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“But how’s it been settling in? You’ve been too busy to take my calls for a week, so there must be more to life than walking the dogs.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say. “It’s been a lot to take in, Pippa. Setting up work with the inn, the new side gig, plus trying to get off the grief train... If Gram’s ghost ever checks in, I’m sure she wishes she left me a year of her cheesecakes. God, I miss those.”
“Me too! They were awesome every time you brought one home.” She smiles. “But that’s it? I thought small towns like these were packed with drama.”
“I’ve always been boring,” I say with a shrug. “Are you surprised?”
“Lady, if you’re holding out on me...”
“Fine. I have a brand-new pain-in-the-ass client. Totally demanding and eats up too much of my time, but I did agree to the job.”
“I hope they’re paying you for any crap. You know you can come back to Winthrope whenever you want with a promotion, right?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I turned into a cog there. Gram leaving me her place was the wake-up call I needed.”
Two little hummingbirds flit past. Coffee lets out a muffled woof. I stop for a break and motion for him to heel.
“I’m not sure what you mean?” Pippa says, shaking her head.
“It wasn’t a bad gig. But you remember how taking that job was the last thing you wanted? It never fit your real plans—never mind the hijinks that snagged you a hubby. For me, it was a comfy check. Don’t get me wrong, the benefits were incredible, but no career path there led to here.”
“And this is what you’ve always wanted? Wow. I had no idea.” She scans the greenery around us, taking it in. Then she turns back to me with a look like she’s beginning to understand why I’m falling for Pinnacle Pointe. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I bet Brock could figure out some remote work for you.”
“Pippa, I appreciate it, but the sooner I try to get the inn up and running again, the better. And even though the client sucks monkey balls, he pays decent enough. Like so well I don’t need to worry about taking on new clients.”
If only he didn’t burn through my days with almost-kisses and invade my dreams at night.
If only Miles Cromwell was a little less... Miles.
She nods.
I wish she truly had a clue.
“As long as your new jerkwad pays you enough to be a royal pain in the ass.”
“Yeah. It’ll be over in three months, anyway. I’ll have enough to tide me over to take an honest stab at the inn.”
“From writing about fancy hotels to running your own. You’re moving up!” she gushes, slapping my shoulder. “What are they paying you?”
I hesitate. It feels a little weird telling her when it’s a generous amount, but she also shares accounts with a billionaire now, so any normal sum seems paltry to her.
“A hundred and fifty.” I purse my lips.
“A hundred and fifty bucks an hour? Nice! I would’ve sat you down for a 'come to Jesus' if you sold yourself short again.”
“...a hundred and fifty thousand, Pippa.” I sigh, watching her eyes bug out.
“For three freaking months?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit. Who are you working for? The mafia? No normal person pays a hundred and fifty smackers for three months of copywriting. That’s almost an entry level C-suite salary at Winthrope.”
“That’s the sad part. I wound up with a bigger, broodier scrooge than your beau.”
“Who?” She stares in disbelief.
“Miles Cromwell.”
It hurts to say his name.
My eardrums vibrate when she claps her hands.
“O-M-G! Him! Brock always complains that guy charges him a fortune for ad space on his websites and broadcasts. He’s got the whole radio market in the Pacific Northwest wrapped around his finger.”
“Figures. He’s pretty shrewd with real estate too. He tried to buy the inn out from under me before I was barely unpacked.”
Her jaw drops again. “Are you serious?”
I fill her in on the rest of our anti-meet cute, thoroughly annoyed that I even consider it that.
Ugh.
“Whoa. Just weird. I never realized how many self-propelled dicks there are in big money until I became part of it.” She sighs. “I got crazy lucky with Brock. Most of the moneybags he rubs shoulders with aren’t remotely like him. They’re full of bad habits and half of them cheat on their wives in the open. Every time some married rich guy walks into an event with his sugar baby, I gag. There are a few exceptions, though. That Cole Lancaster guy isn’t half-bad.”
“The coffee mogul? Right. He’s an actual hero for the way he rescued his wife from that creeper,” I say, remembering the headlines. “I wish my boss had a fraction of Lancaster in him, or even your Brock.”
“Don’t let him get away with anything, Jenn. He’s totally buttering you up and trying to convince you to sell,” she tells me.
