Nice was overrated.
“Some walls are worth climbing. Some aren’t,” he said with a pointed look.
She sneered at him in response, and he couldn’t blame her. He was being an A-class jerk. The woman had a right to her opinion. If she wanted to build the Berlin wall around her heart, why the heck did he care? It was none of his business. But something about her indifference got under his skin. Maybe it was his past with Allison clouding his opinions of her. He’d just come from seeing her, after all. Whatever it was, it bothered him far more than it should.
And that’s how he knew it was his cue to leave. Because women like Marti broke men like him, and he’d had enough broken hearts to last a lifetime.
He stood and threw a twenty on the bar top before he could fling any more insults. “I should probably go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. If he didn’t, he might reach out and touch her.
No point in wanting something you couldn’t have.
“I wish you nothing but happiness, McBride. I hope your column keeps you warm at night.” With a smirk, he turned and left.
“I’ll be fine without someone. Perfectly happy,” she called out behind him.
He raised a hand in answer, then pushed open the pub door and stepped into the whipping wind without a backward glance.
Sure you will.
CHAPTER THREE
MARTI
MARTI STRETCHED BACK in her chair, propping her Converse chucks on the edge of her desk, setting her skinny jean-clad legs on display. All her coworkers were chattering about the hot contractor their boss had hired to fix the ceiling tile, but Marti couldn’t focus. Much to her chagrin, her thoughts continued to shift to the man she met at the pub.
Logan. His name buzzed through her thoughts like a pesky fly—unwelcome and hard to ignore. He thought he was so smart with his perfect smile, and his perfect hair, or his gorgeous green eyes. Blech.
She should be focusing on a plan to get out of this boyfriend idea her boss had concocted. To say it was an unreasonable request for Marti to enter into a relationship solely for the sake of her column was an understatement. But it was either comply with her request and find some poor soul to rope into a relationship or think up another solution.
She was all for brainstorming. An idea that didn’t make her want to swim in a pool of cyanide would be nice.
Yet there she was, thinking of him, instead of focusing on a resolution.
Since when did she get hung up on a guy?
Never, that’s when. It was starting to irritate her. I mean, who did he think he was?
So what if he was slightly accurate in his description of her as being guarded? He was totally off base otherwise. What self-respecting female in the twenty-first century didn’t guard her heart? She was sane. More than sane, she was smart. End of story.
Gosh, he thought he was so special with his dreams of marriage and babies and his desire to settle down.
Marti snorted. He wasn’t that great, not even with his enticing stubble, a jaw cut from stone, or eyes the same shade as emeralds. His above average appearance didn’t make him an expert on women, especially not her.
“If only the view were this nice every day,” Karen, the administrative coordinator—a.k.a. the receptionist—murmured as she patted her short brown hair into submission and slid past Marti’s desk.
Marti smiled at her, then snatched her coffee cup and took a sip, eyeing the man the women had been drooling over for the past fifteen minutes. He wore a dirty white t-s
hirt and jeans with a tool belt slung around his hips. The muscles in his arms flexed as he removed the damaged ceiling tiles one-by-one. A textbook cliché. One she wasn’t into. Unlike mysterious men with dark hair, twinkling eyes, and too many opinions, a voice inside whispered. She promptly told it to shut up.
From the cubicle next to her, Caroline wheeled over in her chair and stuck her pencil through her blond bun. “Read about your date this weekend.” Her lips quirked. “Or should I say, dates?”
Marti grunted. “Do you know how exhausting blind dates are, let alone adding an egotistical megalomaniac to the mix who thinks he knows you better than yourself? There’s nothing funny about that.”
Of course she wrote about him. It was her job to give a play-by-play on her life, and Logan was most definitely part of her weekend. Like it or not, her interaction with him had provided her with far more interesting writing material than boring Tim... Or was it Todd?
The article went a little something like this . . .
It’s not a coincidence Ariana Grandes’ release, “Thank U, Next,” broke the internet in 2018. A new movement is afoot, has been for years. She only affirmed what women everywhere already knew but hadn’t fully embraced for fear of recrimination—that we no longer need to search for love and acceptance in the form of a man. We have ourselves, and that’s enough. It’s better than enough. It’s quite perfect, actually.