Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
If she shows up with kale juice, I will spontaneously combust.
The implication that I’ll lose Ethan without her help also stings, even though he’s not technically mine to lose.
“I shouldn’t distract you at work,” she says abruptly, flashing me the worst smile.
“You just figured that out, huh?”
“Ta-ta,” she calls, fluttering a hand at me as she heads for the door. The bell dings again, leaving me staring at her in disbelief.
How is this my life?
Queen of bad choices.
First, there was that stupid librarian program when I didn’t have my head straight and I knew the stress would get to me, and now this.
Ethan Blackthorn.
A fake engagement.
My mother at a high-stakes family dinner where I’ll already be hyperventilating.
I could’ve lied.
I was the one who blurted out the dinner plans with Ethan’s parents.
The world feels darker and smaller, like I’ve been dunked in oil and tossed into a storage container.
All I want to do is scrub myself clean.
Everyone will know me as Ethan Blackthorn’s better half now. I’m no longer nice, anonymous Hattie Sage.
I’ll be Ethan Blackthorn’s fiancée. His wife.
Eventually, his ex-wife.
Holy shit, breathe!
No, I didn’t think this through.
I’m going to be a divorcée with a media footprint before thirty.
There are so many bad implications here.
It could limit my dating potential. Future boyfriends might be less forgiving if they know I married and divorced so young. I’m only twenty-five now.
And it’s not like I chose this.
It’s not like I looked at Ethan and thought ‘oh yes, marrying him would be brilliant.’
Jesus, no.
Marrying Ethan Blackthorn is my biggest fumble yet. Agreeing to this ridiculous plot has to be up there in my top five blunders. Maybe even gunning for first.
I return to my stack of books, trying to think of a way out of this, even though I know how screwed I am.
That’s the deal.
I signed a contract. I’m obligated to fulfill this disaster to collect my six-figure payoff.
Which suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s nearly enough for an engagement that’s bound to haunt me for the rest of my life.
My lungs are cement.
My throat clenches and I launch into a coughing fit.
Calm.
Calm down.
Mom will make this ordeal unbearable, but there’s time to fix that.
It won’t be easy.
Telling her she’s not welcome at a place she’ll be stampeding to get into feels a bit like yelling at the TV—not just pointless, but it makes you look unstable.
The thing is, she has a way of making you feel like you’re in the wrong for opposing her.
If I ask her to stay away, she’ll huff and she’ll puff and she’ll point out my many other failures, slinging dire warnings that I’d better not screw this up, too.
She really believes if I let her manage everything, I’d be ten times more successful.
Of course, that wouldn’t involve working with books, but she’s never understood that obsession, either.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
How the hell do I explain this to Ethan?
“Hattie,” Mr. Sneed snaps from behind me, his voice as sharp as always. “There’s a crazy man here to see you.”
“Crazy man?” I echo, dropping my hands and turning around.
Mr. Sneed wears a cardigan half off one shoulder and a scowl that could rival Ethan’s.
Stop thinking about him, smartass.
My boss folds his arms like my inability to process his bizarre statement offends him. “Yes. Crazy.”
“What do you mean? What’s he doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He throws up his hands. “Maybe because he’s offering to buy the entire store to accommodate your scheduling conflict.” He drops his hands again and narrows his eyes at me. “Do I call the police? Do you have a stalker?”
I shake my head.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no, no—
Blame my imagination. It’s clearly conjured up my own personal devil.
I’m cursing it even before Ethan rounds the corner—you guessed it—scowling.
“Hattie,” he barks.
Mr. Sneed draws himself up to his full height—which, compared to Ethan, is pitiful. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”
Ethan sighs and looks me dead in the eye.
There goes my chance to flee.
Besides, he’s blocking the way to the exit, and the fire door is blocked off with piles of books. Another task to finish on my long to-do list.
“Hattie,” Ethan snarls again. His tone tells me he’s about to lose his patience. “Tell this man who I am.”
“Oh.” I panic. The word fiancé feels ridiculously large in my mouth. “Mr. Sneed, this is my—my friend.”
Ethan rolls his eyes.
“Friend? I swear to God,” he mutters.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
Mr. Sneed looks between us warily.
“Friend?” he repeats. “You know him? Then why the hell is he bothering you on duty with these bizarre demands?”
“She knows me very well,” Ethan growls, shooting my boss a withering look. “We’re engaged.” The corner of his mouth twitches like the idea tastes sour, but he meets my gaze. “I’m serious, Hattie. This place is yours, if he sells. No more excuses for dodging dinner.”