Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Jerry’s arms drop to his sides, and for a moment, he looks older, wearier. “You’re serious about her.”
“Dead serious.” My voice is firm, unwavering. “I plan on keeping her in my life and taking care of her. Forever.”
Jerry exhales heavily, sinking into the chair across from me. “She’s always been stubborn, you know. Takes after her mother in that way.”
I smirk, leaning back. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
For the first time, Jerry’s lips twitch in what might almost be a smile. “If you hurt her—”
“I won’t.” The words come out hard, edged with conviction. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m going to make damn sure she knows it.”
When I leave Jerry’s house, the tension in my chest eases. The conversation wasn’t easy, but it needed to happen. Now it’s up to Amelia to decide if she’s ready to mend things with him. And I’ll be there for her every step of the way.
The door to The Devil’s Brew creaks open as I step inside, my boots heavy against the scuffed wooden floor. It’s just after midnight and the low hum of voices mingles with the faint clink of glasses, but my focus is razor-sharp, my gaze locking onto the woman sitting in the corner booth. Amelia. She’s still wearing my flannel and something possessive inside of me flares.
I’ve been looking for her for hours–ever since I left Jerry’s and discovered she’d packed up her pussy and left my loft while I was gone. She’s got her laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. One of my flannels hangs loose on her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair’s pulled into a messy knot, a few stray strands framing her face. Damn, she looks like she belongs here—like she belongs with me.
But the stubborn set of her jaw and the stack of neatly folded papers at the edge of the table say otherwise. She’s already planning her escape. My gut tightens at the sight.
I move toward her, weaving between tables, my stride purposeful. She doesn’t notice me at first, too engrossed in her work. It isn’t until I slide into the booth across from her that she looks up, startled.
Her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” I say simply, leaning back against the worn booth. “We need to talk.”
She closes her laptop with a soft click, folding her arms over her chest. “There’s nothing to talk about, Fox. I’ve already ordered a taxi for the morning. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
The casual way she says it pisses me off. Like she’s just some temporary inconvenience, like she hasn’t turned my entire world upside down in the best possible way.
“You think leaving is going to fix this?” I growl, my voice low and sharp. “Running away doesn’t solve a damn thing, Amelia.”
Her eyes flash with defiance, but there’s a flicker of something else there, too—something softer, more vulnerable. “I’m not running,” she snaps. “I’m giving you what you wanted. I heard you, Fox. I’m a complication you didn’t sign up for.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You didn’t hear the whole conversation. The situation with your dad being my boss was an unexpected complication, but not a bad one. Just something I needed to handle. You’re worth it. I just had to figure out how to navigate it. That’s why I called Cal—and he told me nothin’ in life worth havin’ comes easy, so I left to talk to your dad and let him know where I stand with you. I’m a man of my word, Amelia, and that goes for you and him. I couldn’t spend another moment with you without clearing the air between him and I first—just didn’t feel right.”
“Oh—” before she can fully respond, a voice cuts through the tension, loud and obnoxious.
“Hey, isn’t that the mail-order bride?”
My head snaps toward the bar, where Rick Simmons, the town drunk and all-around jackass, is grinning like he’s just won the lottery. A few heads turn, curious but cautious—everyone knows Rick doesn’t have a filter, and most of the time, it gets him into trouble.
“Didn’t realize you’d take in a charity case, Fox,” he sneers, his words slurring slightly. “What’d they throw in with the deal? A free pie?”
The blood in my veins turns to fire.
Amelia stiffens across from me, her cheeks flushing with humiliation. She starts to rise, her head ducking, but I’m already out of the booth.
I’m on him in three long strides, my fist connecting with his face before he can finish his next vile sentence. The satisfying crunch of bone echoes in the bar, and Rick stumbles backward, blood spurting from his nose.
“Say another word about her,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar, “and I’ll break your goddamn jaw.”