Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
I'm not sure if he's talking about my messy office or the other thing, so I decide not to engage on either subject. "Why are you here, Briggs?" I ask instead.
"Lacy didn't tell you?"
Why is he on a first-name basis with my boss? I'm missing entire volumes here, and they all feel ominous as hell.
"Tell me what?"
He sinks into a chair across from my desk, not speaking. Oh no, he doesn't say a word as he gets comfortable, casually crossing his legs, folding his hands together on top of my desk…drawing out the anticipation until I'm ready to strangle him just to make him tell me what he's hiding.
"I'm a big advocate for education," he finally says.
"Good for you."
"I'm also going to be the face of your organization."
"Come again?" I ask, convinced I heard him wrong. I had to have heard him wrong, right? There's no way he just—
"I'm going to be the face of your organization."
For a full minute, I stare at him, wishing we were back at the wedding, when he would say one thing, then pretend he didn't say it. I could deal with that right now. I absolutely cannot deal with this.
"Hell no," I finally say, pushing away from my desk as a surge of panic engulfs me. "Absolutely not."
"It's already done." He stares at me, his expression placid, serene almost. "Lacy and I worked out the details yesterday."
I think I'm going to throw up. Or pass out. Or level my office when my head explodes. All three sound like good options right now.
What the fuck does he mean, he and Lacy worked out the details?
"This is…it's…" I don't even have a word for what this is! This is that level of stalking they make true crime shows about, the level where you don't need protection orders, but actual fucking bodyguards, witness protection, and a new identity. He can't possibly think this is normal. "You've lost your mind."
"Probably," he agrees, his expression still serene. "But that's on you."
Launching something at his head wouldn't really be assault, would it? Asking for a friend.
"My fault?" I ask instead, deciding to play it safe. I'd prefer not to go to jail for attacking a goalie in my own damn office, even if he does deserve it. "You do not get to blame your unhinged delusions and stalking tendencies on me, Briggs Ward. This is…it's…" Again, no words.
"Genius," he says.
"Unhinged," I retort.
"Brilliant."
I narrow my eyes. "Diabolical."
"Innovative."
"Insane."
"Inspired." His lips twitch. "I can throw out synonyms all day, baby."
If he calls me that one more time, I swear to God, I won't be responsible for the violence I unleash.
"Inspired?" I cross my arms, scowling at him. "Inspired by actual psychopaths, maybe."
"Look," he says, leaning forward, "you need funding, right?"
I hesitate, reluctant to answer because the truth is yes, obviously we need funding. But enough to sell my soul to this devil? I hate that the answer to that question is also yes, dammit.
"Maybe," I mutter, refusing to give him anything.
"You do," he says, completely confident, and I kind of want to strangle Lacy. God only knows how much she's told him about our needs. I don't have to wait long to find out. "You already serve thousands of students preparing for college, most of whom fall well below the federal poverty line. But there simply aren't enough scholarships to send everyone deserving to college. I have the resources and the reach to help."
"Kingston and Evie already help. We don't need you."
"Liar," he says with an amused chuckle. "You do need me because you'll never ask your brother and sister-in-law for the kind of help you guys actually need around here."
I cock my head to the side. "And what kind of help do you think we need around here?"
"You need someone willing to hit up people with deep pockets and ask for cash," he says, point blank. "And you need someone willing to stand in front of a camera or the press and do the same. You'd never ask Kingston or Evie to do that because you value their privacy and your relationships too much to put them to work the way you need."
"What makes you think I want to put you to work?" I ask, trying not to focus on just how much homework he's done on me. I don't think he's actually dangerous, but it's not like I trust my judgment when it comes to men, either.
Been there, done that, have the trauma to prove it.
"The students," he says with a shrug. "You care about them more than you care about avoiding me."
The fact that he has me pegged so well is worrisome. He's also right, dammit. If working with him means an influx of cash to provide for the kids who need it…can I really say no?
"I'll be on my best behavior," he says, holding up three fingers in a salute. But if he's a Boy Scout, I'm Mother Teresa. There's not a chance in hell he's going to be on his best behavior.