Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I’ve learned the hard way—don’t be reckless with anything, least of all my heart. But after one too many vodka sodas, saying yes to a much younger, devastatingly smooth stranger for one wild night seems like the perfect way to forget my brutal divorce. I even gave him a fake name. What could go wrong?
You’d be surprised.
Because instead of being my spicy little secret, Tate is now the chief marketing officer at my new job. He’s determined to prove our night together was only the beginning—and he has the tools to do it.
Chiseled jaw. Washboard abs. Effortless charm. He knows exactly how to get under my skin, melt my defenses, and keep me coming back for more.
I wanted a one-night stand. Instead, I got a full-blown situation. I should run and protect myself. But when he looks at me like I’m his whole world, I’m not sure I remember how.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Aurora
“I’m doing it.” The strap of my bag bites into my shoulder as I step forward. “By the time I’m back in this airport tomorrow night, it’ll be done.”
The airline check-in officer lifts a brow, pinning me to the spot with the scrutiny of someone paid to catch people doing inconspicuous things in airports.
“Oh no. It’s not like that,” I say hurriedly, gesturing to my earbuds. “I’m talking to a friend.”
Jamie’s snort pierces my eardrums. “Lying to a friend is more like it.”
“I’m a model citizen,” I say, ignoring her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m harmless.”
“Only criminals say that,” Jamie says.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, not wanting the officer to think I’m getting snarky with her. The last thing I need is to get apprehended by the marshals and miss my flight. That would be a great way to start the weekend.
The agent doesn’t respond. Instead, she dismisses me with a flick of her gaze toward the jetway.
“Thank you. Have a great day.” I scurry to catch up with the other people waiting to board the flight.
Raindrops splatter against the tunnel, carried by a howling wind that began minutes ago. The jetway trembles from the onslaught, and the other passengers exchange worried glances. I chew on my bottom lip in frustration. This flight better not get delayed.
“What is that sound?” Jamie asks as my line begins to move.
“The wind. Is it storming at the salon?”
“No, although it looks like it could start at any moment. Maybe it’ll knock the power out, and I’ll have to cancel this afternoon’s appointments. Maddie Spriggs is supposed to be here in an hour. I’d be beside myself if I had to postpone her cut and color.”
I laugh and step onto the plane. “Sure, you would.”
“Welcome aboard,” a smiling flight attendant says.
I nod, grip my bag tightly, and fight the urge to ask if she’s concerned about potential delays. Slowly, the bodies in front of me find their seats, and I reach mine—seat 4A.
First class and a window seat? Score!
“At least if I die, I’ll know what first class feels like.” I sink into the roomy blue pleather. “You should see how wide these seats are. I can put my arms down and not elbow whoever sits next to me.”
“Don’t talk about dying,” Jamie says. “What am I supposed to do if you die?”
I plop my bag at my feet and appreciate the extra space. “Oh, sure. Make my theoretical death about you.”
“Who else would it be about? I’d be here to deal with the salon and your customers, who would naturally be devastated. They’d expect me to console them, but—I don’t know whether you know this about me—I’m not the consoling kind.”
I laugh again, imagining my best friend trying to handle other people’s emotions. It would not end well.
Jamie Ralston is known for many things. She’s one of the best hairstylists in Nashville and owns one of the most popular salons, The Luxe. Her sense of humor is unmatched. She has an unbelievable shoe collection, knows every lyric to every country song written in the past thirty years, and has perfected the pouty red lip. But she’s the last person I’d go to for emotional support unless I’m ready to hear the raw, ugly truth.
“How long is your flight?” she asks.
“It’s just over an hour. I brought my earbuds and a book. I can’t think of the last time I got to sit quietly on a plane and read.”
“After the past year and a half, that’s the least you deserve.”
I couldn’t agree more.
The past eighteen months have been nothing short of brutal. My ex-husband, Kent, made it his mission to make my life a living hell. Although he took a job in Japan and moved across the world, he fought me tooth and nail over everything. The house. The car. Our frequent flier miles and bank accounts were a biggie. But the bastard even fought me over the damn blender our friends gave us as a housewarming gift and the jewelry box I bought on our honeymoon.
“I miss you around here,” Jamie says. “The Luxe isn’t the same without you.”
“I’ll be back in town tomorrow night.”
“You know what I mean.” She huffs. “I know your new job is what you wanted, and I’m so happy for you.” The way she says it, as if a gun is pointed at her head, makes me laugh. “I haven’t even tried to fill your chair. I don’t want to think about working alongside someone else.”
“If I hate this new gig, I’ll return to the salon full-time. You know that.”
“And we both know you won’t. You’re going to be so damn good that they’ll promote you within a week, and you’ll be running the damn place.”
“I love how supportive you are about this. Did you get that whole thing out without rolling your eyes?”