Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
But Wilder doesn’t bite on my low-key attempt at humor. His insightful eyes search my face as he asks, “What’s going on, Fable?”
It’s said with such genuine care that words rush to my throat. I don’t usually share the more emotional parts of myself, but the injustice of the Thanksgiving incident fires me up. “It’s just…when I went to find Brady at Thanksgiving?” I prompt, reminding him of that moment.
“Right. When he went to the wrapping room and returned with the caterer, he looked a little chagrined,” Wilder supplies. I shouldn’t be surprised he remembers every detail, but I’m surprisingly touched.
“They were enjoying some pre-dessert dessert—”
Wilder growls. He actually growls. I haven’t even said what Brady was doing, but the man is feral. “While he was with you?” He says it like Brady’s committed the crime of the century by cheating on me.
“Yes. In my defense, I ended it with him right then and there…Well, she swallowed first,” I add. I try to make light of the awfulness of what they were doing in the wrapping room. I don’t want to relive that mortification. I’m not missing Brady—he’s no loss. But I feel like his doormat, and I hate that. When I was in high school, I vowed to never let someone walk over me, like my father did to my mother. I don’t want Wilder to think of me that way.
But he’s on my side, clearly, and he’s breathing fumes. “He’s a prick, and he never deserved you. Ever.”
Well, sir. His outrage is kind of hot. “But that’s not even half of it,” I say, fueled by his ire and my own.
“What is it?” Wilder asks, his jaw ticking. “What’s the other half?”
I bite my lip. Should I tell him this? He is the boss.
But he seems keenly interested. He’s leaning forward in his chair, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt again like he’s ready to go into battle for me, a warrior CEO. I pause, momentarily distracted by his inked forearms. Abstract black artwork travels up his muscular wrists. His complexion is fair but a shade darker than my very pale self, since I’m allergic to sunlight. Suddenly, I don’t want to stop staring at those arms, but once he finishes adjusting the cuffs, I tear my gaze away.
Then, since he seems like he’s on the edge of his seat, I let it all out. “He’s bringing her to the wedding. They’re teaming up for the Evergreen Falls winter games. And I’m going—”
I snap my mouth shut before I utter solo. I don’t want to sound like I’m angling for a teammate for the contest or even a plus one for the wedding.
But Wilder seems to easily read between the lines.
“You want Brady to be jealous?” Wilder asks, and his hands have knuckled into fists against his thighs. The muscles carving his forearms flex, and I try not to notice because don’t think inappropriate thoughts about your boss.
Correction: don’t think any more inappropriate thoughts about your boss.
“No. That’s not it,” I say truthfully. I think of Mom once more. She took my dad back again and again until she finally kicked him out for good. I was sixteen then, though, and watching the door swing open for him more times than he deserved has stayed with me. Especially since he went on to do the same thing to his next wife and the next one. There’s a lesson there, for sure.
Deciding that it’s not the worst thing for Wilder to know I’m still a little fiery, a little salty even, about how the eggnog went down, I square my shoulders and say, “It’s because people treat you the way you let them, and I want to show Brady how I deserve to be treated.”
Wilder nods slowly. “You deserve to be treated with respect. With adoration. With real affection.”
From someone else, the lines could sound trite—but Wilder doesn’t bullshit. He’s genuine. I know that from working with him. He’s not the cold-hearted, unapproachable boss. He’s, well, he’s real. And the compliments feel like they fit.
But I also like the way he looks right now. Fierce and protective. Like it’s against his very nature to do anything but protect me from my awful ex.
This is why he owns a winning football team in this city. Why he runs luxury hotels and a green business. Why he commands a boardroom. The man does not suffer fools.
If this were a movie and Brady worked for him in it, he’d call the philanderer into his office and find a way to fire him on the spot.
To make a point. You don’t treat my top designer like that.
Instead, there’s a knock on the door, and a warm, husky voice calls out, “Wild child, I come bearing Christmas joy.”
It’s my turn to fight off a grin since my first thought is that Aunt Bibi has an adorable nickname for Wilder.