before I set sail for my life of sleep deprivation and diapers. Indulge me and surrender to the process.”
Her sassy, caring bossiness happens to be the one thing that’s kept me grounded for the past fourteen years. What am I going to do without my best friend? “I’m really going to miss you, Josie.”
“I’m going to miss you too, Loon.” She gives me a hug and I do my best not to sob my heart out.
If only working sixteen hours a day for years had made more of a difference. If only I’d made enough money to prevent this from happening. If only I wasn’t permanently damaged to the point of loathing my new business partner and everything about the way he’s conducted his entire life because he’s one of those, a gorgeous alpha, selected by nature to feel and act in a way that’s entitled and thoughtless and self-serving and cruel, just like someone else I knew for a moment in time that I still haven’t entirely recovered from. “Hurry up and sign that contract before I change my mind.”
“But … are you absolutely sure, honey?”
“Of course I’m sure.” I pick up the pen that’s sitting on the papers and hand it to her. “Do it.”
She scrawls her signature onto the contract.
And that’s it. The decision is final. My life has just taken a major turn down an unknowable highway full of smug gauntlets, well-hung corners and arrogant potholes the size of the Grand Canyon.
What have I just gotten myself into?
It’s no big deal, I convince myself. Another woman, another easy seduction. So what if her initial reaction to me—twice—wasn’t exactly the idolization I’m used to. Let’s not forget who we’re talking about here. Me. Gage McCabe, the guy every woman wants and every man wishes they were.
She just needs a little time. Some gentle (or not so gentle) persuasion. By the end of the evening I have no doubt she’ll be not only screaming with the kind of pleasure only I can give, but also head over heels.
Why am I even worrying about this? Who’s she, after all? A debt-ridden waif from Nowheresville, Iowa with a desperate best friend, a floundering business and no safety net.
Why do I care if she falls for me or not?
I don’t, is the answer to that question.
Not at all.
But … why was she so goddamn dismissive? Didn’t she see me properly?
Maybe she needs glasses.
There: there’s an imperfection, and it can’t be the only one. She’ll probably turn out to be a frigid, vacant bitch who’ll turn me off as soon as we get into any kind of real conversation. Every aspect of her can’t be as perfect as the surface appeal.
If she pulls the ice maiden shtick again tonight, then so be it. I’ll find someone else. I’ll fuck my way through the weekend with a string of women ten times more beautiful than she is. Over the next few weeks I’ll turn this business around, exactly the way I want to do it. I’ll call the shots and who cares if she’s on board with them or not? She’ll have to do what I say, because for all intents and purposes I own her and this is going to play out exactly the way I want it to.
So there.
Most likely she’ll fall helplessly in love with me as I give her the cold shoulder, because she deserves a dose of her own medicine. Fuck it. I don’t need to plead or beg or buy rinky-dink businesses for the sole reason of getting a woman to go to bed with me.
Once she does fall into bed with me, which is inevitable, I’ll get her out of my system. Oh, yeah. I’ll take my fill—which, if my inferno of a libido has any say in this, might take a fraction longer than my usual wham bam thank you ma’am.
Then I’ll return to Chicago and get on with my goddamn life.
It’s the challenge I’m getting wound up by, that’s all this is. Her sassy refusal. Her pixie-cute face with its impertinent little scowl.
I’ll wipe that pout right off those bee-stung lips, that’s what going to happen.
Tonight.
I’ll lay it on thick as fuck. Because I fucking feel like it.
Women love that shit. They like to feel spoiled and special. I can do spoiled and special better than anyone, you bet your ass I can.
I shower and put on jeans, a lightweight shirt and a jacket. I smooth my hair into place and call for a