Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I let out a wry chuckle. “Sue me.”
“Happily!” Emmett snapped his laptop shut. “You being a billionaire is a great incentive. As you well know, print is dead. Much like your career, if you decide to break the contract.”
My spine went rigid. How the hell . . . ?
The question must’ve been written on my face because the answer followed promptly.
“Don’t look so shocked—you’ve garnered a lot of interest from the company. Especially our female employees.” He rested his elbows on the table between us, peering at my face with open satisfaction. “A few months ago, I asked myself—how come Riggs has never asked for a pay raise? You’re by far our most acclaimed photographer, with the most experience—and street cred. Yet, you don’t even rent out a place in the city. We send your checks and tax forms to a PO box. I was curious about your financial situation. I figured only someone who didn’t need it would be so careless about their salary. So I started digging a little. It wasn’t hard. Discovery mag has most of your information available.”
I sat back down. A muscle in my jaw jumped. “You stalked me.”
He sulked haughtily. “Don’t flatter yourself. Most of the information was available on the internet.”
“Liar. They kept my name out of the press,” I said through gritted teeth. My grandfather made sure of it in a bid to protect me. Fame was a terrible thing. He didn’t wish it on his only grandchild.
“Mostly, yes. But one publication didn’t. And that was enough. As it stands, I could use a few extra bucks when I win the lawsuit. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you we’re doing awful financially. Each year our budget decreases,” he said sullenly, tossing a hand in the air. “And I already have an entire legal team at my disposal. Might as well use them.”
“There’s only one problem.” I stroked my jaw.
He picked up his coffee cup, taking a sip. The guy even drank smugly. “What, pray tell, might that be?”
“I am getting married.” I kicked back in my seat, flashing him my most conceited shit-eating grin. “I have a fiancée. Upping and leaving for almost a year?” I tsked. “Not gonna fly with her. She’s a feisty one.” If feisty meant deranged, I was on point.
“You?” Emmett spluttered his coffee, leaning forward in a panic. “A fiancée? Since when?”
“Around one in the morning last night.” I stroked my chin, basking in his misery, even though I was going to pay for it handsomely. “Call it kismet, Emmett, but I’ve found the one.”
“That’s so—”
“Romantic?” I offered.
“Convenient.” He pouted like a teenybopper who’d just been told she couldn’t get a boob job for her sweet sixteen. “I don’t believe you.”
“You wound me, Emmett. I thought we trusted each other.” I crinkled my face, feigning devastation.
“If that’s the truth, then that means you can’t go on lengthy assignments abroad at all anymore. No Yemen, no Bolivia, no Seychelles. Right?” he challenged me.
Okay. Maybe I didn’t think Operation: Stick It to Emmett through. But it was too late to back out now. Even at the cost of doing the inconceivable.
“Two weeks max.” I smirked good naturedly, knowing it drove him crazy. “Can’t stay away from her longer than that.”
I wasn’t sure what her name was, but that was purely semantics.
“So you’re just going to give up the variety?” He eyeballed me. “That’s unlike you.”
“She’s worth it.” Whoever that fictional lady was.
He squinted, trying to see through my bullshit.
“Tell me about this mysterious lover of yours.”
I had to think on my feet, so my mind naturally went straight to the one (and only) woman who had asked for my hand in marriage.
“She’s in the news industry,” I mused, trying to remember what Mary Poppins was like. “Smart. Quirky. Sex on legs.” If the sex was missionary-style, in the dark. While both participants pondered the weather. “English.”
“English?” Emmett repeated, staring at me with unadulterated surprise. “This is too elaborate to make up. You don’t normally remember people’s hair color, let alone their nationality. You wanna tell me you’re really engaged?”
A-fucking-pparently, thanks to your sorry ass.
I nodded.
“To a woman?”
“Yup.”
I made a note to check her pronouns if I ever met her again. Not that she’d ever find out I’d married us for my own convenience.
“And we’ll all get to see and meet her, this imaginary Englishwoman of yours?” Emmett circled the air with his pen.
“In the flesh.” I stood up and stuffed my phone into my pocket. Better bail before he started asking me tough questions about her. Or questions at all.
“What’s this girl’s name?” Emmett’s eyes still darted daggers at me as I made my way to the door. “I’d like to look her up. You know, do my due diligence, since there’s so much money on the line.”