Page 40 of Perfect Alpha

“Not a care in the world over here,” Fiona cheerfully confirms.

I pluck my phone out of Caroline’s hands and ignore her pitiful protests before plugging away on manuscript edits for the next three hours.

When Fiona returns to fetch me, we grab an Uber and arrive outside a tiny, crowded bistro that apparently has amazing food.

“I got us a seat on the patio,” Fiona says proudly.

“You’re a goddess,” I tell her. “And I amstarving.”

“That’s because all you ate today was coffee beans,” Fiona points out.

“Now that is a great idea,” I enthuse, as the server seats us in a relatively quiet corner. “I’m going to pick up some chocolate-covered coffee beans on my way home.”

Fiona groans. “Great. That’s exactly what you need. More caffeine.”

“I agree,” I chirp. “Oh, look, they have coffee martinis. I do believe I’ll have one.”

“I sent my thoughts on the first five chapters to the author you found,” Fiona interjects, her eyes lighting up. “I want to find out how she takes feedback and how well she can edit.”

“You did?” I squeal, all thoughts of my addiction floating away. “And? How did it go?”

“She was ecstatic to hear from me again, and we’re going to meet for coffee this week to discuss everything. You should come,” Fiona encourages. “You saved her from the slush. Plus, it’s coffee.”

Eagerness to learn everything I can about this business and absorb information like a sponge has me agreeing. Working with the ladies at Gemstone has been the equivalent of hitting the career jackpot, and I couldn’t ask for better teachers or friends.

On the hard days when I’m full of doubts about my decision to take this job, change my plans from being a teacher, and move away from everyone I love, rocking my career makes the loneliness easier to bear.

What difference does it make if New York City and everything it has brought me is still my second choice?

Chapter 15

Cade

ForgettingaboutVictoryprovesto be impossible. For lack of anything better to do on the weekends I have free, I’ve been killing time with a couple of local women.

Today, I’m taking Britt camping against my better judgment. But I’ve been climbing the walls at home, and I need to be out in the open air.

“How much further?” she whines, from at least a dozen steps behind me.

She’s carrying nothing whereas I have a 50-pound pack on my back, plus a canoe. I chose the shortest hike possible, while still feeling like I’m in the woods, to make it easier on her. We’ve done less than a quarter of it.

“We just left,” I reply, unable to hide my irritation. If she didn’t want to go hiking and agreeing to tag along was just a ruse to spend time with me, I’m going to be pissed.

“Carry me. My feet hurt.”

I grit my teeth to bite back a sharp retort. “I can’t carry you, not with all this other stuff. You’ve walked like twenty steps so far.”

“It’s hard,” she complains. “You never told me it would behard.”

I stop walking and turn to face her. Britt is a smoke show with long blonde hair, a body like walking sex, and a face that would bring lesser men to their knees.

Or, at the very least, an extra one hundred and twelve-pound weight on their backs for the privilege of having her all weekend.

“You said you wanted to come with me.”

She pouts, which is admittedly sexy, but still annoying as hell. “Let’s just go to my place instead.”

Her voice grates on my nerves when all I want to listen to is my feet crunching leaves and birds chirping in the sky. There is no way in hell that I’m giving up my weekend in the woods for her. This is the first one it’s been warm enough to tolerate sleeping outside.

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