Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
“Oh. I always thought you saw me as an annoying nerd then.”
“You are,” he says fearlessly. “But you’re a beautiful, feisty, and talented little nerd. You’re the whole damn package. So if I send Anna an email letting her know that her idea is brilliant and the extra push we need to compete, will you be pissed?”
I think for a long second before I slowly, but firmly shake my head and whisper.
“No.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead. “Now, are you going to help me frost the cinnamon rolls?”
“Sure.”
We finish the rolls together and sit down at the table.
I haven’t noticed until now, but right in the middle of the table there’s a bouquet of bright-blue flowers with violet centers. Instead of the normal baby’s breath mixed in with a bouquet, I see midnight-black and smoky grey feathers. The ribbon is tied up with a crystal raven.
I smile before I force my face straight.
Yesterday wasn’t planned. He couldn’t have had time to order flowers...
I’m baffled.
Lincoln picks up a roll. “Are you going to keep pretending there is nothing on the table?”
He takes a manly bite and looks up from his pastry.
“For me?” I ask cautiously.
“Do you see anyone else here?”
I reach out and slide them over, loving their scent. “They’re beautiful. Seriously.”
“I thought it was high time somebody gave you flowers you’d like after I jacked the ones you hated,” he explains.
Mentally, I’m speechless, but I manage to say, “Oh. Oh, wow. I love them.”
“Look at the card.” He gestures.
I don’t see a card. There’s a flat piece of cardboard with three small plastic objects glued to it. One silver, one blue, and one black.
It takes me a second before I ask, “So, the feathers are—”
“Pens, Nevermore.” He grins and nods.
Oh, crap.
My heart bursts into a million pieces. Even my parents never gave a gift that’s so me.
“Lincoln. This is amazing. But how did you get flowers here?”
“Favor.”
“What favor?” I ask, laughing.
“I gave the word and my driver put it together this morning. I tipped Louis extremely well.”
“That man might be a miracle worker. Almost as much as you,” I add, turning away because if I meet his eyes, I will be in pieces.
I only wonder one thing.
How messed up is it that my fake engagement is already turning out better than my real one?
16
Thrilled Me (Lincoln)
I stare down at my phone, wondering if I’ve reverted back to age fifteen.
Mom: Lincoln Burns, you tell me how you let this happen. How is it I find out from Cheryl that my only son is getting married to the beautiful new copywriter? Come home for lunch!
I snort, shaking my head as I type back, Cheryl was also supposed to tell you it’s a ruse, Ma. It’s marketing. Not matrimony.
Her reply flies back like a bullet.
Mom: Regardless, this is the closest I’ve ever seen you to love since that wretched woman. Come home, Lincoln. We need to talk.
I mutter about ten curses, swiping a hand over my face before I hit her contact and call.
Let’s get this over with. Because if we keep texting, this shit will go back and forth all day.
Word travels too fast in this office. I just sent the email to Anna last night letting her know that Dakota and I decided to go along with this madness.
How the hell did Cheryl even find out? And why did she have to tell Mother the instant she heard the news?
“Are you on your way?” Mom says breathlessly, picking up on the first ring.
“No, Ma. I’m working. It’s the middle of the damn day.”
“I guess your lovely assistant didn’t forward your change of plans. You’re visiting your elderly mother, so hop on the first ferry over to Bainbridge.”
My brows pull down. “For the record, you would’ve slapped me if I’d called you my elderly—”
“I’m glad you know your boundaries. I taught you well. Now, prove it by having lunch.”
“There isn’t much to talk about. It’s a harebrained idea marketing drummed up to sell the new line. Anna pitched it as a weird sort of personal endorsement that will catch eyes, and she’s right. We’re new to the wedding scene. We don’t have a chance in hell of competing with the big players unless we’re bold and a little unorthodox.”
“Mm-hmmm. Sure. Do you ever watch the Hallmark channel, Lincoln?”
I actually laugh. Do I look like I have time to binge-watch love stories?
“You know I don’t, Ma. Why even ask?”
“Because. Half of their movies start out with a fake relationship and end with a baby,” she says defiantly. “Now, since you agreed to this and that lovely young lady did too—I’m holding out hope. Unless you paid her to do this? Oh, Lincoln. Please tell me she’s not just in it for the money. Although plenty of great love stories start off that way, too!”
“Ma!” I’m so annoyed I could spit.