Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Gray, come on in and grab a seat,” Mr. Brewer says as I shut the door behind me.
Astrid’s shock swiftly darkens, staring daggers at me as I sit in the chair next to her. Mr. Brewer looks between us, picking up on the fact that something is amiss … and potentially volatile. I’m sure he’s wondering how that’s possible since I just got to Nashville. It usually takes me at least a week to make enemies.
His gaze settles on me. I shrug in response.
The world’s a shit show, sir. Welcome to mine.
I sit calmly, running my hands down my thighs, and don’t look at Astrid. That’s partially because this isn’t the appropriate venue to fight with her, and I have a feeling that’s what it’ll be. She’s not one to back down, and frankly, neither am I.
My mind tries to process this strange turn of events, but there’s no time. Our boss jumps into the thick of it before I can get my thoughts together.
“I take it you two have met,” he says.
“You could say that.” Astrid shifts in her chair, putting as much space between us as she can. I find that oddly amusing.
“Is she always like this?” I ask, jamming my thumb in her direction.
Astrid flinches, whipping her freckled face to me. Her disdain for me is apparent, and she’s ready to claw at me again. But before she can go for the kill, Mr. Brewer steps in.
“Let me guess,” he says. “The gas station?”
“How did you know that?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, the answer dawns on me. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I was talking to my boss.” I blow out a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised that this is happening. It’s par for the course. When things start to go right for me, they quickly fall apart. This one disintegrated faster than usual, but hey—at least my life’s consistent.
Mr. Brewer kicks back in his chair and chews on the end of a pen. I can’t tell whether he’s entertained by this or stumped. That makes two of us.
The room grows quiet as the three of us assess the situation. His face stays blank as he watches Astrid and me like he’s trying to read a play on the pitch. Astrid crosses her arms over her chest, making her displeasure with my presence apparent. I fold my hands on my lap and look straight ahead.
Every muscle in my body aches from riding in the truck all night, and my head has pounded like a damn drum since Astrid's little fit this morning. Who the hell acts like that to a random stranger? She’s lucky it was me and not a short-fused asshole. She’s even luckier that the old lady showed up. Otherwise, one of us would probably be in orange right about now.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Astrid says, wincing, “but is there any way I can work for Tate instead?”
They share a grin, and I have no clue what it’s about. All I know is Tate, whoever he is, is screwed. Better him than me.
“No, you can’t go to work for my brother,” Mr. Brewer says. “Good try, though.”
Astrid frowns and, for the first time since I met her, we’re on the same page.
“Are you ready to get to work, Gray?” he asks me.
I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “Absolutely. I’m honored to have the opportunity to play for you and the Royals, sir.”
“That’s great to hear. And you can call me Renn.”
I nod, unsure if I can call him by his first name. It feels wrong. He’s the owner of this club. A legend.
“Do you have any questions or concerns?” Renn asks me.
“No, not really. Aside from this … situation,” I say, gesturing between Astrid and me. Surely, he can tell this isn’t a good fit. “This isn’t what I expected, if you know what I mean.”
Astrid holds up an index finger. “I know what he means. I didn’t expect this either when I tentatively agreed to your proposition.”
“I know you two got off on the wrong foot,” Renn says. “But I’m sure you can figure it out. We have a lot of work to do. Understood?”
Sure, I understand that we need to get to work. That’s what I’m here for. But I don’t know how he thinks Astrid and I can figure this out. There’s no being logical with this woman. I’ve tried. She’s pushed me to the point with her bullshit that I don’t want to try to get along with her. It’s a waste of energy.
Can’t you just give me a college kid in a button-down shirt who’ll go through the motions and stay out of my way?
“You signed a contract stating you’d receive a personal assistant for the duration of your time in Nashville,” he says, lifting a brow.