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)
Holy hell, I’m ready to shrivel up and die from shame.
If only I’d stuck to coffee.
“Come here,” he says gently, and it’s so easy to let him tilt me forward until I’m in his arms.
That musky ocean smell is a welcome distraction. It teleports me to a peaceful place with clear blue skies, far from the ugly grey clouds of bad memories hanging over Seattle.
My face stays pressed against his shoulder, his arms around my back, his hands rubbing soothingly.
It’s so much nicer than anything I’d expect from him—and it feels so good.
His heart thuds slowly and strongly. The drumbeat vibrates through his body into mine, like he’s loaning me something I didn’t know I needed.
Steadiness. Calm. Courage.
It’s shocking how human he is, and maybe it shouldn’t be.
I feel bad for being so shallow, so jaded and quick to judge.
He’s made of flesh and blood, after all. Not emotionless metal and rubber, like some kind of AI robot powered by money.
My breathing slows to match his.
“Pawsome Hearts is more than just a job,” I whisper against his shoulder. My mouth moves against the fabric of his jacket, and I briefly imagine it against his skin. Salty sweet.
What the hell are you doing?
Stop.
I pull back, and he lets me, sliding away to give me space.
This would be so much easier if he was the ridiculous caricature I imagined.
I dab under my eyes. Of all the things I could’ve done in front of him, I just had to turn on the waterworks.
“What I really need,” I say shakily, searching for a lighthearted tone, “is a billionaire sugar daddy. My best friend married one, and she’s set for life.”
“What?” Brady stiffens like I just insulted him.
“My best friend, Elle. She’s awesome. Super-talented illustrator, sassy bitch, partner in crime. I love her to death. But she met this guy, August Marshall, and he paid her to be his fiancée. It was this whole drama arc, but now they’re married and she’s living out her dreams, illustrating stories. You know Inky the Penguin?”
“Who doesn’t? I used to have Inky pajamas when I was five. Must’ve wrote that penguin a hundred letters growing up.” His words are light, but there’s no humor in his eyes.
Dude, why is he looking at me like that?
Brady watches me like a hunting hawk and clears his throat before he drains the rest of his drink. The glass comes down with a loud clink.
“Actually, Lena, that’s the reason I brought you here tonight. I have something to ask you.”
What?
“. . . To be my sugar daddy?” I am so confused.
“Not quite, but when you put it that way, it’s not so different, I suppose.” He spreads his hands flat on the marble bar. “We both have problems we could help each other with.”
I almost snort espresso liqueur through my nose.
For real? What the hell can I do for Brady Pruitt, heir to billions and social media prince?
“I’m serious. Listen.” He leans in again, catching my hand, his eyes dancing with an energy that’s as intoxicating as my cocktail. “If you’ve stalked me online, you know I had a rough reputation growing up. Too many rich-kid parties and girlfriends I went through like eating grapes. Since then, I’ve been working overtime, getting my shit together. I promise you that shit chapter’s closed now. Only, my family’s been riding me hard to settle down. Get married. Look responsible. My father can’t be the public face of our brand, not since he wound up sick. They made me take over, and they want me to do it right. All for the almighty optics again.”
“So that’s it,” I whisper. “That’s why you’re with Blondie McBrat.”
“Nancy, yes. I’m sure you can guess they think we’re a match made in heaven—but you saw what she’s like.”
“Holy shit, yeah. I thought you guys were dating.” I make a gagging sound.
He chuckles roughly. “Fuck no. I’ll never be that hard up.”
The roughness in his voice rumbles through my bones.
I don’t like where this is going.
“Sooo, what are you suggesting?” I ask.
“I need to buy time. Enough to keep my family from climbing up my ass before I’m ready to launch my product line, find my footing, and rebuild my reputation with old-fashioned grit.” Those big blue eyes are midnight now, dark with determination. “I need a ruse. You need money. That makes us perfect partners, if we team up and—”
Panic.
I throw my hands up.
“Whoa, whoa. How about no?” I lean away from him. “No way, Brady. If you think I’m signing on to some wacky fake-engagement thing with you, count me out. Sorry, I’m not your girl.”
A slow, inappropriately sexy smile spreads across his lips. “Not even for a million dollars?”
A million—
Oh. My. God.
My vision starts spinning with zeros.
I’m glad I’m not the fainting type like poor Elle, or I’m pretty sure I’d be sliding off this stool boneless and face-planting on the marble bar.