Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Greyhounds were half my world as a kid.
Every time, the same. No grace, no humility, and no respect for people or animals. I also never missed the way she’d check herself out in every mirror we passed.
One time when I didn’t immediately compliment her dress, she sulked through dinner.
I don’t have the time or patience to deal with an overgrown teenager.
I’m definitely not putting up with that shit for the rest of my life.
I’m not stunting whatever progress I’ve made escaping the black hole of ego and entitlement just to settle for someone who thrives in it.
“Yeah, man.” Luis winces in sympathy. “Gotta say, I’m glad I’m not stuck in the billionaire dating pool. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Too bad you can’t find a decent girl to buy yourself some time so they’d get off your ass.”
I laugh, but then—
An idea.
A wild, wicked, workable idea.
What if I could buy a little time to derail my parents’ marriage-from-hell train? What if I broadened my options to include a girl who’s actually palatable—even if it’s just for appearances? Even if it’s only fake and temporary?
“What now? What’s with that look?” Luis says, staring at me in the mirror. “Why are you smiling?”
“Your fault.” I grin, scratching Charlie’s shoulders as he licks my face. “Thanks for the inspiration.”
“Oh no.”
“You might’ve just saved my life, Luis.”
He groans nervously. “I don’t know what that means, but I know you, boss. Whatever you’re scheming, it won’t be good.”
III
Cat Got Your Tongue
(Lena)
Here comes this idiot again.
I pause what I’m doing just to glare out the window as the sleek black SUV pulls up in the parking lot and idles like a tank.
“Does this man ever drive himself?” I mutter to Trish, the receptionist.
“Who cares? He’s cute. And rich.” She taps the keyboard and cackles loudly as she stares out at Brady and the young Latino man climbing out of the car.
“Seriously, Trish?”
“What? I ain’t as young as you, but my eyes still work just fine,” she drawls in her East Tennessee accent.
She must have brought a Southern appetite for men too. I definitely can’t understand it.
“Well, don’t get too attached. He’s a total piece of work. I wonder if he would’ve picked up that corgi at all if he didn’t have social media brownie points to gain.”
I purse my lips sourly, hating that I regret those words.
The fluffy dog looks happy.
Charlie bounces out the second Brady opens the passenger door, a ball of energetic fluff who delights in pulling on his leash.
Brady almost loses his grip and catches it again with a grin. His shirt strains across his shoulders.
Seriously, this man is built like a statue come to life.
He drags a hand through his thick dark hair as he gives his chauffeur slash babysitter a wry look.
Another car pulls up then, a Volkswagen, and a little old lady jumps out of the driver’s seat, practically screaming.
Charlie yips with sheer excitement, barking loudly even through the glass. He almost goes airborne as he leaps, testing Brady’s leash grip all over again.
I’m not smiling.
I promise you I’m not.
“Look at you! All smiles,” Trish says like an annoying mind reader.
“He’s a cutie—the dog, I mean. Look how happy he is to see his mom.”
“Adorable,” she declares, but her tone leaves it ambiguous who she’s describing.
I huff a breath.
Whatever.
Yes, Brady Pruitt is fine in that hypermasculine, hyperaware way guys are when they know they’re attractive and they have the resources to strut around like gods among us mere mortals.
But that’s not something that turns my crank.
Not even a little.
And little old Mrs. Hernandez lowers herself to the ground to greet Charlie properly, rubbing his back as he licks her face.
Adorable is right.
Brady turns and reaches into his vehicle—is it even his car if the other man drives?—and pulls out a heaping basket of treats and dog toys.
Oh my God.
I wrinkle my nose.
Why does he have to do it? Blow all my ugly expectations to pieces by being so nice?
I’m half expecting him to pull out his phone and make a big scene, but he doesn’t.
He’s a grade A prick, yeah, but at least he’s a generous one. That’s slightly less horrible.
I feel like I’m betraying myself by even admitting it.
But Mrs. Hernandez beams like it’s Christmas morning. She gives him a big, heartfelt hug.
“See?” Trish says sharply, drilling her gaze through my face. “Cute as hell, inside and out.”
“You better be talking about the dog.”
“Uh-huh.” She giggles again.
Sigh.
With one last wave, Brady turns and heads into the clinic.
My guilt eases quickly, knowing he’s here to make my day worse.
Trish rivets her eyes to the screen again, typing an email as she grabs her headset. “I’d better give you guys some space. Y’know, so you can talk out your feelings. Back room’s open if you need it.” She winks at me.