Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Is he staring through the wall?
I’m actually nervous.
But I also know I can’t refuse.
This is his life, and I signed up for it the minute I agreed to the sham and put my name on that contract.
These are his parents, including what sounds like a hard-ass dad who won’t be so easy to convince.
I think about his reputation again, and my stomach flips. Not in the cutesy way that means attraction and yummy things.
“If you’re game, it’ll mean the world for the family business. Lots of big players there,” he says, still playing with my hair.
Of course. Networking. Critical to high society.
I try to smile, cursing how weak it is.
“It should be fine. I have lots of practice playing your fiancée by now.” I force a smile.
“Don’t need you to be anything but yourself, Sass.”
“But you do,” I insist, leaning forward so he meets my eyes. “You need me to be polished and on point, ready to make your dad love me. Or at least believe we’re in love.”
That won’t be difficult to fake.
My stomach lurches again, and I lock that thought away.
He smiles, though it’s not his usual rakish grin. It’s softer, lighting his eyes sky blue until I’m a gooey marshmallow.
“Lena, my dad will love you the way you are. Be yourself. He’s a beast—always has been—but Alec Pruitt respects strength. You don’t have to change shit.”
“No, but I should have my shit together.” I smile.
He kisses me then, his teeth tugging at my lower lip. “Just the way you are, woman. You won Mom over caked in mud.”
“Will you ever let me live it down?”
“Nah. And if you can impress when you’re dirtied up, this should be a cakewalk.” Another kiss turns me to jelly. So does the way he squeezes my ass. “No buts. None except this one.”
I shudder.
There’s definitely a but that has nothing to do with how his hands make me feel.
From what I’ve gathered from Brady plus my own online sleuthing, Alec Pruitt hasn’t ever approved of much in his life. The only reason he wants to meet me now is because his wife wore him down.
That’s not being receptive.
That’s no guarantee he won’t be holding a shotgun to Brady’s face, and to mine.
I have to dazzle if we want this to work.
“I’m not sure how these things work, but I’ve always heard a lot of business goes on between throwing money around. Are you going to be approaching people about your project?” I ask between kisses.
“My pet food venture, you mean?” He pauses and looks down at me. “Yeah, that’s the plan. The pressure’s less intense to stand in for all of Pruitt Ag with Dad there. I won’t big-deal it. A few polite pitches to the people who typically show up when there’s enough money in the room to choke an elephant. A few willing suppliers who could help get this off the ground faster, even if there’s a long way to go before we get to that point.”
Just like I thought.
It’s doubly important I’m on my best behavior.
And he knows it, too, judging by the way he asked and the stark reassurance in every kiss.
Seeing Brady nervous leaves my heart in shambles.
So, I take his face in my hands, looking him deep in the eyes so he knows how serious I am.
“I won’t let you down, Brady.”
“I know. Never an option with you.” His smile is all butter, and his hand slides through my hair.
This time, when he kisses me and his hands roam wild, we don’t stop until I’m a screaming mess.
XVIII
Ankle Biter
(Brady)
I insist on being the one to drop off Queenie at Pawsome Hearts for day care with the other dogs before driving us to the gala.
Honestly, I don’t know why it matters so much.
Luis could’ve done it in a heartbeat.
But with Lena by my side, there’s this weird family feeling in the air. Queenie whines with excitement when she senses where we’re going.
“Hope all this bouncing around isn’t stressing her out.”
“No way. She’s a runner. She’ll have a blast tiring herself out with the other pups,” Lena says, toying with the edge of her dress.
We picked it out this morning before getting ready.
She wanted to pay her own way, and I wouldn’t hear it.
This damn gala’s for my father’s sake—and mine. I won’t have her shouldering the cost for a dress this fancy.
In the end, she went for a navy silk piece from this boutique shop that does its own alterations. The dress fits her like a glove.
Simple and elegant. Timeless. Blue as the summer ocean.
I try to ignore her dabbing on lipstick in the mirror, along with the raging hard-on from hell.
“You look great. Stop worrying,” I tell her.
“I’m not.”
“Bull. I know that look, and I’m telling you to lose it. You look like a smoke show.” I pull up in the clinic’s lot and park. “Stay there. I don’t want your shoes getting dirty.”