Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
My phone buzzed again.
Adrian
I might have a lead on a guy. Alex Marian suggested I call Fannin something. He’s a ski instructor, I think. You know him? Think he’d look good cutting down Christmas trees?
My jaw ached from grinding my back teeth together.
I stared at the message, picturing Adrian among the pines with Fannin fucking Linwood, snowflakes catching in his golden hair, that genuine laugh pointed at Fannin’s model-pretty face and broad shoulders, while Fannin’s large hand spanned Adrian’s lower back.
The two of them together would make for beautiful footage. Professional, artistic footage that could help the store and Maya’s college fund.
But the idea pissed me off. For professional reasons, obviously. What if Fannin spent the entire time flirting? We’d be there all day. And what if Adrian stood out in the cold too long? His red cheeks might read splotchy and weird on-screen.
No. It would be better if I did it. For the sake of the finished product.
We could always use Fannin on a different shoot. Date. Maybe one in which he taught Adrian how to ski or snowboard.
My stomach twisted. That was a stupid idea for all the reasons I’d just said, wasn’t it?
I picked up my phone again and banged out a text.
I’ll do it. But this is the last time.
His response was immediate.
Adrian
Methinks we don’t like the ski instructor.
Remember we’re meeting at the Pinecone at 9. Don’t be late.
Adrian
There’s my grumpy mountain man. See you at 10. Just kidding.
And then he sent a kissy-face emoji.
I dropped my phone like it had burned me, but the damage was done. My traitorous heart was already racing at the thought of talking to him again. Of flirting with him again. Of being his… date.
Pretend date.
It was a stupid idea, and I was stupider for being the one to agree to it.
“Be easier this way, though,” I muttered, turning back to the invoices. “Quicker. Less bullshit to deal with.”
But even I didn’t believe that blatant lie.
#DenyDenyDeny #SparkShmark #FuckingEmojis #NoFannin
7
#MADDRIANFANFICNOWAVAILABLE
ADRIAN
Something warm and perilously close to excitement fluttered in my chest as I lay in my bed at the rental cabin and read Maddox’s response for the tenth time.
Maddox
I’ll do it. But this is the last time.
I tried tamping the feeling down. This was business. Content creation. A professional arrangement, nothing more. But I couldn’t stop grinning over how quickly he’d backed off his precious Rule Three.
I had plenty of other things to grin about, too, obviously.
The numbers I’d woken up to had been staggering. Views: 223K and climbing. Comments: over 8,000. Shares: nearly 15,000. These weren’t just good metrics—they were viral metrics, the kind that could make or break a sponsored campaign.
Vic clearly agreed, based on the quick succession of voice messages he sent.
“You’re on fire,” he said breathlessly in the first. “Nordique is obsessed. Obsessed, babe. They’re talking long-term brand ambassador. Exclusive contract. Multiple campaigns across next year’s product lines. As in a private jet to Chamonix in January and a branded capsule collection next fall!”
This was followed quickly by, “They want to see sustained engagement and ‘emotional storytelling.’ And whatever that spark is between you and Mountain Man? They want more of it. Fast.”
And then, slightly more concerningly, “But don’t get soft on me. You’re selling the fantasy, not falling for it.”
I dropped my phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
An exclusive deal with Nordique was the dream. It would lock in everything I’d spent the last five years building. But that last line from Vic, about selling the fantasy, not falling for it, echoed in my head.
Why did it feel like I was doing both?
I picked up the phone and stared at the Instagram posts again. I’d known the reels would do well, but I hadn’t expected just how much my followers would engage. Even as I watched, the comments kept pouring in.
OMG the tension between these two!! You could cut it with a knife!
That grumpy mountain man is HOT. Does he have an Instagram??
The way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him… I CANT
Is this scripted? Because if not… get married immediately
#Maddrian #MountainManHottie #HolidayLoveStory
I choked on my own spit.
Maddrian? Seriously?
I continued scrolling, my cheeks heating inexplicably when I got to an actual frame-by-frame breakdown of our “intimate moments”—everything from when I’d wiped whipped cream off his nose to our heated debate about lavender hot chocolate.
They weren’t falling for Nordique, or Legacy, or even my cute dating idea. They were falling for the idea of a romance between me and Maddox. A romance that didn’t exist.
And if I didn’t already have the feeling that was a problem, I definitely did when I slid into a booth at the Pinecone for a late breakfast.
“Morning, handsome!” Sadie called cheerfully. “Coffee’s already brewing. Your usual?”
“Uh. I don’t know what that is, but sure.” I smiled, shrugging off my coat and draping it carefully over the back of the chair.