Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
His hardened expression softens at the edges. “Really? You can run it?” His voice is wary but a touch hopeful. Damn, this man has trust issues a mile wide and ten miles deep. I’ve got to remember that. It’ll help me deal with working with him. Since it seems—knock on wood—I’m finally getting through to the beast.
“Absolutely. You won’t have to touch it. I can take care of it all. Think of me like your…social media bodyguard.” I flash him a smile, bright, cheery, and smart. One that says I’ve got this under control.
His lips curve up in a slight grin. Yes! I’m getting through to him. “Okay,” he mutters.
It’s hardly a ringing endorsement, but it’s not a no, and that’s all that matters. “What’s step three?”
I shrug happily. “The easiest one of all. You do The Ice Men doc.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “I’ll be under a microscope.”
It is easy for me to say, because if I do steps one and two right, my work is done. I can land the promotion I’m dying to get, and get my life back without having to deal daily with a stupidly hot, annoyingly broody, phenomenally grunty man who loves to bicker with me. “But you’ll be a pro at it by then. Because of the work we’ll do first. I already got you a new handle and everything. The Real Max Lambert,” I say.
He seems to give that some thought before he says, “You’re taking this seriously.”
“Of course I am. It’s my job. I love my job. I work very hard at it and I give it my all every day. And I’m in line for a promotion,” I say, laying my cards on the table. Since he doesn’t trust easily, or at all, it’s better if he knows my deal. I don’t want him to be surprised later.
With a decisive nod, he says, “Let’s get you a promotion then, Everly.”
It’s a welcome change from him angling to get out of this project.
As he snags another roll, I continue. “Great. Here’s how I think we should start. It won’t take too long to restart your social before we move onto the community outreach step. I’m guessing a week or so if all we need to do is build out your social with some fresh content. Nothing too taxing. Just pics of your favorite things.”
“Like rainy days with my favorite mug? Like soft blankets and the smell of lilacs in the morning?” He flutters his lashes in complete mockery.
But I fight fire with fire this time. “Sure. We can take a picture of you gazing out your bay window and watching the city roll by while you drink chamomile tea. Then we’ll snap a shot of you shopping for pumpkins at the farmers’ market. And maybe you can even sniff a candle when you get home. How does that sound?”
Oh, did that come out sarcastic? My bad.
“Let’s start Monday. I have a candle-making class, in fact,” he counters, not one to be outdone.
“Fantastic. I’ll be there taking pics.”
“And the farmers’ market is the next day. Let me just make sure I have my favorite wicker basket to bring.”
“The one with the red gingham cloth in it?”
“How did you know? I got it the other day at the craft fair. Then I wrote about it in my journal of good things. Fucking love that gingham cloth.”
“It’s so you, right? Upbeat and cheery?” I set my chin in my hand, playing it up.
He smiles, showing zero teeth, then says, “So very me.”
We’re not done yet though. We need to get a date on the schedule for the first pic. “Candle-making it is, then? That’s how you want to start with your favorite things?”
“It’s either that or the circus,” he tosses back.
And oh. Oh my. He has no idea what he just did, does he? I jump on the chance he just gave me. “I pick candle-making,” I say.
He narrows his brow, tilts his head, studies me. Naturally, being the naysayer he is, he replies, “Nah. Let’s do the circus.”
I fight off a smile—the one that says I set you up, Max Lambert.
I knew he’d pick the opposite of my choice. And I can’t wait to snap a shot of Mister Difficult ringside. “The big top it is,” I say.
His smile is smug, but he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
12
THE FIRST MOVE
Max
That little stunt ought to buy me some time to get used to this invasion of privacy. Where’s she going to find a circus after all? It’s not like they’re popping up all over the place. The era of circuses is over. So score one for this guy.
“Are there even circuses anymore?” I ask Asher on Monday afternoon as I’m driving to the rink for our game against Chicago tonight. I gave him the download on the three-step-stab-my-eyes-out-with-toothpicks-battle plan. “Besides Cirque du Soleil.” Oh, shit. I groan as I flick my turn signal. “Fuck me. What if she takes me to Cirque du Soleil in Vegas this week?”