Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Holy crap. I’m getting flashbacks of what happened with Jay and the knife.
“That’s awful, Mrs. Burns.”
“It’s Tillie,” she corrects sharply, taking a deep breath. “And that impulsive little rat almost wound up in an early grave. The second after he struck first, Lincoln pushed him to the ground and beat him senseless. He didn’t stop until half the bones in that man’s body were fractured.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hand coming to my mouth.
She nods like her head weighs a ton.
“You can guess what came next,” Tillie says. “A criminal report. Lots of accusations and lawyers. Lincoln was lucky he wasn’t arrested, and luckier still when the man agreed to drop all charges for an appalling settlement. My son came an inch away from losing his reputation, his job, his entire life...”
When it clicks in my head, it twists like a knife.
Especially when Tillie says, “He knew how narrowly he dodged a cannonball. He worked hard to never put himself in that position again, to keep his anger from taking over. But regrettably, when your ex came along and tried to hurt you...”
“He panicked,” I finish weakly. “No wonder he freaked.”
“I only wish telling you could make it better, but I’m not delusional,” Tillie says. “Here, this should do more than any words ever will.”
She pulls a large envelope from her pocket and pushes it toward me. I’m so numb I can barely reach for it.
“What’s this?”
“Open it,” she tells me. “It can’t make up for the emotional tizzy I’ve had a hand in, but it’s a tangible apology.”
I open the thick pink envelope and pull out—a contract?
Huh.
She’s offering me a “creative fee” of five percent net profit from the wedding line.
Wait.
That’s a product line projected to profit at least half a billion dollars. Five percent of a conservative five hundred million is—holy Hannah, I don’t even know.
It’s a crapload.
I throw the contract back at her like it’s burning my hand.
“Mrs. Burns—Tillie—no way. This so isn’t necessary. I’m fairly compensated for my work on the wedding line, and anything else that happened outside work is—”
“Nonsense. There’s no earthly way he could’ve paid you enough for a sham that ended in tears. I know about your ninety-day work arrangement, too, and he’ll still pay you for that since you’ve reached the deadline. I feel horrible about this whole thing. If I was even a teensy bit to blame, I must make amends.”
Her eyes flash, a hazel-brown shade lighter than her son’s.
I’ve seen that same defiant look before, too.
Now, I know where he gets it...
God, I hate this.
She’s such a nice lady, and she’s his mother. It’s not her fault her son is a complicated jerkwad. Also, I don’t want to upset her, but there’s no point in denying the obvious.
“Well, I did get hurt, but money can’t fix a bad breakup. I mean, this is overkill. I don’t need to be a freaking millionaire because Lincoln broke up with me.”
“The ad concepts were your idea, Dakota.”
“But the fake marriage was Anna Patel’s!” I throw back.
“Lincoln told me you wrote most of the copy, or approved it.” Her eyes are unwavering.
“I did.” My voice is shrinking.
“And you were in those pictures with my son. You crafted a large part of the social media push that’s beginning now. Help me understand why you don’t deserve this?”
I don’t say anything, but I’m still holding out the contract.
She doesn’t take it.
“I hope you realize this money is yours. I won’t take it back, and if you refuse payment...well, I’ll be so offended I’ll never speak to you again.”
Dang.
Tillie Burns can do a supermom guilt trip so intense it could curl your hair, and she’s not even my mom.
I drop the contract on my desk with a conflicted sigh.
So this is my life.
Forced into reluctant riches, something I used to dream of in college.
“I wish I could turn back the clock, but money can’t buy time. I should have stayed out of it like Lincoln told me to,” she says.
“No, ma’am. It’s not your job to make me feel better. The only person in the world who can do that has made it pretty clear where he stands—as far away from me as possible.” I pull at my collar awkwardly, wondering why it feels like a steam valve.
“That terrible breakup with his ex and everything that came after left him a guarded man. Even before that, he wasn’t good at relationships, at feelings. I know my son.”
She’s so genuine.
Unfortunately, I know men.
“Tillie, he hasn’t spoken to me since the day he ditched me in front of the hospital. Not the actions of a man who cares. It’s fine. I always knew I wasn’t the kind of girl handsome CEOs end up with,” I say.
“I have no idea what you think my son’s type is, but I’ll tell you this. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have ended it and slipped into the ether. Dear Lord, do girls not read romance novels anymore?” She smiles.