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)
“Let me help! Whatever you need.” So long as it’s not number crunching. She needs to keep her CPA for that.
“I appreciate that, really, but I’m afraid you can’t. Not with this. I’ve always loved how you’re so willing to fight, but sometimes hard decisions are inevitable. I suggest you brace yourself, and so will I.”
She slumps back in her chair, looking like any fight she ever had has drained from her already. I douse the feeble protests burning on my tongue.
She’s right that she’s only one woman stretched to her breaking point. You can practically see the boulder on her shoulders and her spirit buckling under it.
No, revealing the full horror of who and what Harry is won’t help today. Not when her mind is made up.
I just don’t have the heart to pile more guilt on her brittle shoulders.
“I should go.” I gesture to the door with my thumb. “Good night, Dr. Ezzie.”
“Good night, Lena.”
Time to get home, take a long soak in the tub, and figure out my next move.
Dr. Ezzie was right about one thing, though. I am a fighter, and I have no intention of giving up, even if I have to go it alone.
Sighing, I grab my bag and jacket and head out into the rainy evening.
At least, I try.
What actually happens is I face-plant into a massive wall of a chest.
When I look up, it’s Brady looking down at me.
His easy, disarming smile disappears when he gets a good look at the pain etched on my face.
Nice knowing I must look as grim as I feel.
“Lena,” he says, taking my shoulders and steadying me like I weigh nothing. “You look like you could use that drink today.”
Oh, this boy has a death wish.
“Holy shit, take a hint. I really don’t think—”
“Just one drink. Hear me out.” He holds up his hands. “No BS, no hookups, I promise. We can even just do coffee if you want.”
My first instinct is to smack him in the face. My second instinct is to smack him harder.
I’m so not in the mood for an awkward bar hangout with a stranger frenemy treating me like a piece of meat.
But he’s cute. I’ll give him that.
And I don’t know how truly bad he is inside.
I also don’t know what’s waiting for me at home besides another lonely evening where the highlight is ordering three days’ worth of Thai takeout to eat my feelings. Granny Lark, the old lady up the street, isn’t around to bother me this week because she’s hanging out with her granddaughter.
Would it really be so atrocious to just humor him? To get this persistent, grandstanding gold monkey off my back?
“You know what? Fine. You win.” My teeth clench with regret.
“You’re serious?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, I thought I’d have to bribe you or something.”
“You do. When you buy me a cocktail, it better have the top-shelf stuff.”
“Noted.” His eyes flash like the winter sky.
“Also, I looked you up after our last—” Meeting isn’t the right word. More like disaster. “Our last interaction. Your channel’s kinda fun, and I appreciate you trying to rake in money for animals.”
“All the time,” he tells me, a whisper of a smile pulling at his lips. Not the spotlight charm he switches on when he wants something. This looks more real. “So you’re a new fan, huh?”
“Hardly. Wasting hours on YouTube isn’t my thing,” I say quickly, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “But I’m glad you give a damn sometimes. You only use your channel to puff yourself up about fifty percent of the time.”
“Flattering. I’ll work on raising that up to an even seventy.”
I glare at him, second-guessing my state of mind.
It’s a terrible idea to get involved with him at all, I’m sure. Tomorrow Lena is already side-eyeing me hard, demanding to know what the hell I’m thinking for even considering this.
But an evening out still feels better than moping over my nightmare ex and a business deal I can’t control. I’m due for a distraction, and a free drink or two feels like the ticket.
Even so, there’s no way I’m going out dressed like this and covered in dog hair.
“Two hours,” I say. “We’ll meet at Benny’s. I’ll Uber.”
Benny’s is a local wine and espresso bar, which gives me the option of keeping it cool and getting a small coffee flight or yielding to temptation with alcohol.
I know which way I’m leaning, but I’d be stupid to let my guard down around him too soon.
He doesn’t smile, but there’s a smug, delighted glint in his eyes as he says, “Wish granted, Lena. See you soon.”
This is not a date.
It’s so not a date that I settle for a casual dress, nothing showy. Blue, summery, soft, and warm—something that screams modest comfort and not I’m going home with you later.