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)
“Something isn’t right here, Dex. Convinced or not, he shouldn’t be making it this easy.”
I shrug slowly, annoyed that he might be right.
“He’s not exactly shy with his demands. If he’s expecting more than sending our guests into a sugar coma, wouldn’t he just come out and say it?”
Archer says nothing.
His brows sink low as he thinks, searching for a reason to back out and torpedo the whole thing.
“There’s always a chance Haute just wants to be done with it since his loft project hasn’t panned out. Hand off the deadweight, get paid, and collect some easy ongoing revenue. Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that,” I venture.
“That’s what worries me. We’ll see.”
I want to believe in my own optimism, dammit.
Trouble is, my gut tells me Arch might have a point.
Something’s not quite right with all this, and if we don’t figure it out, who knows what the price could be.
What else will this deal cost me, besides my sanity, all thanks to one infuriatingly beautiful woman?
9
SWEET ON YOU (JUNIPER)
I am absolutely, categorically, not excited for my date.
It’s not even a real date.
Just a fake dinner to showcase a fake relationship in front of my very honest and trusting Nana who wouldn’t emotionally understand the concept if it was explained to her ten times. Which, I’m fairly sure, makes me a terrible person.
If she ever finds out this isn’t real, I’m toast.
She’ll never forgive me.
Worse, she’ll probably wonder where she went wrong.
Holy hell, and if she figures out that it’s all so I can give the bakery a second chance, will she even hold up at her age without a coronary event?
No, I can’t let her know.
I need her to believe it’s the Sugar Bowl’s legit success that’s allowing us to refurbish. The first long overdue upgrades we’ve had since she stepped aside.
I’m going to finally succeed, and all it cost me was my integrity and a big piece of my soul.
Sigh.
I lean in closer to the mirror to do my eyeliner.
If I’m wearing makeup, Nana will definitely think this is the real deal. The last time I wore it regularly was when I was with Liam and we’d go out.
Not that I want to think about stupid Liam’s stupid face.
God, when did I get so jittery?
It’s not a real date.
It’s just Big Fish. Dexter. Dex.
I should probably start calling him Dex tonight because it seems more casual and feels less threatening. And if he calls me Junie, it might help.
Or it might make everything ten times worse.
Blech.
My hands go still as I stare at my reflection in my ancient bathroom mirror, second-guessing all my recent life decisions. The lighting in here is terrible.
My hair looks almost dull, a mousy red-brown, and I think I see every scar left behind by pimples from ten years ago.
“Oh God, will you stop?” I tell myself. “It’s not a date.”
Good thing, too.
Last time we met up, he almost kissed me. I think.
It’s hard to tell when he practically picked me up and chucked me out of his office right after that weird slow dance. The thing that left me humming all evening.
Pathetic, I know. But that’s what happens when I haven’t been with a guy in years, and Liam never danced with me once.
I’m not sure he had a romantic bone in his body. He was just familiar, comfortable, and manly enough at the time.
I guess hindsight works wonders for showing you how crappy your exes really were.
It also leaves me reeling at the contrast between Liam and Dexter freaking Rory.
The dance did its job, melting away the stifling tension.
Somehow, it was nice, which was an even greater surprise.
Even when he held me close enough to inhale him with every breath, staring down at my mouth with a hunger that scared me in all the best ways.
Talk about a close call.
I still can’t believe I’m getting swarmed by butterflies over an almost-kiss with a guy I don’t even like.
We haven’t even spoken since then, except to confirm dinner plans and what time he should pick me up.
This time, I insisted on text, saying I was tied up at work. I decided an awkward voice chat just might set me spinning all over again when I’m trying so hard to keep my feet on the ground with this strange, bossy man.
Turning away from my imperfections in the mirror, I grab my heels from the closet.
Sure, I’ve overdressed, but Nana always told me it’s better to make a statement than to come dragging in with nobody noticing.
Considering the last time I wore this outfit was to an engagement party—obviously not mine—it’s safe to say I’ve picked the fanciest thing in my wardrobe.
Not that now is the time to worry about that.
Knowing Dexter is Mr. Punctual incarnate, I try to hurry up. The less he sees of my crappy apartment building, the better.