The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,635

appears to have been written by the subject himself. I’d never seen anything so braggadocios before, so filled with the kinds of personal and specific things only those close to him would’ve known. His bio alone was twice as long as Dr. Dre’s, and Hunter’s only been around a few years.

The double doors burst open, damn near making me choke on my heart as it leaps into my throat, and Hunter LeGrand strides across his expansive corner office, his left hand smoothing down his black silk tie. Unbuttoning his gray suit coat, he hangs it on a gold rack in the corner before taking a seat at his desk.

“Jude,” he says.

“Hunter.”

“What do you have for me?” He leans back in his seat, the corners of his mouth turned down as he studies me.

“Everything’s … going well.”

His frown deepens.

“Just … well?” he asks, leaning forward and pushing a hard breath through his flared nostrils.

“It hasn’t even been a month,” I say. “We’ve been spending some time together, but I’m not going to come on too strong.”

And I’m not a fucking miracle worker …

Hunter’s steely gaze flicks away for a moment and he does nothing to hide the displeasure in his groan. I didn’t much care for this Napoleon-complexed douche the first time I met him, but now all I want to do is punch his stupid face and tell him to go fuck himself.

“Is Love being difficult?” he asks.

My nose wrinkles. “Love” and “difficult” don’t even belong in the same sentence.

“Not at all,” I say. “But this needs to happen naturally.”

Hunter may be used to snapping his fingers or slapping down his AmEx and getting what he wants without having to wait, but his expectations are impractical here.

“Can I ask, why the six-month deadline?” I scratch my brow. “It just seems a little … unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic for a guy who’s got no game, maybe?” Hunter says with a smug chuckle, adjusting his tie. His teeth are fake as fuck. Bright white, perfectly straight, and obviously veneers. Imagining Love with Hunter is somewhat satirical to me.

He’s so plastic.

She’s so real.

“Insulting me isn’t necessary,” I say, stuffing my irritation down so I don’t accidentally clock his ass.

“Take her to a romantic getaway or something,” he says, like the solution was so simple and right there in front of me all along. “Women like that shit. Take her on a shopping spree. I gave you that credit card for a reason.”

“I’m actually going with her to her sister’s wedding in a couple of weeks,” I say, “but as far as the shopping goes … I don’t think she’s into that. She doesn’t seem that materialistic to me.”

Hunter slaps the table and laughs. “You’re going to West Virginia? Have fun. And of course she’s into material shit. How do you think I kept her around so long?”

“I feel like we’re not talking about the same person here …”

His brows furrow, as if I’ve insulted him, but he deserves it. The Love he described in that ridiculous binder is nothing like the Love I’ve been getting to know.

The way he described her when he first prepositioned me, made it a little easier for me to say yes. I’d walked out of his office already of the opinion that she was a horrible person and I was simply hired because Hunter was tired of waiting for karma to do its job.

Their story isn’t uncommon around here. Wealthy Manhattan men get into ugly divorces all the time, losing half their wealth or more, and their ex-wives walk away with smugs on their Botoxed faces and enough money to buy private islands and French chateaus many times over.

To a self-made man, I can understand how infuriating that would be and how a man with little self-restraint and a bottomless bank account could be driven to actually go out and buy revenge.

“People change,” I say.

Hunter’s chin juts forward and he tilts his head to the side, like he knows I’m right, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

“But back to the time frame here…” I continue.

He exhales. I knew he was trying to circumvent my question before. “What about it?”

“Even if she was madly in love with me, I don’t think I could get her to marry me six months in,” I say. “She’s pretty level-headed, and she’s not afraid to say no.”

“Love?” He asks with a laugh.

“Yes. Love.”

“Look, if you’re getting cold feet about this, just say so. We can go our separate ways and forget this whole thing,” Hunter