’t tell anyone why you’re snooping. I’ll look desperate.”
She folded her arms over her chest and frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“Aren’t you?”
My mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon. I am not desperate. I have plenty of sex. Lots of sex. Hot sex.”
“With who?”
I stood. “Well, for starters, I had a fun little affair with my best friend’s brother.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, before that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I stated.
“Bob in the mailroom thinks you’re a snob who hates men.”
“What?” I cried out. “Why would he think that?”
She tapped her finger on her chin. “Let’s see. You walk in, get on the elevator, don’t say hi to anyone, and walk straight back to your office. You don’t talk to anyone except to give them a polite hello. You never go to the Friday night happy hour, and you’ve turned down every guy here who’s asked you out. Hence, Bob thinks you’re a man-hating bitch.”
I started to talk but then snapped my mouth shut. Fine, I could be classified as a workaholic. But in my defense, I was still fairly new to the firm and I wanted to make a good impression. My only job was to show up at work, lawyer the shit out of things, go home, and work more. In between takeout dinners and my daily trip to the gym, I dated. Kind of. When I had time or a guy caught my eye. There was the time I picked up yoga at the studio in my building because of the hot-as-hell guy I’d seen going in. Turned out, he was the husband of the instructor. I didn’t last long in yoga.
I wasn’t about to argue with Wendy. I probably did come off as a coldhearted bitch.
“So, you said Duke was a lawyer?” I asked Wendy, running my hands down my pencil skirt and sitting back down.
She laughed. “Luke, Brighton, his name is Luke. All I found out from the gossip mill is that he was once a lawyer, though not for Morrison, Becker, and Gline. Some other law firm in Boston. But he’s no longer a lawyer.”
I raised a brow and looked at her. “Really? Why not?”
She shrugged. “No clue.”
“Do we know what type of law he practiced?”
“Corporate law, I think,” she said, sitting in the chair across from my desk.
“Corporate, huh?”
She nodded. “M and A, I heard once. Don’t know how true that is. No one really seems to talk about him because Mr. Morrison so rarely talks about him. The only reason we know anything about his daughter is because she makes an appearance once a quarter and struts through the office holding her little dog. I think it’s a chihuahua or a yorkie.”