Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Maeve’s eyes widen, but she stays quiet, blowing out a breath.
“And he told me to protect you,” I add.
She moves around the bed, stepping closer. “And you did. You have.”
“Yeah, but not enough,” I mutter, tension knotting up inside me—not the same kind I get over health worries, but a real fear for the woman I love. She’s worked too hard to lose everything. “I want to protect you. I love you. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“I love that you feel that way,” she says quietly, then her tone shifts, more playful. “But you know what my brother said to me about you at the picnic?”
I scoff. “Was he doling out advice all around?”
“He pulled me aside and told me, ‘Don’t break his heart.’”
I shake my head, amused at Beckett’s behind-the-scenes machinations with both of us, even though I have no right to be lighthearted at this moment. “So, he was onto us?”
“He was onto you clearly,” she says, and of course that’s true. “And you know what that tells me?” Maeve asks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. That’s my Maeve. Always up for an adventure.
“What?”
“It tells me that everyone else could probably see it in you too.”
I flash back to the day I left for Vegas, to the DickNose board and all the ridiculous advice my friends gave me. Especially the list of all the ‘cute things’ I’d said about Maeve. But that’s it. That’ll help. “The DickNose board,” I say, snapping my fingers.
Maeve’s understandably confused. “Um, what’s a DickNose board?”
I shake my head, half-laughing. “I’m pretty sure Hugo has a picture of it. He snapped a shot of the board so he could give me shit about it forever.’”
“What are you talking about?”
As I explain the DickNose board, I grab my phone and send my teammate a text. You still got that pic under ‘cute couple shit,’ right? I need it now. Do me a solid.
As Hugo replies in seconds that he’s tracking the pic down, an idea forms. “Why don’t I show this to Eleanor? I can explain everything to her, just like I—”
Maeve cuts me off, shaking her head as she crosses the room to me. She gently curls her hand over mine, pushing my phone down onto the bed. “Asher, hold my beer.”
I blink at her, confused but also a little turned on by the way she’s taking charge. “What does that mean?”
She smirks. “You’ve got that appointment with Marcus in a couple hours. You need to focus on that. I’ll handle Eleanor. I can tell her the truth, but…I do want that photo, so send it to me later.”
Before I can say anything, she’s already on the move, heading for the bathroom, nodding to the dog, who’s been watching us like we’re a game of tennis. “I’m going to shower so I can get to work. Can you take care of our dog? She needs a walk and a potty break.”
Our dog.
And just like that, she’s off, giving me orders.
I stand there, phone on the bed, our dog needing me, and I realize—I kind of like following Maeve’s lead.
It’s nice to have a partner who’s got your back. I leash up the dog and leave right as the photo arrives.
60
THE PLAY
Maeve
I leave Ruby Rooster at home. It feels too presumptuous to bring her to this…possible execution.
I lift my hand to knock on the office door. I’ve already made it past Eleanor’s assistant, Rodney, who told me she was expecting me. Before I knock, I pause, taking a moment to calm my nerves.
I can do this. If I bid one hundred thousand dollars to save Asher from that influencer’s lies, I can use my voice to save myself.
I knock. “It’s Maeve Hartley.”
There’s silence for a long beat. Finally, Eleanor calls out, “Come in.”
I push open the door. She’s sitting at her desk, Holmes on the floor beside her, and neither dog nor woman look happy. Eleanor’s lips are pressed into a tight line, her blue eyes cold. Normally, she’s the upbeat, go-go-go team owner who slays the business world with a smile. But right now, she’s ice. I deserve that.
“Not Maeve Callahan, I see,” she says, arching a brow.
“I’m both,” I say. “Can I come in?”
“I already said you could.”
Holmes barks at me. I take a seat and cut to the chase. “I got the job under false pretenses. That’s true.”
“So, Miranda was right?”
“Partially,” I say. “She was right about some things, but wrong about a lot. Because nobody outside a relationship truly knows what’s going on inside it. No one knows the challenges people in a couple face unless they’re living it.”
Eleanor narrows her eyes. “That sounds philosophical, but it’s not easing any of my concerns. I put my trust in you—not just as an artist, but as a person. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”
That stings, but I brought it on myself.