The golden angel who swooped in to save me from a nightmare first date turns out to be a billionaire vulture circling the company I work for.
Carter Kingsley: My savior and ruthless corporate raider hell bent on destroying the newspaper I love. Oh, and my new boss.
His first order of business? Cut half the staff. I should hate him. Easy, right?
Wrong.
I met him two weeks ago, when he saved me from the most awkward first date of my life. I was looking for a way out when he strolled up in a ten-thousand dollar suit with a winning smile, and told a white lie that turned the date from hell into heavenly bliss.
I left with his number in my phone, and spent the next two weeks staying up late to text him. He's charming. Funny. Sincere.
Completely unlike the ruthless villain who comes in and carves us up.
My first order of business is to interview the new boss. But who is sitting on the other side of the desk? The man who saved and charmed me, or the one who’s threatening everything I hold dear?
Carter insists that we can still be friends, but I know that the whole situation is a ticking time bomb.
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Excerpt
I shrug. “Well, you’re fascinating. You don’t make sense to me, you know. I’m still half-convinced you’ll pull the rug out from under me one day and say ‘what, you actually thought we were friends? I own the company you work for!’”
Carter nods, like this is a distinct possibility. “Would I laugh maniacally as well?”
“Yes. Twirl your mustache.”
He smooths a hand over his jawline, across the five-o’clock shadow. It makes him look even more masculine. “I could grow one for you.”
“That’ll be the sign, then,” I say. “If I show up to work one day and see you with a mustache, that means you’ve decided I’m beneath you. No more socializing.”
His lips twitch. “I’ll bear it in mind. Don’t hold your breath, though.”
“I won’t. I rather like texting you,” I say, taking a bite of my pizza to avoid his gaze. It feels like a vulnerable thing to admit. To put into words the weird connection we have, this… nonthing that’s a thing all of its own.
It feels safer to keep it in the gray zone.
“I like talking to you too,” he says. His voice sounds gruffer than usual. Not the smooth, cultured suaveness.
I prefer this version.
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