Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Ranger chuckles. “I’m definitely in.”
Of course he is. Ranger kills it at poker; the man’s practically a human lie detector. I still remember losing five hundred bucks the last time we squared off. Stubborn pride and a poor bluff are a lethal combination.
“I’d love some more free money,” Ranger says, crossing his arms with a smug grin.
“No way I’m playing with you again,” Lincoln cuts in. He shakes his head like he’s still nursing that old wound. “Besides, my own assignment isn’t exactly a cakewalk.”
He shoots a quick glance down the hall, and I can’t help but wonder if his job has something to do with the big meeting Dean had earlier. Ranger cuffs him lightly on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I figured,” Ranger says. “Dean asked to see you before all of us earlier. What’s going on?”
Lincoln blows out a breath. “It’s Isabel,” he admits, lowering his voice. “She’s been threatened.”
A heavy silence settles over us. Isabel is Dean’s sister, and as long as I’ve been with Maddox Securities, I know one thing: family is off-limits. That makes whoever is messing with her a dead man walking.
“Who is it?” I ask quietly.
Lincoln shakes his head. “We’re not sure yet. Dean has a few leads, so while he’s looking into it, I’m basically glued to Isabel’s side.”
“Good luck,” Orion says with a half-laugh. “You know how she gets when she’s pissed.”
We all nod in agreement. Isabel’s not a woman you want to cross. And sure enough, the rapid click of stilettos against marble tiles echoes down the hallway. She comes into view, her gaze locked onto Lincoln like a heat-seeking missile. The fury in her eyes says she’s well aware of this new ‘protection detail,’ and she’s not happy about it.
Before she can level her wrath at the rest of us, we scramble to make ourselves scarce. I head for the elevators, shaking my head with a mix of amusement and pity for Lincoln.
That’s life at Maddox Securities—constant danger, complicated assignments, and sometimes a little heartbreak. But we stick together, even when we’re butting heads or chasing down leads.
Stepping into the elevator, I think of the folder tucked under my arm and the redhead who’s about to turn my life upside down. I need to get a flight and meet Aubree Ryan. Keep her safe. Keep my head on straight.
I let out a slow, steadying breath. It’s time to handle business, the way I always do—like a professional. Even if my gut twists every time I remember those fiery amber eyes.
Chapter 2
Aubree
“One more pie and then we’re done for the day,” Stuart calls out, brushing a stray lock of sandy-blond hair away from his forehead. I can’t help but smile. If I could clone this kid, I totally would. He’s only a teenager, but I swear he’s got more hustle and heart than some of the grown-ups I’ve hired and fired.
“Let’s make it the best pizza Earl’s ever had,” I say, rinsing off a ladle before tucking the last container of sauce into the fridge. The clang of metal and the sweet tang of tomatoes fill the air. I never get tired of that smell.
Earl’s one of our regulars—he’s been coming to Slice Slice Baby since the day I opened the doors. Seven years ago, my mom convinced me that a pizza joint next to the high school was the perfect idea. And boy, was she right. Every lunchtime and after every football game, we’re flooded with hungry teens and their parents, clamoring for a slice of something cheesy and delicious.
Not that it was easy getting here. Sometimes I think my blood might actually be marinara at this point, considering how many hours I’ve put into this place. I’ve cried over everything from supplier issues to broken ovens. But after all the tears, I’m proud to say Slice Slice Baby is my life’s work—and my absolute pride and joy.
“Dough’s the key,” I murmur, watching Stuart work his magic. He’s kneading that dough like it personally offended him, which is exactly how I taught him. “If the crust isn’t perfect, the pizza won’t be perfect.”
I’ve got a little secret to make sure our crust stands above the rest: I ship in water from a natural spring in Montana. Crazy? Maybe. Over-the-top? Definitely. But it’s the only way I can recreate that same crisp and airy crust every single time. And if you ask me, it’s worth every penny.
I also ship in the best flour from Italy. Organic tomatoes from California. And I only use the best products.
Okay, so my pizza isn’t exactly famous yet—there aren’t any shiny trophies lining the walls. Still, I dare anyone in Tennessee to find a better slice. Someday, I’m hoping to snag a few awards to prove my pizza prowess once and for all.
Stuart finishes stretching out the dough and starts layering on the sauce and cheese. He’s done this a thousand times, but I still hover behind him, making sure each swipe of sauce looks just right.