Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Layla squeezes my arm affectionately. “And Saturday night is all about you, Harlow. But will you even be able to stay up past your bedtime?”
Yes, I’m the Goody Two-shoes of the group. “Gosh, I sure hope so.”
The server swings by with our drinks, and we thank him. When he’s gone, we toast to twenty-one, then we recap our plans for my birthday. We’re rounding up friends from Carlisle Academy, friends from college, friends from Layla and Ethan’s various summer internships.
“First, we’ll do dinner at J,” Layla says, then shudders in excitement. “I think my mother’s lawyer sold his soul to get us that rezzie.”
“J is only the hottest new restaurant in the city. Have you seen pics of the head chef?” Ethan asks, like the chef is the height of gossip.
“Tattoos and wild hair? The one who looks like the ultimate fuck boy?” Layla asks.
“As all good hot chefs should,” Ethan says.
“Yes, I’ve seen his social.” Layla mouths yum. “So, after we check out the chef, we’ll head to Edge in SoHo.”
“I got us on the VIP list,” Ethan adds.
Seriously. My friends are the best. “I love you guys,” I say with a happy sigh. Then, I can’t hold it in any longer. “I have something to tell you.”
They’re both focused on me instantly, eyes wide, chins propped on hands.
Butterflies wing through me, and I sip my fizzy water. Then, like the star in a heist flick assembling the crew for a job, I say, “So, I had this idea for what I want to do this summer…”
I lay it all out, and when I’ve given them the blueprint, I eagerly ask, “What do you think?”
Layla blows out a long, appreciative breath, shaking her head in admiration.
Ethan stands, then goes full supplicant and bows before me. “I’m not worthy.”
“Stahp, stahp,” I say, but I feel like a rock star.
“So, when will you do this?” Layla inquires.
Not soon enough.
I gulp. “I’ll ask tomorrow. I know where to find him. I’ll even bring my own cake.”
I have my birthday wish already planned.
8
DEFINITELY MOSTLY THE LINE
Bridger
Back in high school, when I hunkered down devouring books in my local library, I never imagined that more than a decade later, I’d be inking a deal for pretty perfume.
But I suppose it makes a strange sort of sense.
As a teenager, I loved books. Now, perfume may help sell a love story.
Lately, my life revolves around stories and scents.
On a Friday morning, I’m reviewing the terms of a partnership with a perfume company in Paris. Their eau de toilette will feature in an Afternoon Delight episode, and then the perfumer will release an Afternoon Delight-branded scent.
Smells like spice and seduction, the company has said.
After one last read, I send the contract to legal, then there’s a rap on my door.
Probably Ian, since we have a meeting in ten minutes, but as I set my reading glasses on my desk, Jules, my new admin, walks in. She started as an intern and moved her way up, and she’s packed with precision.
“Good morning, Bridger,” she says quickly. She’s never called me Mr. James.
“How’s it going, Jules?” I ask, but she has nearly less patience for small talk than I do.
“I have the research you asked for on Anti-Heroes Unleashed. And some questions about Parisian locations for Afternoon Delight,” she says, since the show is set there. “I sent them to your reading folder.”
“Great. I’ll look at them shortly.” I glance at the clock. “Once I finish the meeting with Ian.”
She nods crisply. “I also sent you coverage of Plays Well With Others, a novel by Hazel Valentine. I read it last night.”
“And?”
“The love story starts right away.” With that, she gives me a small smile. By now she knows what I want.
“Excellent.”
“You get some football, some lessons in seduction, an interesting take on fake dating. It’s definitely worth a look,” she says.
“Good elevator pitch.”
“It’s sexy and sharp,” she finishes, then nods again, like a cadet ready to turn on a West Point heel and go.
I hear a throat clearing in the hall, then a warm, English voice saying, “Did someone say sexy and sharp?”
Ian strides into my office and beams at Jules, who repeats the succinct pitch for him. “Sounds promising,” he says.
She sees herself out, and once she’s down the hall, he points at her. “She’s a good admin.”
I narrow my eyes. “Hands off, Ian.” What he does after hours is his business. I just don’t want his business interfering with ours.
He scoffs. “Please.” He settles on my couch grandly, spreading out and setting his feet on the low coffee table. I wish he wouldn’t do that. He knows that. It’s not a table for feet. “I’m practically married already. You don’t have to worry about me.” He taps his fingers on the back of the gray cushion, like he’s prepping to make a point. “As a matter of fact, Vivian and I are scouting for wedding venues this weekend in Connecticut. Checking out little inns and such.”