Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“And yet, I’d hazard a guess you’re booked through next year.”
“And then some.”
We walk in silence for another moment while I try to formulate a plan to tell him what I need.
“I don’t have the kind of money you’d ask for, but… I could barter.”
Why did it sound so much better in my head?
He stops walking long enough to give me an amused smirk. “I don’t need homemade soap or homegrown tomatoes.” Another rude glance down at me. “And you’re right. You can’t afford my company.” I know he means I can’t afford to hire him, but the way he says it makes it sound like I’m not worthy of being in his presence. I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t tell him off, grounding myself in the stab of pain.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
My cheeks heat. I decide the best course of action is to ignore the taunt. “We could help each other. A mutually beneficial situation. I mean, I—I have talents and skills that could benefit your organization, and I could benefit from what you have to offer as well.”
He sighs. “Don’t waste my time. To be honest, I’m not even sure this consultation is something you could afford, but it’s warm out and I needed some fresh air. I’d be charging most people by the hour for this discussion alone, but I’m taking pity on you.” He looks down at my crumpled dress and faded purse. My skin prickles uncomfortably, but before I can respond he continues. “You’re already talking about collaboration, and I don’t even know why you’re here.”
I won’t rise to take his bait, I won’t. But God, my temper’s a beast, and it’s hard to keep it on a leash sometimes.
“I—I need help finding a few people, and I believe you could help me.”
Still scowling, he doesn’t respond, so naturally I feel the need to keep talking, because that always helps.
“I’m skilled in martial arts. I’m reigning champion on the East Coast—”
“In the women’s division,” he interrupts with an impatient sigh.
Does he know that? Does he know anything else about me, or was it just a guess about an obvious fact?
My blood begins to go from a simmer to a boil, and I slow my pace. “Excuse me?”
“In the women’s division,” he repeats with a casual shrug, hands still in his pockets. “Means nothing when you’re up against a man.”
“Oh, is that right?” Chauvinistic prick, I mentally tack on.
I imagine drop-kicking him right here. A swift kick between his legs would incapacitate him enough for me to move quickly.
He doesn’t bother to hide the disdain in his tone. “Of course. I’m sure you could drop a pussy on his ass, but it means jack shit unless you’re fighting a real man.”
He’s dropping all semblance of professionalism, and another warning bell chimes in my mind.
We’ve made it to the edge of the garden. A brisk wind carries warm air from over the sea, white-capped waves crashing in the distance behind him. A gull caws overhead, but I hardly hear it. The blood pounds in my ears with my rising temper. A corner of his beautiful, perfect lips quirks upward. Mocking me. “Got under your skin. Want to prove me wrong?”
I’m already in a fighting stance, my shoes kicked to the side like so much baggage. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I don’t care who he is, he just tossed the gauntlet down and I do not back down.
“Of course I do.”
Stop, the little inner voice of reason warns.
I never did like that voice.
And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a dress, that he’s a hundred pounds heavier than I am, and I’m trying to convince him to hire me. All I see is a brawny sexist who needs to learn a lesson.
I’ve spent years perfecting the double-leg takedown, a move that works in the ring or on the street. If he was unaware, I might be able to take him down. He’s prepared though, and way too big.
All I want to do is level him. I could drop him to the ground, without actually causing injury. I’ve done the move a thousand times. Though he’s bigger than I am—by a lot—I’m smaller and more agile, giving me a decided advantage. But while it might be satisfying to drop a man of his size to the ground, that’s just the problem—he’s fucking huge, and I’m not, and that really fucking matters.
“No.” With effort, I drop the fighting stance, and shrug my shoulders. I walk casually over to him. “You’re too big for a girl like me,” I say with mock humility. I wait until he resumes his casual walking. “I couldn’t possibly—” He looks away from me, a strategic error and my only chance.
Thwack. I kick my leg out so fast I register surprise in his eyes, but he’s even faster than I am. Instinctively, he deflects, and instead of striking back, ducks. When he’s bent over, I shove, pushing him off-kilter.