Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
I rake my eyes over her, unsure if this is a real suggestion or more of her unfunny bullshit.
“There’s exactly one lady I’m aware of killing,” I whisper harshly.
She glares at me.
“Dude. Why do you think the press and people after easy views on Insta follow you around? Attraction is a marketing superpower—”
“I’m no model,” I grind out. “If you’re serious, Miss Poe, we can always explore hiring talent.”
“We could. But if you really cared about the wedding line, you’d model the men’s line yourself,” she says with a flick of her hand, wearing a grin I want to bite off her face.
“Slam dunk, Poe! Way to throw down the gauntlet,” our college intern says, flashing some ridiculous hand sign.
“That kid annoys me,” I whisper to Dakota.
“Good. You annoy most of us, but we just bite our tongues because you’re the boss. And he’s hardly a kid. He’s almost as old as me,” she says.
I don’t like being reminded how young she is, even if my cock strongly disagrees.
“You’re far less annoying,” I say.
She beams, stifling another laugh.
“Wow. I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Not true. I’ve told you plenty of times you’re as talented as you are beauti—” I choke off mid-word and slam my yap shut.
Too much.
Too late.
She stiffens slightly, biting her bottom lip, and then she edges over, making more space between us.
I want to laugh at the effect I have on her that’s impossible to deny. A twisted part of me enjoys it, but I hold in my amusement.
We’re still in a meeting with several stragglers around, and I need to be professional.
“Well then, Miss Patel, what are your thoughts? Since Miss Poe says I’m such an irresistible ladies’ magnet, should I consider modeling the groom’s wear?” I’m joking, of course.
When Anna nods with a wide smile that shows her teeth, I almost fall out of my chair.
“Not a bad idea. It’s very original. Possibly the next best thing to suiting up in Haughty But Nice attire for your own wedding—”
The room goes silent. Everyone who’s still here has their eyes glued to us.
Anna’s gaze becomes laser-focused on—I’m not sure what. Her mouth forms all kinds of shapes, but nothing comes out.
“Miss Patel? Anna?” I prompt.
She holds up a finger and remembers how her mouth works.
“Holy crap. That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“Your wedding.”
“What damn wedding? I’m not getting married,” I say with a snort. “Has my mother been here again? Is this some high-pressure prank to make me settle down?”
A couple of the older employees laugh knowingly.
They get it. My sweet-as-pie mother becomes an unpredictable assassin when it comes to my love life—or lack thereof by choice.
“No, but you and Dakota hit it off pretty well, right?” Anna says, her dark-brown eyes glowing with something I dread when she speaks again. “So, call me crazy, but what if you two staged a wedding? What if you got all dolled up in a photo shoot in Haughty But Nice wardrobes? It’s a unique, interesting angle that could send our sales through the roof.”
Goddamn. It’s worse than I thought.
“You’re crazy!” I snap.
Dakota jerks up in her seat. I almost think she’s more horrified than me.
“Anna, that’s, um—a big yikes,” she spits. “That’s just...a bridge too far.”
That’s putting it mildly.
I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.
I’d slam my dick in the door ten times before I’d ever get married—even fake married—purely to move my products. And if I were getting married to sell clothes, it certainly wouldn’t be with a frigging employee who already lives in my head.
“Not happening, Miss Patel. You know I welcome exotic ideas within limits, but this breaches them all,” I say.
Dakota leans in closer. “Aside from the you and I part...it’s not half bad. What if I did a few shoots with the intern kid?”
My eyes pivot to the side of the room where the scrawny kid sits with a smug smile.
Dakota and him? That’s even worse than copywriter Jimbo.
Fuck that.
“You need a man who looks the part if you want to sell, Nevermore. Not Peter fucking Pan,” I growl.
“Me and my big mouth,” she groans with a delirious eye roll.
“Guys, calm down, it’s just a thought!” Anna says in my ear. I hadn’t noticed her getting up and moving next to us, taking the vacant seat. “No one expects you to get, like, married-married. Just fake married. And not even married but fake engaged.”
“Do we make Hallmark movies now?” Dakota asks with a laugh. “Fake Married for Fashion. Sounds like pure cheese...”
“I agree, it isn’t dark enough by half for you,” I quip.
With a loud huff, she picks up the pen again and leans over. I can feel her breath as she whispers, “You want to see dark?”
You have no earthly clue, you little firecracker.
I slide my hands under the table, shifting my pants so my unruly dick isn’t pitching a tent.