Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Shit. My day was packed with meetings. I wouldn’t even have time for lunch. I gave Barb cash that she kept in an envelope in her desk for days like this, so she could pick up a sandwich for me to eat between appointments.
My next meeting was with the mayor, the city attorney, and two residents who were having a dispute over snow. One of them was snow blowing his driveway so the snow landed on the neighbor’s driveway. It wasn’t a violation of any city ordinance, but the mayor wanted to try to make peace between the two of them.
I was in the middle of messaging Barb about getting me a sandwich when she opened the door to my office and stepped in.
“Delivery for you, Chief,” she said, carrying a box over to my desk and setting it down.
“For me?”
“Yep.”
“It’s not ticking, is it?” I joked.
“It’s from Sgt. Coulter, so I think it’s safe.”
I stood to open the box, looking at Barb as I did.
“Hey, can you grab me a sandwich from the deli for lunch? I’m booked solid today.”
“You got it. And I’ll make sure you get your pickle this time.”
I’d gotten salty over being shorted my pickle last time, which had felt like a bigger deal than it was at the time. It wasn’t my finest moment. I liked pickles.
There was a small card on top of some tissue paper in the box, which I furrowed my brow over as I opened it. It wasn’t my birthday. It wasn’t Boss’s Day. What the hell was this gift for?
Chief, hope this is your color.
- Coulter
I pulled the tissue paper aside and found a purple purse inside the box. Apparently word had gotten around that I’d carried Avon’s bag yesterday and now Coulter had the jokes. Really fucking funny.
“What is it?” Barb asked, her eyes wide with excitement.
“It’s Coulter thinking he’s funny,” I said, shaking my head. “And he’s not.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “He said you were going to love it.”
“I bet he did.”
Barb took the ding of a text arriving on my phone as her cue to leave, and I picked up my phone to read the message.
Avon: Can I return the favor and take you to lunch today? I have some more questions about the budget.
This woman was dangerous. There was no more denying it—I wanted her. She was smart, funny, gorgeous and she didn’t take an ounce of my shit. I’d never known anyone like her. I no longer cared about the rumor mill. People could speculate all they wanted about seeing us together and me carrying her bag. But the more time I spent with her, the more I wanted more.
I’d had an early breakfast at Tipper’s this morning, where I heard Avon wrote the Chronicle’s bookkeeper a check from her own bank account to give every Chronicle employee a $500 holiday bonus. She was the kind of woman I could get in deep with.
I didn’t want that, but I did want her, and I couldn’t figure out a way to have one without the other. With a minute to spare until my meeting started, I responded to her message.
Grady: I’m booked all day. How about dinner this evening at The Hideout. 6?
Avon: That would be great. See you then.
I moved the box with Coulter’s “gift” to a chair and went to help settle the driveway dispute.
That evening, I was freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a hoodie, waiting for Avon to arrive at The Hideout, when I looked up from my phone and saw Jake and Coulter waving at me from the bar.
Before I could wave back, they both slid off their barstools and stuck their left hips out, showcasing the large purses on long straps they were carrying.
Assholes. I shook my head at them and Jake pulled out a tube of lipstick, pretending to put some on. Which was rich because he was more whipped than any husband or boyfriend I knew.
Coulter pulled a hand mirror out of his handbag and admired himself in it, and I was about to get up and go crack it over his thick skull when Avon walked into The Hideout.
She walked over to our table for two and said, “Hey, you look even grouchier than usual.”
“Nah, I’m good. How are you?”
She sighed heavily as she sat down. “Busy. But I hired a new ad rep this afternoon, so that’s going to help a lot.”
Our server sat my beer on our table and looked at Avon.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asked.
Avon considered before saying, “Sure, I’ll take a margarita on the rocks, please.”
She got into her bag and pulled out a folder. “Okay, before we start eating and drinking, I want you to take a look at this.”
Passing me the folder, she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot and then spoke in a low tone. “Do those first few pages look familiar to you?”