Page 1 of My Totally Unfair Deal

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 itbetterend, 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 coupledoesn’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.

TheCinderella,Beauty and the Beast,Little Mermaidtypes.

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.”

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