Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It’s fun and sexy and intimidating.
Which makes sense to me.
That’s pretty much exactly how I’d sum up the one and only Harlow Hennington.
“Afternoon, Harlow,” I warmly greet during my slow stroll her direction.
The woman who will hopefully give me a real shot at dating her despite the pending divorce shifts her focus from her laptop over to me on an equally warm welcoming. “Brendan.”
“You know, I like that you don’t call me Bricks.”
“And I like that you have the balls to call me Harlow.”
“I like impressing you.”
She lets the corners of her slightly closed lips curl towards the ceiling. “I like being impressed.”
“Then let me continue to do so.” Extending the slightly squished arrangement, I sheepishly apologize, “They were uh…a little less damaged about five minutes ago before I almost ate pavement.”
There’s no resistance to snicker at my expense. “I’ll help myself to the waiting room footage later to review your bender moment.”
“We could review it together?” I playfully suggest on a crooked smile. “You know like the married couple we are.”
Harlow’s face flashes an uncomfortable cringe that pushes me to get back in her good graces.
Or at least her better graces.
“Boss mentioned you were born on Valentine’s Day, so you hate roses-”
“With a fiery fucking passion.”
“But I still wanted to get you flowers…But like I don’t know a lot of other kinds? I pretty much know roses and tulips and I really only know about that one because of Jimmy the Tulip from The Whole Nine Yards, which is one of my mom’s favorite fucking movies of all time because in another life she swears Bruce Willis would be my father. And what’s worse is I don’t really know if she means him—the actor—or if she means his character.”
Harlow presses the tips of her fingers against her lips to contain her giggles.
The sound is so distracting, I momentarily forget to speak.
And think.
And do anything other than stare at how beautiful her smile is.
Fuck, man, I wanna be the one to keep her looking exactly like this.
“Uh…” my voice stumbles in steadiness, “what…what uh…what was my point?”
She tosses her hand in the air in cluelessness, laughter slowly fading.
I cut the object in my hand a quick glance and grunt, “Right! About the flowers…”
“Which are wisely not roses, one of the only two you previously knew how to identify.”
“Yeah,” redness creeps into my cheeks even though I wish it wouldn’t, “um, I went to a local florist after breakfast and spent like an hour getting lectured while building this for you. The focal flower—a sentence I never pictured myself saying—is a blue orchid. It’s supposed to symbolize rarity, uniqueness, and beauty.” Gently tipping the bouquet towards her is followed by an embarrassingly bashful grin. “Everything you are.”
The sweetest sigh slips free as she slides the flowers from my grip to hers. “That’s…that’s like the sweetest shit anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Meant it.”
Harlow beams brightly and buries her face in the bouquet while I park myself in the nearest seat. Post a deep inhale that leads to a secondary soft sigh, she asks, “How was your flight?”
“Fucking tits,” I thoughtlessly exclaim. Not even ten seconds passes by before I’m trying to yank my chuck out of my mouth for the millionth time. “I mean-”
“Nah, flying private is fucking tits,” Harlow promptly agrees and places the bunch on the stack of paperwork to her left. “I hated flying commercial to go see my mom growing up—even though we either flew business or 1st. And yeah, I can hear how spoiled little rich bitch that sounds and don’t give a shit. Flying private is infinitely better and fuck those that pretend any different.”
And this is what makes this woman one of a kind.
This shit.
This honest, laidback, be whoever the fuck you are shit she not only exudes but commands other people have.
Why would I wanna give this shit up?
Why has anyone?
“How’s your suite at The Frost?”
“Fucking sweet,” I playfully reply, terrible pun attached to a wink. “Not nearly as nice as our one in Vegas but still at least ten times nicer than the house I rent with three other dudes.”
“Own room?”
“Own futon?”
She cringes again, this time in obvious disgust.
“It’s not ideal, but the shit’s not forever, either.”
Harlow slowly nods and allows the statement to be her segue. “About shit not being forever…”
“Our marriage was actually legal, but you wanna end it quietly and quickly and preferably out of the view of the media?”
The nodding occurs once more, although this time a helluva lot faster.
“DNA?”
“NDA and I’ll provide you with a settlement package for pain and suffering.”
“Nothing about being married to you was a pain, Harlow.” Toying with the mood ring still making itself at home on my ring finger begins at the same time I grin. “And the suffering? I liked it. Never had a woman smack my ass during sex before. That shit was pretty good.”