Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“What complication?” He looked at the folder open on his desk. “I’m staring at the financials right here, and it’s plain as fucking day they need to sell. If they’re not selling to our client, they’re selling to someone else.”
“They’re not selling to anyone else. The complication is just a granddaughter who’s hell-bent on saving the farm.”
He cracked his knuckles. “What if Black Diamond upped the offer?”
“It’s not about the money. It’s sentimental. She just doesn’t want to let it go.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harvey glared at me, pointed a pudgy finger in my direction. “That’s your fucking job, Buckley. You talk people into things they don’t want to do.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Working on it?” He shoved a wad of gum in his mouth, jumped up from his chair, and started pacing. He was a heavyset man in his late fifties with a receding salt-and-pepper hairline and thick jowls. His forehead wore a sheen of sweat. “Black Diamond is losing patience. My father’s about to come out of retirement and fire me because he thinks I put someone incompetent on the job. My wife’s driving me fucking crazy with all the money she’s spending on McKenna’s wedding, and I can’t even have a cigarette because my doctor told me I’m going to die if I don’t quit.”
“I’m sorry, Harvey. I’ll get it done. I just need a little more time.”
“You’ve got two weeks to wrap this thing up and tie a fucking bow on it, or I’m giving the account to Bob Oliver.”
My hands balled into fists. Because fuck Bob Oliver.
He was two years younger than me, and once upon a time, I’d been something of a mentor to him. He was the new guy, I was the rising star. He asked me for advice, and I gave it. I gave time. I gave effort. I gave a fuck, and I tend to reserve those for people who really matter to me.
But within six months, Bob had proven himself to be all the things I hated.
A liar. A cheater. A backstabber.
He’d stolen my research. He’d stolen my ideas. He’d passed off my work as his own. He’d blamed me for his mistakes. He’d used shady, underhanded tactics to poach clients from me, and now he was engaged to McKenna Hotchkiss, the boss’s daughter.
My ex-girlfriend.
Whom he’d fucked at the company Christmas party last year.
It made me sick to think of him making empty promises to Martha McIntyre over lunch. Or Lexi—my blood nearly boiled thinking about him in the same room with Lexi. Lying to her. Giving her false hope.
“I don’t want Bob Oliver anywhere near this,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Bob gets things done.”
“I can get this done.”
“Two weeks, Buckley.” Hotchkiss’s expression was threatening. “Or you can kiss that promotion goodbye.”
As I left Harvey’s office, I nearly ran right into Bob, who was standing right outside the door eating a bag of microwave popcorn. He reminded me of one of my little sister Mabel’s Ken dolls, blond and plastic, with a permanently smug expression and insincere eyes. “How’d that go for you?” he asked, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
I had at least three inches on him, which I used to full effect as I scowled down at his face. “Stay the fuck away from my accounts.”
He smiled and tipped the bag toward me. “You look hangry. Need a snack?”
“Fuck off.” Shouldering past him, I strode down the hall and into my office. After closing the door, I sat down at my desk and called Lexi.
As I expected, it went straight to voicemail. “Hey Lexi, it’s Devlin. I’m really sorry about the way things went down yesterday, and I’d like to continue the conversation. I’m happy to come back there if you’d prefer to talk in person, or you can feel free to call me back any time. I hope you’re having a good day.”
She didn’t call me back.
I gave her a few days to cool off and tried again. Left another message. “Hi, Lexi. It’s Devlin Buckley. I know you’re upset with me, and I understand. If I were you, I’d probably think the worst too. But I swear on my Camp Lemonade T-shirt that I had no idea who you were at The Broken Spoke that night. I saw you across the room and thought you were beautiful, so I wanted to talk to you. That’s the truth. If you knew me better—maybe if we’d done a little more talking that night—you’d know I don’t believe in lying to get what I want. I don’t like cheaters. I always play fair. That’s why I didn’t make your grandmother any false promises at the table. I want to be straight with her. And with you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the ache at the back of my skull. “All I want to do is talk things through. Please call me.”