Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
"I'm not."
"Then no."
"Oh. Then why Buddhism? Why not go with I'm a Satanist?"
"I'm trying to get off the phone, not have every church from here to Oregon calling me," he says. "Or showing up at my damn door."
"Good point. I didn't think about that."
"I'm hanging up now. Do me a favor and don't call back."
"Wait! Hire me first."
Oh, good grief. That is not what I meant to say.
"Hire you? I don't even know you. Why in the hell would I hire you?" he growls.
"Your ad," I blurt, talking fast to keep him from hanging up on me. He's awful cranky. Are all mountain men grumpy, or did I just win the lottery? I probably just won the lottery. A real-life, grumpy mountain man. The girls are going to love this. I'm not so sure I'm going to love this, though. I'm the opposite of grumpy. "You need a personal assistant for two weeks, and I'm the answer to your prayers, Mr. Mountain Man, sir. The Shanks Agency—that's me, by the way—is capable of handling all of your needs. I'm hardworking, a self-starter, and I require very little supervision. You tell me what you need, and you'll get it."
"Say that again," he growls, his voice rougher.
"Um, which part?"
"What you called me."
"Oh. Mr. Mountain Man, sir?" I repeat, my brows furrowed. "Your ad didn't have a name attached. I'm not sure exactly what your job title is. I tried to look it up, but the internet wasn't very helpful, sir. There aren't very many mountain men left, apparently."
"Fuck," he rumbles, only it sounds more like a groan. "Deacon."
"What?"
"My name is Deacon, Cordelia."
"Deacon," I repeat, testing it out. It's an interesting name. Kind of…sexy.
"Jesus Christ," he growls. Does he ever speak normally or does everything he say come out in that same grumpy, growly tone? "Do you even know what an assistant for a mountain man does, Sunshine?"
"No," I say slowly. "But I didn't know what a paranormal adventure tour guide did either until I was crawling through tunnels under Seattle. I learn quickly, Mr. Deacon, and I'd really like to help you."
Please say yes so I don't have to tell the girls my master plan fell through. I can't be the ringleader and the failure!
"Deacon," he growls. "It's just Deacon."
"Okay, then. I'd really like to help you, Deacon." I pause. "I can send my resume and references."
"Don't need them," he mutters, and my stomach sinks. He's not going to hire me. I'm going to be the first of the girls to strike out. Crap on a cracker. Drunk Me is banned from coming up with ideas for at least the next year. "If you're going to work for me, I have rules, Sunshine."
Wait, what? He wants to hire me?
Thank you, Spooks Below Decks! I knew taking that crazy that job would pay off some day.
"Name them," I say, willing to agree to just about anything he throws at me.
"Rule one, you do what I say, when I say," he says. "No questions asked. I'm not going to have you getting eaten by a goddamn bear because you got out here and wouldn't listen."
"Okay," I agree quickly. He's the expert, not me.
"Rule two, you stay the full two weeks. No quitting halfway through because you're bored or cold. I won't have time to take you back down the mountain."
"I never quit once I make a commitment, Deacon."
"Rule three," he says, carrying on like I'm not even talking. "You'll be living with me. If that's going to be a problem for your man, it's his problem, not mine. I don't want some jealous idiot showing up on my doorstep, causing a problem. If Tyr doesn't drag him back down the mountain, I will. Got it?"
"I don't have a man," I mutter, and then bite my lip. Maybe I shouldn't have told him that. It's probably best if he thinks I have a professional football player or something waiting for me at home. Less chance of me disappearing without a trace that way, right?
"Good," he grunts. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cordelia."
"T-tomorrow?"
"Is that a problem?"
Yes. I can't pack for two weeks in one day. It's going to take me that long to figure out what to pack!
"Nope," I lie cheerfully. "Not a problem at all."
"Good. I'll text you the address, Sunshine. We'll meet at the saloon in town."
"Thank you," I squeak. "You won't regret it, Deacon!"
"Oh, I'm sure I will, Sunshine," he says, and then chuckles.
I don't get a chance to ask what he means by that before he hangs up on me. I flop onto my bed, kicking my feet in the air like an excited little girl.
"I got the job!" I cry to the ceiling. And the reality sets in.
Oh, crap. I got the job.
Now, I just have to convince him that a crazy, pink-haired curvy girl who is terrified of the woods is perfectly capable of being his assistant.