Bargaining with the Bride (Honeybrook Love, Inc. 1)

Hell, there were only thirty more minutes left in the day. Why not take a little leisure time?

He clicked open the “chat” feature on his computer, half shocked that there weren't little digital cobwebs in the corner of the screen. It had been forever since he'd used one of these things. Still, the only way to get ahead was to do serious research, and Google results for Rachael Ford had been less fruitful than he hoped.

No, the way to handle this would be to go directly to the source, and fate seemed to agree. A little green dot glowed next to Rachael's name, and he double clicked, typing his message before he’d even thought everything through.

Garret Adams: What's your grandmother's maiden name?

In hindsight, he probably should have started more basic.

Rachael Ford: Um, it's long and German. I don't think it'll come up in conversation.

He rolled his eyes. It was as though she knew nothing about method acting. He didn't have to act on everything he knew, he would just have to know everything in case he needed to act.

Garret Adams: Give it a go.

Rachael Ford: I think it's something like Shlinglehoffer

Garret Adams: That's unfortunate.

Rachael Ford: Why don't you start a little smaller. Like, you know, my middle name or something. It's Antoinette, by the way. And you'll also need to know we met and how you proposed, all that.

He looked through his notebook. Those sorts of things hadn't even occurred to him. He'd mostly considered how she'd liked to organize her pantry and that sort of thing. The big picture stuff? He usually paid other people for those th

ings. It was one of the main reasons she was on the payroll to begin with.

Then brilliance struck him. They would have to be engaged, and best way to conduct an experiment of that magnitude would be to completely immerse himself in the biosphere. One hundred percent productivity.

Garret Adams: Why don't I take you to dinner after work and we can discuss everything? We'll iron out all the details.

Rachael Ford: IDK :/

Garret Adams: I'll pick you up at seven. Your place.

He closed the chat window before she had the chance to respond, and in another instant, he buzzed Natalie to tell her he'd be leaving early for the day. He wouldn't give Rachael the chance to back out now.

He tossed his jacket over one shoulder and strolled from the office with a sense of purpose building in his chest. His heart pounded, adrenaline rushing through his system.

Yes, this would be the greatest challenge of a lifetime.

And he was going to win.

4

Thirteen outfits. She’d tried on thirteen different outfits only to come to the ultimate conclusion that whatever she ended up wearing would feel completely and totally wrong. What could she possibly wear that would be appropriate for a non-date with her boss who also happened to be her friend and fake fiancé?

Somehow, a little black dress didn’t seem to cut it. Flirty sent the wrong message. But then, business casual was way too stuff. She pulled her too-deeply V’d tank from overhead and flung it to the ground. This was getting out of hand. One more wrong outfit, and she’d be itching skin, wishing she could change out of that, too.

On the bright side, at least the uneasiness was some distraction from the rage that consumed her when she got home.

Lance had left, just as she’d asked him to, but apparently he’d decided to leave with the vast majority of her stuff, as well. It wasn’t just his video game consoles and mountains of pornography that was gone. Oh, no. The cable wire jutted out of her wall where it used to connect with a flat screen TV that was no longer there, the kitchen counters were sad and bare where her bridal-shower-bestowed kitchen aid and microwave used to sit. Even the friggin scented plug in had been jacked from the bathroom.

The thieving rat.

As soon as she beheld the utter havoc he’d wrought, she was almost happy that Garret had forced her from her hidey-hole tonight. Even if it was for something between a war council and a business meeting, it would be nice to not be surrounded by reminders of all her terrible decisions.

She surveyed herself in the mirror that hung from the back of her bedroom door, hoping that outfit number fourteen would do the trick. It was surprisingly not bad. More casual than her usual pencil skirt and blazer that she wore to work. Her heels were moderate, a couple of inches off the ground to give her legs the illusion of not being stubby. Dark-washed Levi's and a top that sort of draped around her collar bone. It was nice. Something a person might go to lunch with their grandma in.

She pulled the shirt a little lower to reveal the slightest hint at her cleavage. Not for Garret or anything. But, well, she was single now. Maybe the waiter would write his number on the receipt or something.