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)
“A pity,” he says roughly. “I’m afraid the engagement is part of the deal.”
Oh, sure. Part of his deal in wacko world where people do crazy things for big money, maybe, but not mine.
I’m just scraping by, but I still have a shred of pride.
Sighing, I give up on the apron and let my hands drop.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him again. “Really. I’m glad you like our pastries, though. If you ever need another order—like, a normal one—you’re welcome to—”
I stop mid-sentence.
He pulls out another business card from his wallet—how many of those things does he carry around?—and a pen. A fancy one, obviously, because he wouldn’t just walk around with a basic clicky ballpoint pen from a value pack like the rest of us.
“That’s my personal number,” he tells me, scrawling something quickly across the back. “Just think about it, Miss Winkley. Then call me the instant you’ve made up your mind.”
“…but it already is,” I tell him.
The man is either selectively deaf or brutally stubborn. He just gives me a look of pure soul-drilling intensity and walks off, but not before stopping behind me, reaching down, and—
Holy shit, no.
He can’t be.
But he is.
I barely feel his fingers working, his hard knuckles scraping my back, before the knot comes loose.
I stare up at him in shock.
“You’re free. I hope you realize that won’t change when you reconsider.”
I’m like a fish out of water, straining for words that won’t come and staring at his back as he disappears out the door.
God.
After sucking down the rest of my coffee, I set my cup on the table and pinch my arm until it hurts.
Yep, still here, unfortunately.
I’m not dreaming.
This is a real-life nightmare wrapped up in a dark joke. A perfect deal and some serious money gone poof!
And all because one big rich idiot couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
I sit back down, picking at my tattered cupcake and trying to muster up the energy to finish cleaning up before I head home to my cat.
“Engaged?” My lonely laughter spills through the store. “That would be the craziest shit ever…”
No fooling.
Even the thought of dating this guy makes my skin crawl, never mind acting like I’m planning on marrying him. But his hands felt electric on my back.
Ugh.
Why are the men with slag for souls the best fallen angels?
It’s not fair.
But Dexter Rory could be an actual heaven-sent angel in disguise and I still wouldn’t change my mind.
I’m not pretending to marry him and that’s that.
He’ll just have to find another sucker to play the part, a sweet girl willing to bat her eyes and fawn all over him like he has a better personality than a hungover grizzly bear, and I’ll just have to find a saner way to keep scaring up money.
4
SWEET PURSUIT (DEXTER)
Guess who’s reached an entirely new level of absolute humiliation, previously unknown in human history?
That would be me.
I swear at the traffic ahead of me as I stomp on the gas. The Tesla leaps forward like it’s airborne, but for once that doesn’t put a smile on my face. Driving in downtown Kansas City on a busy night isn’t something anyone does for fun.
Of all the meetings to flub, the one with Sweet Stuff just had to be it.
I had no illusions walking into her shop.
I thought she might be reluctant, suspicious, stubborn as hell.
Whatever.
Not everyone wants to pretend to be in a fake relationship, and all because I planted my foot so deep down my throat it came out my own ass again.
Still, I thought the business would convince her it was worth it.
A temporary inconvenience for a sizable payoff.
Hell, it’s not like I want to date her, anyway. It’s a business arrangement like everything else.
But no. Miss Winkley has other plans.
She wants to let her poor shop sputter along in this brutal economy. I did some research before our chat. Judging by the fading reviews and low social media engagement, the Sugar Bowl has seen better days.
It’s not winning the rave reviews from food critics and travel guides like it did in the past.
Institution or not, it isn’t a place where people are beating down the door and begging this redheaded hellion to take their money.
All because she has her pride or some shit.
I have mine, too.
And now that she’s gone and demolished my chances with Haute, it means there’s another meeting waiting. One where I have to own up to this wreck with my brothers.
Fucking hell.
I suck in a breath through my teeth and stab through the traffic clog to Lee’s Summit, just outside the city. It’s a sleek, modern office that looks like it belongs in Silicon Valley.
Of course, there’s still time for it to crumble around my ears.
They’re waiting for me in the conference room like usual.
Archer sits at the head of the table with the familiar no-nonsense stare he’s been practicing since the day he was born. And Patton is leaning back in his chair like he’s still in high school and farting off homework, sending me a mocking grin.