Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
“On it. Should I make this note for the travel team when they decorate the bookstores?”
“Absolutely.” I nod and he rushes away.
“So glad to see you’re back.” Theresa walks up to me, handing me a coffee. “You’ve been missed a lot.”
“I missed you too, Theresa,” I say. “I burned all my off days, so you don’t have to worry about me going missing again.”
“I doubt that…” She mutters, but then she sighs. “I’m sorry my brother was an asshole to you. I didn’t know you two were dating.”
“We weren’t dating,” I say. It was just sex…
“Well, you know.” She clears her throat. “I hope you won’t take your hatred of him out on me for lunch dates and coffee chats. It was nice having a reader friend here.”
“Wait a minute. You’re his sister?”
“Nope.” She makes an erasing gesture with her hands. “I am not related to Adrian Wolfson at all. Who said that?”
I laugh at her terrible acting. “I won’t take it out on you. Want to buddy read that Preston thriller this week?”
“I was about to beg you to!” She smiles. “I’ll come by your office with a copy later.”
Before I ask her if my transfer request has been approved, she pulls out her cell phone and holds it against her ear.
“This is Theresa at Wolfson,” she says. “Um-hmmm. Be there in five!” She waves at me before rushing away.
Sighing, I pick up a stack of custom canvas bags and begin stuffing them with treats for the readers for the rest of the morning.
Later that afternoon, I head upstairs to my “office” to check on the day’s newest manuscripts.
As I’m organizing them by genre, my heart skips a beat as the elevator pings down the hall.
Without looking up, I can feel Adrian walking my way.
“Good afternoon, Miss Barrett.” His deep voice is directly behind me.
“Mr. Wolfson.”
He moves to my side, waiting for me to look at him, but I don’t give him the satisfaction.
I can’t.
“Is there anything in particular you need from me today, sir?” I ask. “I have a lot to get through.”
“We need to talk.”
“I’ll send you my notes via email.” I pick up a few manuscripts. “Then I’ll let you know when I’m available.”
“I guess with all your time off, you’ve forgotten who the boss here is.”
“I know who he is.” I pick up a pen. “Unfortunately.”
He moves closer, tilting my chin up with his fingertips, sending a flush of warmth through my body.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “And I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve only missed the sex.” I move back before I can make a huge mistake. “I’ll see you via your inbox soon.”
I carry the manuscripts down the hall and step onto the elevator, feeling his heated gaze watch me the entire way.
THE AUTHOR
HEATHER
At six o’clock, I’m highlighting the final pitch lines of a sports romance when the door to the café opens.
“I need everyone except Miss Barrett to leave the room.” Adrian steps inside, his glare sweeping the room before landing squarely on me.
I freeze, helpless, as everyone scatters—interns fumbling notebooks, assistants clutching scones—until the last one slips past him. He shuts the door with deliberate calm, turns the lock, and the click echoes through the empty space.
Then he strolls toward me, the stride predatory, deliberate. In his hand: the bound manuscript of my final Wildwood book. My pulse stutters.
He sets it down on the table with care, then fixes me with an unblinking stare. The weight of his eyes pins me to my chair. When he finally moves, it’s to come behind me and tug me to my feet, his hand warm, firm at my waist.
“You and I have some issues we need to discuss, Miss Barrett,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Immediately.”
“It should only be work-related at this point,” I manage. “Is there something wrong with my book?”
“Very wrong.”
“I’m open to rewriting it, but I’ll need extra time since I’m busy working on a few tours, so if you—”
“You’re fired,” he cuts me off.
“What?” My breath catches, my instinct to step back short-circuited when his grip tightens, steadying me in place.
“You. Are. Fired.” He enunciates each word, his stare blazing. “Effective immediately.”
“Because I shut down our ‘casual’ relationship?” My voice wavers. “Are you really that petty?”
“Yes,” he admits, mouth quirking, “but that’s not why I’m firing you.”
“There are no other valid reasons.” My voice cracks. “Like, you can’t be serious.”
“You’re fired because you wrote an incredible fucking book and it needs to be on shelves as soon as possible,” he says. “It’s perfect story-wise, but if we’re going to release it as soon as I’d like, you need to spend your time on some minor edits.”
My chest loosens in relief, but my heart is still hammering.
“What about the advance on the office romance?”
“I still expect that book from you, too…” He pauses, his eyes softening, just for a second. “But I think you’re in a much better headspace to write it now, correct?”