Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Look, she’s just out of college,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “The idea could work, but the numbers aren’t adding up right now. Maybe in a few months.”
“You need to tell her, Callum. She will be pissed, so be ready for the backlash,” I say, shaking my head.
“We’re all going to get the backlash,” Shepherd says.
He’s right about that. I’d love to push Callum into agreeing to her idea, but once he makes his mind up, it’s pointless. He’s a grouchy, nasty fucker, especially when he feels cornered.
“Hey, I made one too many burgers. Does anyone want another?” Griffin says, walking up to the table.
“No, I’m stuffed,” Brock says.
“Same, but thanks,” Shepherd says.
“I’m good. You have it,” Callum says.
“I had one already. I don’t want to toss it,” he replies.
As always, Hartford is on my mind and I turn to look at Griffin. “Wrap it up, Griff. I’ll take it to Hartford at work for her lunch.” I stand. “It’s her favorite.”
“You’re leaving?” Callum asks.
I toss my napkin down and push my chair in. “Yeah, nothing else to discuss, and I want to get this burger to Hartford while it’s still hot.”
“Bringing the wife lunch. She must’ve put out last night,” Brock says, smirking.
I go to take a swing at his smug face, but Shepherd is quicker and jumps up, pushing me back.
“Pax, chill,” he says.
“Never talk about her like that again. Joking or not, I’ll fucking rip your heart out of your chest,” I bite out over Shepherd’s shoulder.
“Brock, get to the fucking back. Now,” Callum says, standing. “Pax, get your shit together. You look ridiculous.” With that, he and Brock stomp away.
Shepherd steps back from me, and I run a hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
“Talk to her, Paxton,” Shepherd says. “Do it before you ruin more than your friendship with her.” He gives me a slap on my back before walking away.
“Here, Pax.” Griffin approaches me with an Atta Boy bag and a dip in his brows. “Everything all right?”
I take the bag from him and nod. “Yeah, it’s fine. Brock took shit too far as usual, trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Looks like it worked,” he says.
I shrug and walk backward, away from him. “Fuck off, Griff,” I say, running my free hand down my mouth.
Once I get on the road, I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. I need to let their comments roll off my back, or I need to seal this with Hartford for good. I’d much rather it be the latter.
I pull up to Hartford’s office building and snatch the bag off my passenger seat. In all the years we’ve been friends, I’ve never thought of bringing her lunch. In fact, this is the first time I’ll be inside her office.
When I step inside the building, I’m impressed by how big it is. There are magazine covers framed all over the walls. It makes me wonder how many of them hold articles that Hartford wrote.
“Can I help you?”
I glance over to the right and see a woman standing there. “Hey, I’m looking for Hartford Jamison.”
“And you are?” she asks. She’s definitely just being nosey because I’m pretty sure she just came out of the bathroom.
“Paxton Atwood,” I reply.
Her eyes widen as she steps closer to me. “Oh, holy moly. You’re Paxton? I’ve heard so much about you. Follow me. I’ll take you to her cubicle.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
She keeps glancing up at me with a permanent smile on her face as we walk. I have no idea who she is, but she’s apparently someone that Hartford talks to about me.
“Here we are. It’s great to meet the infamous Paxton Atwood,” she says, holding her hand out.
“And you are?” I ask.
“Delia,” she says.
“Well, it’s great to meet you too, Delia. Thanks for showing me the way.”
She smiles and walks away. I knock on the door and wait.
“Come in,” Hartford says.
I open the door and she lifts her head. “Hey.” She looks back down but snaps her head back up with wide eyes. “Paxton? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” She jumps up and moves around her desk toward me.
“Damn, look at you, all professional.”
She smiles, standing in front of me. “Thanks, I think. But, seriously, what’s wrong?”
I’m so taken aback, standing here in her world. She’s always in mine, always at the brewery. But I’ve never taken the time to step foot in hers.
Her office is spacious, with a window that lets in ample light. Her desk has papers scattered across it and a laptop open. Pictures of the magazine line her walls, much like when I walked into the building. But what causes my heart to skip a beat is the picture of us sitting on a bookshelf. It’s an old one, taken a few years ago at a friend’s wedding.