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)
What the hell?
“I think we know what we’ve gotta do,” Patton says, turning his grin on me. “You’ve got to double down, Bro. Make this girl want you.”
I wonder if I can make my brother burst into flames if I just stare at him long enough.
“Patton’s right,” Archer says. I do a double take. “You need to sort this fuckery out. We’re this close to the biggest deal this company has ever had. We can’t lose it now over you getting fucking tongue-tied, Dex.” He frowns at the table. “The Mill could set us up permanently. It could keep Colt sleeping easy for life.”
Colton.
Archer’s son, my nephew, and the entire reason Archer’s so hard-assed about life like the perfectionist asshole he is.
I can’t even hate it.
Colt’s a good kid and Archer’s a better single dad than having three parents.
“Just offer the girl a nice cut of the profits if she’ll play along,” Patton suggests. “She’s a businesswoman, right? She’ll know a good deal when she sees it.”
“Out of your personal share,” Archer adds. “Seeing as you got us into this mess.”
Sure, asshole.
If only he didn’t think I was done. I bite my tongue hard enough to taste metal, tapping my fingers against the table.
One, two, three.
Here comes the cherry, the icing, and the whole goddamn filling on my cake of epic screwups.
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I already tried. I sat down with her less than an hour ago and offered her the deal of a lifetime on a silver platter. She looked at me like I was crazy and basically threw me out.”
Hell, maybe I am psychotic.
That would explain why I told Haute I was engaged to her in the first place, wouldn’t it?
I have a sudden blinding urge to ask our mother if there was ever a great uncle or distant cousin who lost his marbles.
Amazingly, having an unexpected brain disease almost feels easier than admitting how hard I fucked up.
Patton snorts before he can help himself.
“What? She didn’t take the bait?” he asks, ignoring Archer’s glare. “Did you kiss her? Play up your smolder? Promise her your share of the property when you divorce?”
“For fuck’s sake, Patton, shut it. This isn’t a joke,” Archer growls.
“No, but it’s pretty funny. Little Dex, falling down the abyss. From dateless wonder to getting rejected by some small-time bakery chick.”
“Thanks, prick. Your wisdom makes this so much better, knowing you’ve got my back,” I snarl.
“With this?” Patton raises his eyebrows. “Bro, you’re on your own. Archer’s right, this is your mess to clean up.”
“He isn’t wrong.” Archer takes a sip from the paper cup beside him. Water or vodka by the looks of it. I realize I need a drink too. “No excuses. I don’t care if you have to follow her home and camp outside her house with a wad of Benjamins until she’s convinced. I don’t give a shit what you do, Dex, but you make this right. We can’t lose Haute.”
Right, right.
No big deal.
I’ll just persuade Miss Juniper Winkley to go along with a scheme she wants nothing to do with or we’re all collectively boned to the moon and back.
Yes, I can do that.
I just have to hope she won’t end up having me hauled off in handcuffs the next time I try to win her over.
Little Miss Congeniality doesn’t answer my calls.
I should’ve known.
The store number’s practically my main contact now, but whenever I call, the kids that answer say she’s not in, she’s not available, she’s gone to the Mojave Desert to go fly fishing.
Excuses, excuses. They’re not even trying.
The one time she did answer, she cut the call off before I said three words. I should be flattered that my voice is so distinctive, but it’s mostly just a royal pain in my ass.
Just like her.
Who did I piss off in a past life to get so lucky?
If I could’ve asked any other woman in this city to be my not-fiancée, I would have. At least some random-ass woman off the streets more susceptible to flashing dollar signs wouldn’t ignore my calls.
I’ve met women. I know how to handle them.
This lady, however, is something else entirely.
Not in a flattering way.
Not in a she’s-the-one-I’d-take-home-to-mom kind of way.
Not even in an I-want-to-fuck-her-brains-out way.
If she was stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire, I’d have to think long and hard about whether I stopped to help.
Given the fact that she won’t speak to me, I turn up at the store again. I pick midday, when there’s a rush.
There are a few people in the queue ahead of me, mostly families with kids looking to satisfy their sweet tooth. As they’re being served, I watch the teenagers behind the counter.
They really are kids. Just out of high school, maybe in college. The boy has zits on his chin and the girl hasn’t quite lost the round-faced chub of youth.