Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I open my mouth to apologize, but she shoots first.
“Mr. Rory, let’s get one thing straight. You’ve already insulted my intelligence. That’s bad enough, but I can deal.” She strides forward, her teeth tucked into a sharp smile. “But listen, if you think I’ll just stand here while you insult anything else—”
“I didn’t mean it like you think, Winkley. There’s nothing wrong with your looks—nothing at all. I slipped.”
“Uh-huh,” she says tightly. “You do that a lot, don’t you? You could try some speech therapy.”
“Woman, I told you I fucked up. I don’t need this shit.”
“And I do not need any sarcasm from you, Big Fish.”
I’m fucking speechless. Again.
How is she so good at turning my tongue into a useless sponge?
“Can we get on with this interruption?” I fold my arms, matching her gaze with mine. She glances down my chest again, at the worst of the sweat, then looks at the equipment.
“You were working out?”
“When you showed up? Yeah. Evening routine.”
“I’m not surprised.” She wrinkles her nose as I follow her downstairs. It doesn’t take her long to find the exercise room. “This whole place smells like money and—ew, man-sweat.”
“I didn’t invite you down here.” Or to my house at all. “If you have a problem with the smell, leave.”
“Actually, no. I have a problem with you.” She shoves the note I sent her—and the check—straight into my chest. The shock of it makes me stumble back a step.
“How dare you,” she mutters.
Oh, fuck.
My eyebrows go up.
“Now you’re pissed when I offer you money?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. Ugh! You know what, screw this.” She runs both hands through her hair and storms back upstairs.
If she needs space, I get it.
There’s something almost fragile about her now. Like this experience simultaneously fired her up and knocked the wind from her lungs.
When I follow a minute later, I find her waiting in the hall, slack against the wall like this leggy sagging doll.
“Miss Winkley? Are you okay?”
“Not at all.” She lets out a pained laugh. “God, you just don’t get it, do you? I’m pissed because you gave me something you know I can’t refuse.”
For the first time since she barged into my house, I’m shaken.
I’m not used to second-guessing.
Would it have killed me to think before I charged into her store and roped granny into helping me toy with her granddaughter’s emotions?
Would I have died if I thought this through first, rather than flailing around to put out this fire I caused like the clumsiest asshole ever born?
A low, rough growl slips out of me as I lean my back into the wall next to her.
Then a tiny seed of hope blooms in my chest. Maybe the whole reason she came here wasn’t to curse me out after all and remind me what pond scum I am.
She can’t be considering joining me in this insanity… Can she?
“I’m not done looking through your closets for skeletons, mister,” she whispers, suddenly turning to face me. A lock of that brilliant red hair falls from her messy bun and she tucks it behind her ear.
Damn.
If I hadn’t already emotionally traumatized this woman, I might double down on stupid.
I might just grab her face with both hands, press her into the wall, and drink my fill of Juniper Winkley until I’ve stolen every last breath from her lungs.
“…and if you give me any reason to walk away now—even one—I promise you I will.” She’s still talking and I’ve been tuned out.
And I still have that check in my hand, but the blood roaring in my ears feels like too much to think about that right now.
This is it.
She’s ready to cave and take a baby leap of faith. And all it took was some hideous emotional blackmail and a payday promise with a lot of zeros.
Shit.
Somehow, I don’t think I’m buying her cooperation. I’m securing my own seat in the darkest part of hell that has no view—the next worse thing after blowing a multimillion-dollar deal for my entire family.
I stalk back to the kitchen and slap the check down on the kitchen island, half expecting her to follow me and snatch it again.
When I look up, she’s watching me as I rip it to shreds, then quickly scrawl out a new one.
“Rory? What are you doing?” She eyes it but doesn’t move. Her nose wrinkles and she glances at my clothes once again. “Rory!” she calls again.
I say nothing.
“Dude, you stink,” she says dispassionately. “If you want to talk business, go change. I can wait while you shower.”
That does it.
I flash her my dirtiest look.
Goddamn, this woman will be the death of me.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors who make me feel like shit,” I remind her, trying not to snap her head off. If there’s even the smallest chance she’ll go along with this, I can’t afford to alienate her. Not again.