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)
Just like he wants.
Just like his boring damn life.
“You can stall them out, you know,” Luis suggests.
“Not for long. Dad owns a huge chunk of the organic farming sector in the Pacific Northwest. Lots of smaller farms answer to him too. If I don’t tell him why I’m changing the formula again, he’ll call up any farm I’m working with and ask. Hell, he might do it anyway for spite.” I kick at a rock and dig my phone out of my pocket, buzzing with notifications.
Instagram DMs.
Not unusual, but the face on one profile hits me right in the gut.
Lena.
You stupid selfish prolapsed asshole, her latest message reads.
Accurate.
But there’s more—a long chain of messages as I skim down, each more vulgar than the last at a glance.
Damn.
I don’t know what I’ve done to make her madder since last night. I figured I’d never see her again after that.
“Hold up,” I mutter to Luis as we wait for the car.
He scrolls his emails as I dig through the full chat, trying to catch up.
There’s more name-calling. A lot of name-calling.
Tons of newly invented curse words that would make a fifteen-year-old gamer blush, followed by demands to know what the hell I’ve done.
I don’t understand.
You want to enlighten me? What’s going on? I text back.
Corbin Daniels, my auxiliary driver, pulls up with a Suburban and parks on the curb. As Luis and I climb in, I show him the messages.
“I don’t get what I’ve done to make her so livid.”
“You don’t already know?” He looks at me, almost wincing.
“If I knew, would I be asking?” I stare back flatly.
“Here. I’ve been watching it unfold all morning. I didn’t want to say anything before the test. Don’t shoot the messenger.” He passes me his phone with an article pulled up.
So, Benny’s wasn’t the best place to meet, after all. I thought it’d be fine and we’d melt into the crowd, nice and anonymous.
But I still have times where I forget some people just can’t get enough of Brady fucking Pruitt. And somehow those people found me, which means they found Lena too.
My gut sinks as I flick through the photos.
There’s me on the barstool, leaning into her with a smile and an espresso martini in my hand.
Her taking a sip from her drink. Gesturing.
And then the moment where we’re hugging and she’s crying out her soul.
Fuck.
There are so many pictures of that. One single point of contact, and it’s everywhere.
People thrive off making assumptions if you’re attractive and the least bit famous. When their own lives don’t have enough excitement, they need to borrow mine.
Whatever the motives, the result is the same.
That damn heartfelt hug is plastered all over social media now.
Not just Instagram, but TikTok, X, everywhere.
There are even videos with a so-called body language expert analyzing everything, and three bad lip readings.
I’m so fucking cooked.
“Buddy, this is bad,” I whisper as I scroll the rest with my lip curled.
“Yup.”
I squint at him, wondering at the last time his bluntness was useful.
Then my phone buzzes again, probably with Lena’s reply.
There’s nothing I can think to say. There’s truly nowhere in this city safe from prying eyes.
I hate that a devious little devil on my shoulder sees opportunity. If I were every bit the bastard she thinks I am, I could use it to draw her in, to shoot my shot one more time.
This is the push she needs to really consider my offer when half of Seattle already thinks we’re together.
But I can’t.
I fucking won’t.
Waving a fat paycheck in her face while she was hurting was bad enough. A movie-villain, dick move.
Doing it after I’ve made her infamous?
No.
Luis has been with me long enough to read my face. He drums his fingers against his knee, thinking.
“You’re not going to ask her again, are you?” he finally says.
“I’m not a monster.”
“So, what will you do, boss? There’s more to worry about now than your folks pushing Nancy on you.”
Sighing, I pull out my phone. She’s sent the worst of the pictures directly to me with a series of emoji and question marks.
“I’m going to meet her. ASAP, on neutral ground, like a local park,” I snarl. My fingers punch the screen as I type a message. “Somehow, we’ll dig our way out of this. I just need a chance to make it right.”
Somehow.
Luis’s heavy sigh tells me I might have an easier time moving Mount Rainier.
VII
The Bark Side
(Lena)
I almost don’t go.
Right up until the minute I arrive, I’m thinking I’ll turn back.
And I look ridiculous, walking into another ambush. It’s clear they could be anywhere—clout chasers on social media, armed with their phones. Waiting to spot Brady and anyone he’s with to photograph their every move.
I’ve gone out of my way to look inconspicuous, but it’s turned me into a slob.
Instead of my usual jeans-and-tee off-work combo, I’ve gone for an oversize hoodie and sweatpants.