Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"Okay," I agree quickly. He's the expert, not me.
"Rule two, you stay the full two weeks. No quitting halfway through because you're bored or cold. I won't have time to take you back down the mountain."
"I never quit once I make a commitment, Deacon."
"Rule three," he says, carrying on like I'm not even talking. "You'll be living with me. If that's going to be a problem for your man, it's his problem, not mine. I don't want some jealous idiot showing up on my doorstep, causing a problem. If Tyr doesn't drag him back down the mountain, I will. Got it?"
"I don't have a man," I mutter, and then bite my lip. Maybe I shouldn't have told him that. It's probably best if he thinks I have a professional football player or something waiting for me at home. Less chance of me disappearing without a trace that way, right?
Too late, I guess.
"Good," he grunts. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cordelia."
"T-tomorrow?"
"Is that a problem?"
Yes. I can't pack for two weeks in one day. It's going to take me that long to figure out what to pack!
"Nope," I lie cheerfully. "Not a problem at all."
"Good. I'll text you the address, Sunshine. We'll meet at the saloon in town."
"Thank you," I squeak. "You won't regret it, Deacon!"
"Oh, I'm sure I will, Sunshine," he says, and then chuckles.
I don't get a chance to ask what he means by that before he hangs up on me. I flop onto my bed, kicking my feet in the air like an excited little girl.
"I got the job!" I cry to the ceiling. And the reality sets in.
Oh, crap. I got the job.
Now, I have to convince him that a crazy, pink-haired curvy girl who is terrified of the woods can hack it as his assistant.
Chapter Two
DEACON
"What the hell did you do?" I growl, glaring daggers at my baby sister as soon as I cross the threshold of the old-fashioned saloon our parents left us when they died. A sharp gust of cold wind blows in through the double saloon doors before they swing closed behind me, stirring up the familiar smells of wood polish, grease, sugar, and alcohol that's seeped into this place over the last four decades.
"Deacon! I knew you'd come," Nell says, her baby blues lighting up at the sight of me. She scurries from behind the long, wooden bar, wiping her hands on her apron. A smudge of flour runs across her right cheek and dots her nose. There's a streak of it in her brown curls, too.
I briefly consider letting her know it's there, and then quickly change my mind. Serves her infuriating ass right if half of Winthrop sees her with flour in her hair tonight.
"You placed an ad for an assistant," I growl, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "What in the hell were you thinking?"
"Oh! Did someone call?" She beams up at me, completely ignoring my question like usual. Nelia Cromwell does what Nelia Cromwell wants to do. She's been that way her whole life. I don't think the word no exists in her vocabulary. "Who was it? Did you hire him? When does he start?"
Two can play this game. If she's not answering my questions, I'm not answering hers. Besides, mine are more pressing considering I have a curvy little pixie landing on my doorstep in less than twenty-four hours. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?
Oh, I've got plenty of ideas. Starting with bending her over my kitchen table. The girl is the rare kind of beauty that makes a man stupid. Which is precisely why I hired her. I was thinking with my dick.
I looked her up on my computer while we were on the phone. One look at her dark green eyes, dimples, and impish smile, and my cock was fully on board with telling her what I need and getting it—her words, not mine. Especially if she calls me sir while she's doing it.
No, goddammit. No. There's a reason I live in the middle of the Cascade Mountains with nothing but my dog. I don't do relationships. I don't do people. I like my solitude, my privacy, and my peace and quiet.
Cordelia Shanks wouldn't know solitude if it landed in her lap. And judging by the way the girl rambled a mile a minute, she ain't ever heard of peace and quiet. I don't think privacy is high on her list either.
"Let me see the ad, Nell. Now," I order, trying not to think about how damn much I actually enjoyed talking to Cordelia. I don't enjoy talking to anyone.
"Fine," Nell says, reluctantly reaching into her apron pocket to pull out her phone. She loads up the classified section of the Seattle Times and then taps on her screen for a moment before passing it over to me.