Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
“I’m halfway finished.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m not sleeping with you again,” I say, finding the last scraps of my backbone. “I meant that.”
“I thought you only meant it if we weren’t in a relationship.”
“Seeing as though that’s ‘not your thing,’ then—”
“I would like to be with you,” he interrupts, his hand squeezing at my waist. “That’s why I don’t want you to work under me anymore.”
I blink, stunned. “I’m not trying to be your first relationship project.”
“Then be my first girlfriend,” he says, voice sharp but eyes almost pleading. “And please stop making this difficult.”
I stare, throat dry, unable to form words.
“If you’re waiting for me to beg you, I will.” His jaw flexes. “I’ve really missed you, and it’s not just the sex.”
“I’ll take you on dates, Heather,” he adds, softer now. “Not because you asked for them, but because you deserve them.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes. His finger presses against my lips, silencing me.
“I meant what I said about being sorry.” His grip tightens, possessive at my waist. “Give me another chance and I promise you won’t regret it.”
Silence.
“Heather, I’m fucking trying here…” His voice is hoarse. “Can you say something?”
“I’m still processing the ‘girlfriend’ part.” My lips curve into a shaky smile. “I haven’t really heard anything else.”
He lets out a low laugh, the sound rough with relief, and pulls me against him, his lips crushing mine. The kiss is urgent, claiming, and it drags every memory of what I’ve missed straight back to the surface. My knees weaken as I melt into him, and when he finally pulls back, his breath still mingling with mine, I’m left trembling, undone.
“I’m serious about the edits on the Wildwood book,” he says, voice rough. “I’m offering you a seven figure deal on that one…”
“You want me to work on it tonight?”
“You can start this weekend.” He tugs me against his side, already steering me toward the door. “We’re spending tonight making up for lost time.”
—The End—
—
EPILOGUE
HEATHER
Several Months Later
The rooftop of Grey Wolf Publishing is louder than I expected—champagne popping, readers waving books in the air, cameras flashing against the skyline.
It’s my release party, though it feels more like a whirlwind. Everywhere I look, someone’s clutching The Final Terms—the contemporary office romance that started all of this.
It doesn’t seem real, not when I remember how close I came to never finishing it.
The Wildwood saga is still holding steady on the bestseller charts, and this winter the third book is set to hit shelves—with a nationwide tour to follow. Rumor has it I might not be traveling alone. A certain fellow author has been dropping hints about finally stepping out from behind his pseudonym.
But I know that he’s still mulling a certain “conflict of interest” …
Either way, I’ll be there. Writing. Signing. Meeting readers who remind me why I kept going.
Adrian never asked for a dime back from my advance, and now he doesn’t have to. I’m writing every day again—some mornings harder than others—but the words come because I show up, and because he makes sure I do. Coffee. Eye rolls. Stolen kisses across my desk. Most mornings, it’s him and me, and the page.
Tonight, though, it’s this rooftop.
I finish the last signature, the crowd thins, and the fairy lights finally settle into quiet. I’m still gathering myself when I feel him at my side.
“Come with me,” Adrian says. His hand finds mine, steady, certain, guiding me off the rooftop and back inside.
The halls are empty now, our footsteps echoing against marble and glass. He doesn’t stop until we’re in his office—the place that once terrified me, then tempted me, then became the start of everything.
He closes the door behind us and turns, his eyes sharp but unguarded.
“I’ve never once been happy when an author reneged on a deal,” he says slowly, each word deliberate. “Until you. You broke every rule I set, crossed every line I drew. And instead of destroying everything, you forced me to admit the one truth I’ve spent years avoiding—I don’t want control if it means living without you.”
He slips a hand into his jacket, pulls out a small velvet box, and lowers to one knee. The sight of Adrian Wolfson—the Grey Wolf himself—kneeling on his own office floor nearly knocks the breath from me.
“I’ve negotiated every kind of contract in this building,” he continues, voice low but steady. “But this one is different. This is the only deal I’ll ever put everything on the table for. My only offer.” He opens the box, eyes locked on mine. “Marry me.”