Page 12 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
I’ve made a deal with the devil.
“Excellent!” Jimbo declares. He snaps his fingers at Ivy, who is already pulling out paperwork. “Ivy will set you up with the details. Welcome to the team, Juliet.”
Ivy slides a short-term employment contract across to me. My eyes bug out at the dollar amount: one hundred thousand dollars. Holy god. That’s a life-changing amount of money. I sign the contract without looking at Hunter, my signature quick and decisive.
And just like that, I’m fake engaged to Hunter Huxley.
Hunter and I leave the office together in complete silence. The hallway feels endless. By the time we reach the parking garage, the weight of what just happened is settling over me like a lead blanket.
God, this is going to be an awkward five months.
“Hunter,” I start, turning to face him.
“You just trapped me in a fucking cage and threw away the key,” he snarls. “I’m not a zoo animal, Juliet.”
My name comes out of his mouth as if he’s spitting poison. It sounds almost ugly. I shove a finger into his chest. “I saved your caveman ass. You’re welcome.”
We’re standing too close, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something woody and clean that makes me want to lean closer, which is absolutely the last thing I should think about right now.
That’s when I catch him staring at me. But he’s not looking at my chest like every other guy I meet. His gaze drops to my mouth, slow and deliberate. Like that’s the part of me that might actually be dangerous to him.
For a second, I forget how to breathe. The realization that Hunter Huxley, the man who barely tolerated me in college, is looking at me like I’m suddenly on his menu short-circuits my brain completely.
“You’re such a jerk,” bursts past my lips. “Honestly, Huxley.”
“Better than being all high and mighty,” he sneers. “You were always holier than thou, weren’t you, Ace?”
I bristle at the nickname. It’s been years since I’ve heard him say it, making fun of my being on the school newspaper. And I hate it every bit as much now as I did back then.
“Grow the fuck up, Huxley.”
We glare at each other in the fluorescent lighting of the parking garage. The moment stretches for several seconds until the silence grows unbearable. Am I going to be the one to break this tension?
“Five months,” he husks out.
I arch a brow. He looks at me, those blue-gray eyes alight with resentment.
He looks at my mouth again. It’s not subtle. My pulse does a stupid little stutter. He says, “That’s the agreement. Five months, and then I can go back to pretending that you don’t exist.”
Finally. There is some give in his steely personality. I incline my head. “Five months. Then we call it quits.”
I stick out my hand, offering it for him to shake. Hunter makes a face, because he’s a prick, and then engulfs my hand in his giant mitt. His palm is hot to the touch and makes me nervous.
Guys like Hunter get praised for rage. Girls like me get told to smile more.
God, I can’t stand him. Even things he can’t control, like the fact that he runs hot, annoy the bejeezus out of me. I turn and walk toward my car, my heels clicking on the concrete. Hunter calls after me.
“Where the fuck are you going, Ace?”
I slow, turning, that nickname making me grit my teeth. “Home.”
“Nah.” He jerks his head toward his car. “You’re riding with me, Ace. You started this blaze. Now you burn with me.”
I should say no. I should walk away and slam the door for dramatic effect. Instead, I follow him like a moth straight into the fire.
Chapter4
Hunter
