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)
Annoyingly wise words.
Despite myself, I feel a twitch of sympathy.
If he’s sincere about changing, it would suck to have the whole world making it harder, I guess.
“This happens a lot?”
“You have no clue.” He snorts.
The way he rakes a hand through his dark hair looks genuinely tormented. The kind of genuine I thought I saw back at the bar when he smiled like I meant the world.
Backstabbing, rich fucknugget.
God, I wish hating him was simple.
“I never should’ve offered you a drink. Never mind anything else. It’s my fault, and I’m not denying it.” He chuckles, short and dark. “I must have been out of my fucking gourd.”
“You got that right.”
“Which brings us to today and why I invited you here.” He pulls out his phone and waves it at me. “I want to set the record straight. This isn’t about you, and I’m not leaving you hanging, spinning in my net.”
That little grain of sympathy sprouts.
Damn him. Having to deal with so many rumors must get exhausting, especially when he’s trying to avoid some twisted arranged marriage with Miss Congeniality.
But I can’t bring myself to care.
It will only make the whole thing even worse.
I’m annoyed that I imagine Nancy reacting when she hears the news. She acted like she had some kind of claim on him.
Plus, his stuffy, image-chasing parents. He hasn’t said much about them, but I’m not stupid. I know the implications.
Then I wonder about Harry.
What if he recognized me in the photos?
God.
He’ll almost certainly come stalking around Pawsome Hearts again, armed with a way to embarrass me to death. Pressuring Dr. Ezzie until she hands him the keys to the kingdom.
All so he can demolish the clinic and build an ugly new stack of gentrified condos.
Holy hell, no!
Before, this dilemma felt hopeless. Going up against Harry with my limited influence felt like throwing a bucket of water at a wall and praying for erosion.
But if I had Brady’s help . . .
Stupid, I know.
Reckless.
Self-destructive.
When I came to the park, I was ready to throw his offer back in his face, and maybe any stray coffee cups I could find littering the ground. To laugh at the idea that he ever thought he could bribe me into being his flipping girlfriend.
Now, though, I see the offer for what it is without the personal outrage.
It’s more transactional.
One million dollars isn’t anything to sneeze at either.
Yesterday, I fled because the thought of lying to the world for money made my skin crawl. And he threw it in my face two minutes after I thought I could trust him.
Today, I’m reassessing my memory and my morals. What I’m prepared to do to save Pawsome Hearts.
“What’s your plan?” I ask, leaning up on my toes so I can see what he’s typing into his phone.
“Shoot this situation dead. I’m posting the truth for my followers. Everything. I’ll deal with the shitstorm it’ll bring down later. Almost done,” he grinds out, glaring at the screen like it’s biting him.
“Wait, don’t post it yet,” I say.
He stops and looks up. A fraught line appears between his brows.
“What?”
“I said don’t post.”
He shakes his head.
I inhale slowly. “If I wanted to be your fake girlfriend—if—I’d need the money up front.”
“The money . . .” His face clears. Those blue eyes blaze. His mouth loosens just a fraction before it tightens again. “The money I offered yesterday, you mean?”
“Duh. Do you think I’m beating back rich guys who want to pay me to kiss them?”
“Lena, I—” He blinks and then buttons his lips like he knows he’s about three seconds away from blowing it again. “Go ahead. Talk.”
“I don’t like being forced into anything.” Understatement of the century. “But a small part of me might see how this could benefit us.”
He looks like he’s biting his tongue, but he just nods.
“The thing is, I’d need to convince Dr. Ezzie I’m her other option for a buyout,” I say. “I’ll also need to find a new vet doc to partner with. I can’t run the clinic without doctors.”
“Sure.” Brady looks out across the blue-grey water, his eyes sharp. “We’d just need a contract outlining the terms.”
A contract. Yikes.
So official.
But maybe that’s exactly what we need to keep this from getting too stupid.
It’s not that I necessarily think Brady will take advantage of me. Not intentionally. Not deliberately.
But I do think this situation is delicate and requires rules engraved in legalese.
“The contract would state I’ll relinquish my right to continue our arrangement after one year,” he continues.
“A whole year? Holy shitballs.” I stand with my hands on my hips, legs splayed.
Yeah, it’s a power pose. I once read about them helping in social situations, but today it helps keep me from feeling like I’m helpless here.
Even while I’m giving up my soul.
From the way Brady looks at me, it’s working. Or something is working for him.