Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I’m an attorney,” she says simply.
“I see. Does this organization fend off many lawsuits? Given how vast it is, with so many properties, I would think it does. I’m sure people often fall or are unhappy with the chocolate on their pillow at night.”
“Are you planning to sue us?” She lifts an eyebrow.
“Right.” I snort and shake my head.
Fiona blinks at me slowly. “And what do you do, Miss Blackwell?”
“I’m a business owner,” I reply, holding her gaze head-on.
“Interesting.” She flicks a microscopic piece of lint off her skirt. “What kind of business would that be? Are you a social media influencer? A photographer? A travel blogger?”
I don’t flinch. I don’t show any reaction to Fiona’s effort to be condescending and make me look like a fool.
This bitch.
“No, actually, although I think that any successful business or endeavor is valuable, as long as the person doing it is fulfilled, I own a brick-and-mortar independent bookstore in Bitterroot Valley.”
Fiona’s eyebrow lifts in surprise. “And what kinds of books do you sell?”
Why are you interviewing me?
“We primarily sell romance, along with women’s fiction and some thrillers.”
Fiona snorts. “I see.”
“Do you?”
That eyebrow lifts once more.
“Did you know that romance accounts for one-point-four billion dollars worth of business every year, and it’s climbing? That’s almost double the next highest-selling genre, which happens to be thriller. Romance continues to grow each and every year in sales, and I would be ridiculous if I didn’t capitalize on that. Besides, I enjoy it myself.”
“I didn’t say anything derogatory about it,” she insists.
“Not with words, but your smirk did.” I sit back in the chair and cross my arms over my chest. “You have already decided that you don’t like me.”
“You seem to have a habit of putting words in others’ mouths.”
I smile at her, not backing down at all, and Fiona finally shifts in her seat.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” she says, leaning forward. “I don’t dislike you, Billie.”
Oh, now we’re on a first-name basis.
“Not at all,” she continues. “I don’t know you well enough to make such a decision. But I did want to warn you that as charming and handsome as Connor is, he’ll never commit to you, no matter how much you beg him to.”
I lift an eyebrow, but she keeps talking.
“He’s a good man. Kind. Smart. But he’s not great at being in a relationship, and he will never confide in you, be truly intimate with you, and I don’t mean that in a physical sense. He’s excellent in bed.”
I narrow my eyes, and still, she continues.
I would like to scratch her eyes out.
“You’re young. So young. Fresh and new, and I can see the appeal. But you have so much life ahead of you. Do you really want to spend it with someone who has so much more life experience than you? Of course, he is wealthy.”
I’m so fucking angry. This woman is one of Connor’s best friends?
“I’m sure it was exciting when he took you shopping for those clothes. Connor has excellent taste, and he’s generous almost to a fault. As long as he’s still enamored with you, he’ll continue to shower you with expensive gifts. He’ll likely even let you keep them when he’s through with you.”
Fuck, she sounds bitter. Connor led me to believe that they were good friends because the divorce had been wanted on both sides.
I’m wondering now if Fiona was not as agreeable as Connor believed. Is she angry that she no longer has access to him?
“Is that what he did to you?” I ask, my voice even. “He let you keep the gifts?”
“He didn’t let me do anything,” she says, finally showing her frustration. “Those items were mine.”
“Of course, they were,” I reply. “They were gifts, so they were yours.”
“Connor—”
“I’m going to stop you there.” I hold up my hand. “I can’t stomach listening to you disrespect the man I love any longer. I don’t care what you think of me. Yes, I’m a lot younger than him. That’s just … time. Completely out of anyone’s control. I’m not a child. I’m a successful businesswoman who comes from a nice family in a small town in Montana. I’m not wealthy. And honestly, who the fuck cares?”
Her eyes widen at that, and I continue, keeping my tone even because I refuse to raise my voice in this office. She’s not worth it.
“You don’t know us. You have no idea what happens in our relationship. But I can guarantee you this: what Connor and I share is not at all the same as what you had with him all those years ago. I know that because we’re different people. Connor’s not the same person as he was back then. He claims that you’re one of his closest friends, but I’d disagree. I suspect, based on this conversation and the way you greeted me today, that your divorce was not as amicable as you let him believe it was. Sure, my good friends might ask questions and even warn him that hurting me means they hurt him in turn. But they wouldn’t deliberately try to destroy something important to me.”