Nicole Snow

Maybe I am being overly critical because I didn’t like the way he undressed my woman—my assistant and best copywriter—with his beady little eyes. Or maybe he just feels like a waste of resources

“Wow. I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Not true. I’ve told you plenty of times you’re as talented as you are beauti—” I choke off mid-word and slam my yap shut.

“What the hell is it now, Nevermore?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a horse’s dick?”

“You, on the day I met you. And I’ll take that as a compliment considering their size. We have a lot in common.”

Oh my God.

Because I like getting paid. Besides, it’s not all bad. A nice pile of work keeps me from having time for poetry, and you know how that goes, so—”

That wins her a smile.

“Liar. I’m willing to bet you still find time for that. Why can’t you find the time to eat and sleep in when you’re not worshipping your ivory Adonis?” I tell her.

She doesn’t answer.

Wyatt gives us a lost look.

When we both notice, we burst into laughter.

“You’re all bold color, Nevermore. Not washed-out pastels.”

We’re two mouths, two bodies, two souls drawn together by a thread of pure lust. When she gives me those soft green eyes, I break, driving my tongue against hers as it flutters softly against mine.

“Our mistakes? Our?” I scowl at him. “Are you fucking kidding me, man? Also, FYI, I am not hooking up with my boss! I’m in love with him.”

“I finally understand. If I woke up with Dakota in my arms every morning and she just up and told me one day she didn’t want it anymore—you’d have to make room in that bed. I’d lose my mind. I couldn’t run my company. I couldn’t function.”

She made my dumbass fall in love.

My heart stops, too, because I know.

I know if I ever wanted a woman beside me in a white dress, it’s Nevermore, and no one else.