Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“It’s your lucky day. I’ll consider it.”
“Good. Patton already agreed,” he says smugly.
“Big fat fucking surprise you went to him first,” I growl, trying not to roll my eyes. “He’ll still be bragging about The Cardinal in a retirement home someday.”
Dexter chuckles. “Careful, man, your jealousy is showing.”
“Fuck off, Dex.”
His voice is perfectly calm as he laughs. “Just wanted to plant the seed. We want to move fast, so can we expedite your second-guessing?”
“I told you I’ll think about it. Call a meeting in a few days, after I’ve had time to look into it, and you can pitch it properly with numbers.”
“Thanks, Arch. I’ll have my homework in on time like always.” He snorts. There’s a muffled sound in the background. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your brooding. Don’t be too hard on Colt for the fireworks. I heard about it from Mom.”
“My son, my problem,” I snarl.
I place the phone on the table, screen up, and turn on speaker so I can check through the messages that start buzzing in. Weirdly, they’re all from Miss Sugarbee.
“Junie just called you, didn’t she?” I ask, remembering that muffled sound. He has a bad way of setting his phone up where you can tell if someone else calls.
“Maybe.”
“Go back to your domestic bliss, fucker.”
“Sure thing, prick.”
I grin as I end the call.
It’s not the worst idea, expanding our star success, just as long as we lay the groundwork right. I send a note to our assistant to dig up basics on the St. Louis market and then turn my attention to those weird-ass texts.
Winnie: Archer you won’t believe this but you have THE BEST BEES
Winnie: Literal bee golf
Winnie: mold
Winnie: *gold ARGH
Winnie: The honey is purple and believe me when I say that’s sooo rare. PURPLE HONEY
What the fuck?
Of course, she includes a bee emoji after every message.
All I know about bees is that they hurt like hell when they sting you.
I’m starting to regret the day my landscaper talked me into setting up those bee boxes.
Frankly, I’m not sure I’d believe her if it wasn’t for the photos she attached, which show a rack of honeycomb and the most purple honey I’ve ever seen in my life.
It looks more like paint, something you’d use to dress up a pumpkin on Halloween or smear on a canvas while you’re watching Bob Ross.
I ignore the rest of her garbled incoming texts, which keep raving about this bee-given miracle and how I need to come over this instant.
I’m wincing when I call her.
“Archer! Hi. You got my messages?” She picks up immediately.
“Yes,” I say cautiously. “I got them, all right.”
“Isn’t this amazing?” She practically squeals. No, scratch that—she does squeal, though she has the grace to move her phone away from her mouth when it happens so she doesn’t blow out my eardrum. I put her on speaker and lean back in my chair. “I’ve seriously never seen anything like it. I’ve only heard of this kind of thing before.”
“What, do you moonlight as a beekeeper on top of your senate staffer job?” I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s true.
“I’m no professional, no, but my grandparents gave me a good start. I know what I’m doing around bees. You have to believe me when I say this is unicorn honey. Like total freak of nature stuff. Honey so purple it almost glows? Do you know what that means?”
“No. But I have a feeling you’ll enlighten me.”
“Yes! People will pay through the nose for this honey, Archer. You don’t even know what medicinal qualities it might have, and it’s pretty yummy, too. So sweet you could dribble it on ice cream.”
What a weird image. My gut churns, unsure whether it sounds appetizing or absolutely revolting.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
This isn’t bad news, no, but the fact it’s this girl and these fucking bees again has me worried. Earlier today, her dad left another frosty voicemail. This time on my personal cell, which he must have blackmailed out of someone or pulled serious strings to get.
He damn near demanded a call back to confirm she’s renting my cabin.
“You need to come over and see it,” she says. “I know this sounds bonkers over the phone, but just come and I’ll show you. It’ll make more sense in person, I promise.”
Sure.
It’ll make the same sense as hearing about this batshit honey does now, except instead of a photo, it’ll probably involve her dancing around like a manic pixie while I get stung in the face ten times.
“I mean, assuming you’re not too busy,” she adds, almost like an afterthought.
“Fine,” I say, if only to humor her. “I’ll come, but no pulling apart bee boxes and pissing them off.”
“Yay! I’m so pumped. See ya soon.”
That makes one of us.
I end the call before her puppy energy changes my mind and push the phone back across the desk with a sigh.