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)
I can’t do anything except the only thing I’ve ever been good at—running this company.
People depend on me.
Mother still receives a pension like countless others who need it even more than she does. My employees depend on their livelihood. It’s my job to keep this machine thriving.
Love is a fucking landmine, all too capable of blowing everything to kingdom come.
I’ve seen what happens when people fall for cupid’s schemes, that sneaky little shit.
For every Happily Ever After, there are a dozen hearts fractured and stomped into the ground like shattered ornaments.
I have rules when it comes to women for good reason. Hookups are fine as long as everyone knows it’s a hookup, though I haven’t even bothered with one-night flings in a long time.
Feelings—relationships—those are for suckers. And if my parents did one thing right, they didn’t raise one of those.
I don’t date. I damn sure don’t have any business being interested in Dakota frigging Poe. Being an employee makes her forbidden fruit of the worst kind, and that’s all she can be.
I move to the wet bar and pour a scotch, downing it so fast I almost choke, coughing into my hand.
Yeah, it’s that kind of night.
The silvery city lights can’t banish the looming blackness that pulls up bad memories like imaginary monsters from my closet.
When you’re a boy, it’s easy to get through nights like this with a flashlight and a brave face.
When you’re a grown man with regrets, obligations, and failures—when you’ve had your own heart hammered to a pulp and you’ve seen everyone you care for emotionally mutilated by romance—you need something stronger.
Tilting the glass bottle over the shot glass, I pour two more fingers, down it, and repeat.
I’m on my sixth gut bomb when my phone rings.
Her name flashes across the screen. I almost drop the glass.
What the hell? Does this chick have multiple personalities or something?
“Hello?” I answer.
“I’m sorry I cut you off. It was nice of you to call and apologize. Before you went off with your usual BS, I mean. I shouldn’t have egged you on. And shit, I realize it’s probably too late to be calling my boss—I’m sorry—fuck, I said shit. Ugh. I’m screwing this up.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter, a crooked smile on my face.
She sighs. “Look, because of the way we met with you going bananas over my cinnamon roll... I sometimes forget I need to be professional around you. I’m working on it. I promise you I am, even if it may not seem like it.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I didn’t think she was built with an apologetic bone in her body.
“It’s fine, Miss Poe. My offer stands. I have other lines you can work on if weddings just aren’t suitable. You’re skilled enough to retain on other projects for the long haul, even if they’re assignments I didn’t hire you for. We can be flexible.”
“No, not necessary. I’m...able to compartmentalize well enough. I’ll keep delivering quality copy on the wedding campaign, or wherever else you need me.”
“Whatever you want,” I say with a nod. “For the record, I’m sorry too for that last conversation. It takes two to tango and I’m a terrible dancer.”
She laughs softly before she speaks again, this small, gentle sound hanging in the air.
“So, we’re good, Burns?”
“We always were. You’re the one who didn’t think there was any point in being friendly.” Why did I say that? This conversation has been almost civil.
“Right, because you’re a psychopath.”
“Yes, and the most undateable prick to ever walk the earth, which you know because you spend your free time Googling me.” I’m grateful, but mildly surprised I haven’t heard her mention Regina, lover boy, or the lawsuit yet.
Apparently, my gag order worked better than I thought.
“Why did I call expecting an adult conversation?” she mutters.
“Easy. You needed to hear the sound of my voice.”
Where the hell is my tongue? Get it together, Burns. Now you’re just flirting and she’s radioactive. Not to mention she has an attitude the size of Mount Rainier. A girl like Nevermore won’t hesitate at all to walk out when things get tough or when something better comes along.
“Dang, you got me. That’s it. I need the majestic sound of grumpy men with tiny fuses to lull me to sleep...”
“Don’t call my fuse tiny, lady,” I growl jokingly.
She snorts laughter.
“Question,” I say, wisely ignoring her crap. “Because you caught me off guard in the meeting today—”
“Oh? That sounds like a first.”
“What’s your idea of the perfect wedding?”
She hesitates. “You’re really asking me that, knowing weddings are off-limits?”
“You asked first. Fair is fair, Nevermore. It’s just us here. No audience.”
“Well, I don’t believe in marriage. Not anymore. But on the off chance I’m ever drunk enough to get Vegas hitched or whatever... I think I’d elope,” she says.
“Elope? Why?”
“Weddings are all for show. The average groom never does any real work. I’m not willing to go through that for some dude to maybe change his mind when we’re thousands of dollars deep and on the hook socially. He’s either serious enough to get married the minute he proposes, or he can keep his ring.”