Page 32 of Make-Believe Match

“You had your chance, Buckley. You didn’t get it done.” He slammed that drawer and opened another one. “Goddammit, where’s my gum?”

“I told you—there’s a family member who’s reluctant to sell. I just need a little more time to convince her.”

“Face it, Buckley, you couldn’t close. Now stop whining like a fucking baby and send the client files over to Bob. He’s expecting them within the hour.” He ransacked the contents of the second drawer, muttering to himself.

I folded my arms over my chest. “No.”

Harvey stopped his foraging and looked up at me. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m not sending shit to Bob. It’smywork.”

My boss’s face darkened. He took a cigarette from the drawer, lit it with a match, and dragged in deep. “Yourworkis part of yourjob, whichIhired you to do. Get it? You work forme. You belong tome.”

“Not anymore,” I said, standing a little taller.

“Huh?”

“I quit. I’ve worked my ass off for this company for years, and you can’t give me two more days? Fuck the promotion, fuck this job, and fuck you. I’m out.” Before he could say anything else, I stormed out of his office, barreling right into Bob, of course, who’d been lurking at the door.

“Hey,” he said, that smug grin on his face. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“You should stay the fuck out of my way.”

“No problem.” He shrugged. “We’re not moving in the same direction anyway. You’re going down, and I’m going up.”

I wasn’t the type for a fistfight and hadn’t thrown a punch in years—not even after Bob had slept with my girlfriend—but that self-satisfied smirk set my temper ablaze, and I took extreme pleasure in cocking my fist back and then smashing it into his face.

The blow surprised him, knocking him backward onto his ass. He touched his bloody lip and glared up at me. “You’re gonna be fired for that, asshole.”

“You had that coming,” I seethed. “And I already quit.”

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I was escorted from the building.

In three hours, I’d packed a bag and was on my way to the airport.

In five hours, I was on a flight to Michigan.

By nine o’clock that night, I was pulling up at Lexi’s condo in my rental car. All the while, a plan had been taking shape in my head.

It was a good plan. A little extreme, maybe, but it would work. It would give Lexi what she needed (the chance to hold onto her home) and me what I wanted (the chance to fuck over Bob Oliver).

I just had to get her to marry me.

SEVEN

lexi

I was alreadyin my pajamas, curled up on my couch watchingThe Bearwith a pint of Hudsonville Extra Indulgent Cookie Dough ice cream on my lap when I heard the knock on the door.

What the hell? Who was here at nine o’clock on a Monday night?

Annoyed, I paused the episode and set the ice cream carton on the coffee table, spoon inside it. Couldn’t a girl enjoy stressed-out chefs and sugar-laden dairy products in peace? Surely I deserved it after all the disappointment I’d suffered the past week. Dozens of emails and phone calls in the desperate attempt to find a benevolent buyer for Snowberry, all with no luck. Not a single resort company or property developer was interested in restoration. They all said the same thing—if I could even get someone to return my call—the land was worth more without Snowberry on it.

My heart was heavy, but I still wasn’t ready to give up. Gran had given me until the end of the month, and that meant I still had nearly two full weeks. Miracles could happen in two weeks, right?

The knocking sounded again, loud and frantic.