Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
My dang soul quivers in terror.
"He isn't taking something else from you just because you aren't the perfect freaking mouthpiece for his stupid career," she growls, her eyes flashing fire. "You've worked your butt off for this internship. You earned it. If he won't pull strings to get you in the door, you'll go in as me."
"Jillian, it's a bad idea," I whisper, even though I adore her for trying. Her dad may not believe in me, but Jillian's faith hasn't ever wavered.
"It's not a bad idea. It's my Christmas present to you." She smirks, flashing her dimples in triumph. "You can't say no when it's a gift."
"Criminal impersonation isn't a gift, Jill," I say, laughing despite myself. Only she would think something this outrageous counts as a present.
"It is when it's what you've been dreaming about for years. You're dying to go to work for Alaric Parrish."
She's not wrong. I've been obsessed with him since I met him when I was seventeen. We met at a party Jillian's dad threw, though I doubt he remembers me. I was so anxious I'd say something wrong that I decided to avoid the risk and slipped outside. I found him in the garden, looking like a dark prince in a stylish tuxedo, his hair windswept, his black eyes devastating as he regarded me. He was so freaking beautiful to me, but he wasn't smiling, not like he always did in pictures. He seemed…sad. The kind of soul-deep sadness I was way too familiar with.
I made him laugh. I don't even remember what I said. It was ridiculous, I'm sure. But his laugh cut right through me. I felt hot in places I'd never felt hot before. And when he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek to thank me for making his night, I think I gave him a tiny piece of my heart. A few days later, the news broke that his mom had cancer. She died less than a year later.
Come on," Jillian pleads, pouting at me. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Jail, expulsion, a media scandal…a litany of possibilities run through my head.
"Don't answer that." Jill grimaces as if just realizing it was a dumb question. "Answer this one instead." She holds up a finger, her nail perfectly manicured and sparkly pink. "What's the best that could happen?"
"I don't go to jail," I mumble.
"Exactly."
"You should never go into politics or motivational speaking. You suck at it."
She rolls her eyes at me, flopping down on her bed on her back. That lasts for all of two seconds before she pops back up, curling one leg beneath her. "I'm serious, December. If none of your worst-case scenarios happen, at the end of winter break, you have three full weeks of working with Alaric Parrish under your belt. That's three weeks to show him what you're made of and prove that you deserve a spot at his company. Once he sees your designs, he won't freaking care that you aren't me."
I hesitate, torn. She's swaying me to the dark side, just like always. No matter how terrible her ideas are, she always manages to sway me because she makes them sound so darn compelling. I'm a sucker, honestly.
"You really think I'm that good?"
"Uh, hello?" She bounds to her feet and does a pirouette so the asymmetrical hem of her red and white dress swishes around her legs. "You've been dressing me exclusively since we were sixteen! And everyone around here thinks I'm fashionable."
"You are fashionable." I smile.
"Yeah, because of your designs!"
I chew on my bottom lip, positive this will blow up in my face. But I want this. I want it so freaking bad. It's been six years, and I've never forgotten about Alaric or quit dreaming about him. He's still the only man who makes my heart race or my entire body clench with desire. I want to see him again, even if it's only to convince myself that I'm a long-forgotten memory to him.
"I'll do it," I say, squaring my shoulders.
Jillian squeals.
Chapter Two
Alaric
"What the fuck is this?" I growl, dropping an application on Ruby's desk.
She glances up from her computer screen, fixating her wizened eyes on me over the wire rims of her bifocals. "It's the application packet for our newest intern, Alaric," she says, speaking as if I'm slow. "You told me to hire someone to help out through the holiday season. I hired Jillian Rhett."
No, she didn't hire Jillian Rhett. Because the raven-haired beauty with the big, guileless blue eyes staring up from the photo is December Rhett. I know because I met December six years ago. It was the same week Ma was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer.
My world felt like it was crashing to the ground, and this little ball of light stepped out of the darkness to offer me hope. She made me laugh when nothing else did, and then she sent flowers when Ma died less than a year later. I haven't seen her since that night in the garden, but whenever I need a little light in my life, my mind inevitably drifts to her.