The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,3

that I could save every penny from my job. Unluckily for me, he never paid me much. He had said, “We share everything, so what difference does a salary make?” What an idiot I was. The relationship is done, and where the hell is everything, we “shared” in? It certainly wasn't in the back of my Jeep as I drove twenty-seven hours straight, only stopping for gasoline, caffeine, and shitty gas station chocolate, while talking to my best friend since birth, Jenny Stewart, now Jenny Baker.

Every hour on the hour, Jenny called to check in on me and offer pearls of wisdom and encouragement the entire time. Our friendship was first born by circumstance—our mothers were best friends—and then by choice.

My first breakdown with Jenny happened when she asked me if I wanted her to secure a storage unit to store all the fabulous belongings she’d seen when we FaceTimed, or saw in posts on my Instagram account; so that I wouldn’t have to look at them, until I decided to sell, burn, or save them for when I was ready to take over The City again. When I told her the reality of the situation, that the only things I took with me were my clothes and personal belongings that I packed myself, under the watchful eye of none other than Tinsley Norming—because Townes left without so much as a goodbye for a ‘very important meeting,’—she went into a full-out description of how she wanted to dismember both of them, and where she would bury the bodies.

I love her. She has been, and always will be, my person.

The plan is simple. Get my shit together here in my hometown of Holiday Springs, Colorado and apply for a great job where I can use my business degree and earn credentials for my resumé. Then march my way back to New York City with enough money to rent an apartment as close to Manhattan as possible as an independent woman who doesn’t need a stick-up-his-ass-rich dick to show me I’m anything less than worthy.

I inhale the thought, hoping that it will sink into my psyche if I repeat it often enough. Unfortunately, it hasn’t yet.

But it will.

It has to.

Landing back here in my hometown was the last thing I ever wanted. But what choice did I have? Everything once thought mine was tied to my now ex-fiancé.

I have to regroup.

With that thought and a little bit of pep in my step, I leave the store.

Outside I inhale the scent of the October air and smile as the crisp cold air kisses my warm skin. Shutting the front door behind me, it stops an inch too early—some things never fucking change—the bells above the door chime as I use my entire body weight to pull the door shut. From years of experience, I know that I have to twist my legs to the side to get some leverage.

With a loud yell, it finally closes. “Well, halle-fuckin-lujah!” I look into my purse for my car keys. Shockingly, I find them immediately.

“Do you need a hand?” A British accent has me jumping backward, dropping not only my keys but my bag as well.

Behind me, a sexy as hell voice—completely foreign to a place I once pretended felt like home that I can’t wait to leave again— and on the sidewalk before me, my keys and my coping mechanism—chocolate truffles.

Quickly, I bend down and start to gather the handfuls of single-wrapped, orange foiled deliciousness when the Brit—whom I’d thought I’d ignored long enough he’d get the hint and walk by, leaving me to my miserable existence—steps in front of me.

As soon as I see the shiny, black Ferragamo shoes, a stark contrast to the dusting of the season's first snowfall, I glare up at him as he begins to squat down.

His scent hits me, woodsy, clean, sexy as hell, and I know immediately that this man isn't native to these parts. He’s... one of them. But that accent though...

Shiny, black Ferragamo shoes? The warning bells ring—rich prick alert. Abort!

The sun blocks me from seeing him until he steps even closer, obstructing its blinding rays. And when I look up, my jaw nearly comes unhinged. He holds my gaze and a second, an eternity—I have no idea how long it takes—but I finally steal my eyes back from his magnetic gaze. Completely and totally embarrassed by my gawking and wondering how much of my door-shutting episode he saw. But when he squats down, picks up my

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