Page 3 of New Year, New You and Me

He emits an annoying buzzer sound from the back of his throw. “No way.”

“Why not?” I lift my chin in defiance. “It’s a perfectly logical, not to mention easy, way to keep track of our progress.”

“It’s also the kind of thing someone who is addicted to social media would do.”

He gives me a pointed look. I pretend not to know what he means. Even if it is a fair point. I do spend way too much time on social media. And, if I’m serious about this self-improvement quest we’re on for the next twenty-one days—and I am—I probably shouldn’t insist on doing something that will put that all into question before we’ve even begun.

“Well.” I fold my arms across my chest and lift my chin defiantly. “What do you suggest?”

Frowning, he scratches the tip of his nose. “We could keep a journal or...” He trails off because I’m already shaking my head. “Why the hell not? Isn’t it the same thing as posting it on Instagram? Except you’re not getting the whole world involved.”

“Journals are easy to fake.”

“Only if you don’t trust the other person.”

I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head. “I think that would apply here.”

His brows knit together. “You don’t trust me?”

I snort. Is he for real?

“Maybe you should consider making ‘trusting others’ one of your resolutions.”

I choke on a laugh. “Maybe you should make?—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Chad or Thad cries out. He grabs one of the untaken shots and downs it. “Just Google ‘what are the most common New Year’s Resolutions’ and pick a couple of those. Then work on them together so you can keep an eye on each other. This isn’t fucking rocket science.”

Hmm. Despite the rude delivery, Chad or Thad is onto something.

Bradley strokes his chin thoughtfully. “That would work for me.”

“So it’s settled.” I purse my lips and can’t help but notice the light that flickers in his eyes. He must be tipsy. “We pick five common resolutions and set up time to work on them.”

“And whoever makes the strongest showing by the end of January wins.”

I nod. “The winner—aka the person who has done the best at following our resolutions—gets the client.”

He bows his head in agreement. “And the loser gets...”

“Total humiliation?” I supply helpfully.

His lips quirk up. “Those are the terms.”

He steps closer and lowers his head as if he’s about to add something else.

“Not to interrupt”—Angela says, doing just that—“but the ball is about to drop.”

“The ball dropped four hours ago in New York,” Bradley says.

I roll my eyes and mutter, “Know it all,” under my breath.

“What was that?” He cranes his neck, lowering his ear closer to me. As he does, I catch a whiff of his musky scent. It’s musky and woodsy, but there’s something dark and rich underneath. It’s unexpected and appealing.

Way too appealing.

I shake my head and raise my voice—and my glass—to join the rest of the room in finishing the countdown.

“Three… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

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