Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
But when her brother ropes her into a crash course in “ladylike behavior” to help land the deals that could save their crumbling family business, she finds herself stuck in Manhattan with the cockiest bastard on earth: Harrison Jones.
Polished, smug, and irritatingly hot, Harrison owes her brother a favor—and apparently, that favor includes turning Eliza into Manhattan's newest social darling.
But in between champagne toasts, disastrous dinner parties, and one very memorable wardrobe malfunction, their love-hate banter turns into heat neither of them can ignore.
And in Harrison's sleek Manhattan penthouse, the only thing more dangerous than the high heels… is the sexual tension.
Eight weeks. One uptight gentleman. One hot mess.
What could possibly go wrong?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
HARRISON
Ihonestly don’t understand why you opened this book.
It’s a “romance,” so you already know exactly how it’s going to end—how it better end, anyway. You and I both know that minutes after finishing this one, you’ll crack open another… then another, and another.
And then one day—heaven forbid—you reach the end of one and the couple doesn’t end up together? Bless that poor author’s email inbox.
Your questionable book choices aside, I don’t mind the occasional spicy novel. The slow burns and the “grumpy hero” types can be quite entertaining, but I’ve never understood the ones that came long before those—the fairytales.
The Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Little Mermaid types.
In those stories, the premise is always the same: the heroine is in desperate need of saving, the hero solely exists to slay her dragons, and somehow, they fall deeply in love within three days. Cue a villain who never stood a chance against the hero, and the final page smacks us in the face with a “Happily Ever After.”
That’s it.
There’s no aftermath or conflict—no emotional arguments ahead of the wedding. No constant therapy sessions to keep the flame burning when real life chills it to a flicker.
The couple is perfectly aligned for life, and they live in peace. Forever.
Alas, since you’re here (and clearly love unrealistic fairytales), allow me to share my favorite.
Once upon a time, in a cold and callous kingdom called Manhattan, there lived a “heartless bastard” who became disillusioned with the rules of modern dating.
After wasting far too much time searching for his so-called “soulmate,” he gave up on love altogether—and started using his skills to help other men find their happily-ever-afters instead.
Spoiler alert: That bastard was (and always was supposed to be) me.
But then I met a real-life country princess who didn’t want to be “saved,” and I still refuse to believe that our story will end in anything other than disaster…
ONE
HARRISON
Whenever someone hires me to break up with their partner for them, I ask them to rate their soon-to-be-ex on a scale of birthday candle to forest fire, so I can properly prepare for the fallout.
The larger the flame, the more public the venue—so the soon-to-be-dumped has a deterrent not to cause a scene.
Since today’s target has been arrested twice for arson, I don’t think there’s an ideal venue for this.
“Mr. Jones?” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts.
I might’ve forgotten my mini fire extinguisher in the car…
“Hello?” The hostess at Per Se Café waves her hand in front of my face like I’m the senile grandfather she’s been assigned for the shift. “Mr. Harrison Jones?”
“Yes.” I adjust my cufflinks. “I made the reservation under ‘Tucker Bridges,’ though. There should be another name with it—Rachel Carver.”
She narrows her eyes and taps on her tablet. “We have that… but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ll need to call Mr. Bridges to confirm.”
Before I can respond, she lifts her phone and dials.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer on speaker.
“Hello, hostess.”
She exhales and hangs up. “You can go inside now, sir.”
“Thank you.” I take the private elevator to the rooftop and set a timer for fifteen minutes.
That’s all I need to end a three-year relationship, and I’m not remotely surprised this guy hired me to do it for him.
Rachel’s already at the booth, sipping champagne with crossed legs and perfect posture. From where I’m standing, you’d never guess she once faked a terminal illness to get out of paying a month’s rent.
“Good evening, Rachel.” I slide into the seat across from her and flash a smile. “How’s your day going?”
“Um, fine.” She tilts her head. “Do I know you?”
“Your dress is stunning,” I say. “Really brings out the green in your eyes.”
“My eyes are brown.”
“My compliment still stands.” I wave down a server. “Whiskey, neat.”
“Do I need to call security?” she asks, already looking around the room. “I don’t know how the hell you know my name, or why the hell you think you’re welcome to sit in my boyfriend’s seat, but—”
“Your boyfriend, Tucker, is actually the one who sent me.” I rip the Band-Aid clean. “He doesn’t want to be with you anymore. And by ‘anymore,’ I mean not even for another second. He has a moving crew pulling your belongings out of the apartment as we speak.”
She stares at me, blinking.
“Although there have been three decent years between you,” I continue, “he feels like you’re no longer growing together. He wants you to know it’s him, not you. Also, he won’t fight you for custody of the dog—Tulip—that you two recently adopted.”
“Tulip is a cat,” she hisses.
“Wait, what?” I lean back. “Aren’t cats deathly allergic to tulips?”
“Yes...”
“So, why the hell would you ever—never mind.” I pull my standard Fair Deal: Breakup Contract from my pocket and slide it across the table.
“What the hell is this?”
“This is a legally binding contract between you and Tucker that lays out what the future will hold for both of you as you walk into the land of singledom.”