Page 3 of Ever Mine

WHY did I say that?

I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

But it does make the entire room laugh. And it feels like a lot of them are even genuine.

I clear my throat, kill the screen, and start again. “Anyway… our social strategy.”

When the meeting finally ends, everyone files out with friendly smiles. I’m collecting my things when Thorne pauses at the doorway.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, tone softer now, “I think you handled that remarkably well.”

“That was your version of ‘good job,’ wasn’t it?”

“Something like that.” His eyes glint with amusement. “You’ll fit in fine here, Miss Blankenship.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me in a swirl of cedar and charm and the terrifying realization that I’m absolutely, unquestionably in trouble.

chapter

two

Thorne

I never expected to walk into the conference room and come face-to-face with my future. But there she was. Tall, with curves that wouldn’t quit and thick, wavy brown hair. Her big brown eyes were wide and innocent, and all I could think about was defiling her. Tossing her up onto that conference table and discovering every erogenous zone on her body.

I stare at the screen, then slam my laptop shut.

I suppose I should explain a few things. In addition to being the in-house counsel for Limestone Brewery, I also lead a secret life. That makes it sound far more adventurous than it actually is. James Bond, I am not.

I am, however, none other than bestselling contemporary rom-com author, Rosie Thorne. It’s a secret, for the most part. Ford knows because he’s a nosy motherfucker who found me out after a few of my books were published. I’m guessing that means his fiancée and assistant, Mia, knows.

Though I have never confirmed Ford’s suspicions. So I pretend not to know that he knows. It’s a game we play.

I could probably tell a few people, but I enjoy living a double life.

Most days.

Of course, most days I'm able to keep both of my lives separate. Today, that line seems to be blurring. Case in point, the book I'm working on, or rather, supposed to be working on, is set at a remote cabin where the couple is currently snowed-in. As you can imagine, remote cabins don’t tend to come equipped with conference rooms.

Yet I’d taken one look at the voluptuous Addison Blankenship and my muse had come alive.

Before I knew it, I’d written three pages, longhand, during the meeting. Thankfully, Ford hadn’t called my name for any reporting.

Now I had a scene brewing in my head—no pun intended—that had no place in my current manuscript.

You might be thinking that I’m projecting. Or even fantasizing. But the truth is, I’m not built for love. At least not in the real world. I can, however, write the hell out of it in fiction.

A knock sounds on my office door.

“Come in,” I call, opening the legal document I was supposed to be making notes on. Thankfully, I already narrowed in on a needed change the moment my eyes met the paper. I jot down a note in the marginalia.

Ford McCall, my best mate and technically my boss, strides in. He used to be a grumpy fucker, but now he’s in love and he smiles a lot.

“Hey, Thorne. Got a minute? Need you to look over the distribution addendum.”

He drops a folder onto my desk and flops into the chair opposite me. I glance at the contract, scanning for red flags.

“You’re paying them too much for transport,” I say after about twenty seconds.