Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“You didn’t even come close to what my campaign for Dalencia Fashion did,” Beau refutes, his voice deep with sarcasm. “We’re lucky Clover even wants to work with us again after the pathetic numbers you generated.”
Both Avery’s and my heads bounce back and forth like volleyballs being smashed across a net. This spat may be work-related, but the inherent tension is nearly enough to set the whole damn building on fire.
“Pathetic numbers?” Seth nearly shouts, and strands of his silky hair fall toward his eyes. “They doubled their sales!”
“Is this, like, some kind of lovers’ quarrel?” Avery asks, her voice managing to rise above both Seth and Beau. She’s unserious about everything, but the people who really know her know this is her way of trying to defuse a situation. “Or do I need to go find a tape measure so you can compare your dicks?”
“Avery,” Neil chides, though the grin stretching across his handsome face belies his whole intent.
“What?” she insists. “Tell them to put Peter and Paul Pogostick away, and we’ll move on.”
Neil’s face pinches in consideration. “You know, maybe what we need is a little friendly competition. If you’re both so ready to take this on, you both should. Right, Chris?”
Chris crosses his arms below his round, barrel chest. He’s a big guy, a few inches taller than Neil, but not nearly as good-looking. Honestly, if he’d stop doing the weird, slicked-back hair look on his curly gray hair, he’d increase his appeal tenfold. “Getting Hughes International as a client is important. Hell, it’s the most important thing right now. And the more ideas we have, the better.”
“You don’t need more than one idea when you’re confident you have the best one,” Seth challenges, and the tone of his voice does the tango with annoyance.
“What’s the matter?” Beau asks, his mouth kicking up at the corners and settling the tiniest of dimples in his cheek. It’s the size of a pinpoint, really—an insignificant feature to anyone else. But I, on the other hand, spent nearly a month of my life during eighth grade studying the characteristic every chance I got. “Scared no one will hear your voice if it’s not the only one in the room, Seth?”
“No,” Seth counters through a hard jaw. “But you should be, with your track record.”
“Enough,” Chris commands. “I want full pitches with all the bells and whistles from both of you by New Year’s Eve. You’ll run through the pitches with us, and then you’ll present directly to Marcus Hughes, and he’ll decide. Sound good, Neil?”
Neil purses his lips in thought, his eyes briefly flitting over to Beau. As a father, this has to be about the shittiest situation he’s ever created for his son, and knowing Neil, he’s feeling conflicted. But to my surprise, he nods. “Yeah. I think that sounds perfect.”
Avery nudges me with her elbow, but I don’t dare look away. I need to know everything that Beau is feeling and thinking right now, and I need to know the cheat codes for how to fix it.
“So, we’re competing against each other?” Seth asks for confirmation, a sneaky smile flashing across his lips.
“Yeah.” Chris nods. “Friendly competition, of course. Banks & McKenzie is the only thing we truly need to win.”
“Of course,” Beau agrees, his jaw a firm mask over his normal good nature.
Is it just me, or has someone sucked all the air out of the room?
“Oh boy,” Avery mutters toward me. “This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe I should AirDrop my therapist’s number to Beau when we leave here.”
Chris smiles big, and a giant cloud of anticipation and bad juju fills the air. I war with myself, wondering if watching Beau go through this is going to help my crush or fan the flames.
Either way, I guess we’re about to find out.
Let the games begin.
Neon is packed like a damn can of sardines. Music vibrates from the massive speakers that sit throughout the warehouse-style nightclub, and the dance floor is filled with writhing bodies.
And I, Juniper Perry, am right in the middle of it, even though I said I wouldn’t be. But it’s not that big of a surprise. When it comes to Avery, I have a painfully low streak of resistance.
“Aren’t you so happy you decided to come out tonight?” Avery questions, a vodka cranberry in one hand as she wraps her arm around my shoulder.
“Do you want me to tell you the real answer or the answer you want to hear?”
“The answer I want to hear,” she responds unabashedly, her red lips curving up into a smile.
“I’m having the time of my life,” I say, voice monotone but eyes dancing with sarcasm.
Avery laughs at that and spins me around to face the dancing crowd that sits below our feet.
Six bartenders work the big glass bar in the center for the commonfolk, but we sit tight as waitresses deliver us bottle service. Avery’s hookup buddy David reserved the VIP section in the hope of landing a quick bang, and Avery has been full-on flirtatious with him in return. She doesn’t need men to pay for her drinks—her trust fund and obscene monthly allowance ensure that—but she loves the thrill of the chase as men fight to keep her attention.