TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,23
sides and shakes his head. “I wasn’t even a human being anymore when I was there. I was a product to sell, a hot fucking commodity, and cleaning up my act wasn’t an option. Bad boys bring in a hell of a lot more dollar signs.”
“That’s…horrible.”
“It’s over.”
I bite my lip, and he leans in with a tip of his head.
“Over,” he repeats, each syllable pushed out from his lips in a firm, succinct way. “Understand me?”
I nod. Oh yeah, I get it. Couldn’t miss it.
“Now, I think it’s time you put on the dry clothes I left for you on the dresser over there and get some sleep.”
This guy. Always with the fucking demands.
I just nod again and watch him walk out of the room. Bailey stays rooted to his spot on the bed beside me.
I reach out and run my fingers between his ears and think about what Luca just told me.
He was Hollywood’s sexy bad boy, rebel without a cause—a present-day James Dean. Now, though, he’s a hot Alaskan lumberjack of a man with absolutely no desire to go back in time.
But, too bad for him, he’s the brand-new owner of a big fat thorn in his fucking side.
I have ten days in this state, and dammit, I will use every single one of them before I admit defeat. I have too much on the line.
Luca
I do not condone glamping; if I did, I’d do it alone. My dog, however, would gladly bring along another companion.
Today, Bailey and I will be headed east on a hiking and camping trip to visit Lou—someone who means a lot to both of us. A short boat ride upstream and thirty-six miles of fairly treacherous hiking each way, we’ll be gone for about six days, and it’s imperative I make sure we’re prepared. One stupid mistake or error could result in us not coming back at all.
Needless to say, my top priority before I head out the door is my large hiking backpack.
I double-check that all of the essentials—everything I need before I can re-up my supply at Lou’s—are there and in their correct spot. Food for me and Bailey, water, tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes and shoes, Lou’s medicine…
It’s all there. Which means, it’s time to get the show on the road.
I finish scribbling the note for Billie about the spare key and toss it on top, head out the door, lock up the cabin, and move toward the water, where the first leg of our trip will begin.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m willing to let this lunatic of a woman stay at my place while I’m gone, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because I’ve run out of ways to tell her to get the fuck off my property.
She also took a beating out there in the river last night, and lucky for her—and unfortunately for me—I’m not completely heartless. I am, however, still stubborn enough not to adjust my own schedule just to ride her back to the other side of the water. Her persistent little ass can wait it out here for a few days, and I’ll take her back when it’s convenient for me.
Does that make me a bastard? Probably.
But do I care? Not a single fuck.
Not to mention, the mere idea of her robbing me blind is a goddamn joke considering she’d have to tote all my shit in a kayak she can’t even maneuver.
“C’mon, Bailey!” I shout as he lifts his leg on a tree and takes a piss. “It’s half past eight, and we’re already a half hour behind schedule!”
He gives me a proverbial eye roll by striding over to another pine tree and lifting his leg.
You’d think since I’m the one who feeds his stubborn ass, he’d listen—but no, not Bailey.
He’s only obedient when it’s convenient for him.
“Fine!” I call over my shoulder as I walk toward the deck stairs that lead to my small boat dock. “If you want to be a dick about it, then I guess I’ll see you when I get back! Bye, Bailey!”
I hear a canine groan behind me, and eventually, the jingle of his collar starts to follow suit until the sounds of his paws tap across the deck. It’s the only noise in the otherwise silent morning until I hear the word “Shit!” echo off the water.
I squint my eyes, and at the bottom of the stairs, right beside the dock, I see her.
Billie.
The woman who’s supposed to still be sleeping in my guest bed.