Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
His laugh is haughty. “This is where we are. Either you sign on to this marketing campaign, or we sign legal proceedings. And before you run your mouth without doing your due diligence—go home. Think about it. There’s not another team on any continent capable of winning the championship that would be willing to take you on after this.”
“You say that like you think I give a fuck.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
“You’re wrong. You do not have the right to talk about my wife.” I stand. “I’m leaving because, if I don’t, I’m going to remind you of who you are when you’re not behind that desk.”
He flinches. “Are you threatening me?”
I wink at him and head to the door before making a mess of this situation.
“We’ll need an answer in the next few days.”
“Fuck you, Galecki.”
The door slams behind me.
“Make yourself at home,” Bianca says, setting down her pen as I barge into her office. “I take it something’s wrong.”
“You know what?”
“Well, I know many things, but none are probably what you’ll say. We don’t really operate on the same wavelength most of the time.”
I narrow my eyes as I sit across from her. “Fuck the Royals.”
She brushes a lock of her long dark hair out of her face. “I was right. That wasn’t what I would say. But, then again, it’s not surprising. I’m always right.”
“Bianca ...”
“Sorry. Continue. Explain to me why we hate the Royals.”
Her grin eases some of my anger.
“Look, I love you, Renny, but I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Start talking.”
“Get this. I just got an ultimatum. I can either let the team pimp out my marriage in a marketing campaign, or they’ll sue me for breach.”
She settles back in her chair, surprised. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming. What did you say?”
I don’t know what I said.
It took the whole ride to the Brewer offices to stop my heart from pumping so much blood through my veins that I thought the top of my head would blow off.
Who the fuck does Galecki think he is?
“We own you.”
No one owns me, motherfucker. And no one owns Blakely Brewer.
“I’m not an attorney,” Bianca says, “but I would say that would be hard to prove in court.”
“I think that’s what I said. Sort of.” I groan. “Do you know what pisses me off the most about it?”
“What’s that?”
“That they are so damn money-centered that they would take the sliver of an opening that maybe my marriage was a mistake and try to exploit it—try to exploit Blakely. She has nothing to do with them and there they are, not giving a damn about that. She’s just a chess piece to move toward checkmate.”
Bianca smiles.
“What?” I look at her. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not in the mood, Bianca.”
“Fine. I think you went to Australia and fell in love. That’s what I think. I think that marriage probably was an accident, but it happened to be with a girl you’ve held out for, hoping you’d get a chance with for years.”
I gulp. “Why would you think that?”
“Come on, Renny. I was at your birthday party eight, nine years ago. And I watched you chase that woman around like a puppy.”
My lips twitch. “I did no such thing.”
“And then there was the time you had me help you send her flowers for Valentine’s Day. That’s the only time that’s happened. Have you ever sent another woman flowers?”
I chuckle.
“Oh, what about the time you wanted me to friend request her on Social because she changed her account to private? And you wanted to know if she was with some guy … I can’t remember his name.” She laughs. “You called me from Australia to ask how to give her a ring. Come on, brother. Everyone else might not see it, but I do.”
I blow out a breath and use Bianca’s smile to steady myself.
A slideshow of every interaction I’ve had with Blakely rolls through my mind—every holiday, party, and barbecue at Brock’s. The texts we’ve exchanged through the years. The way I wanted to throttle Edward DiNozzo.
I'd go alone if I knew Blakely would be at an event. I’d wrangle my way into sitting beside her at dinner or hanging out with her—or close to her—so I could hear her voice. I’ve canceled dates because an opportunity to spend time with her arose even though it was in a group. Because I just wanted to be with her.
“It happened to be with a girl you’ve held out for, hoping you’d get a chance with for years.”
Is that true? Is Bianca right? Have I waited for a chance to be with Blakely for the past ten years?
“Renn …”
The room shrinks, my body heating as I think about my wife.
Everything in my world is now framed around her.
When I think about having the afternoon free, I want to make a beeline home to her. The idea that she’s home—that my home is her home—feels like the greatest victory in the world. I’ve spent all morning planning our next trip to Australia because she loved it so much and checking the tabloids to see if there’s anything I need to have Frances shut down.