More Than Words (Dirty Words)

Chapter One

ISOBEL

Boston

The obnoxious clicking of my heels echoed after me as I hurried across the marble tiled lobby of my office building. I was late, and my Uber driver would bail if I didn’t get my ass outside in the next two minutes. My rider rating couldn’t take a hit, or I’d be pushed back down with the idiots who drank too much and puked all over someone’s seats, or who got dinged because they were morally opposed to basic personal hygiene. Since I’d sold my car, I relied on having a good rating to get to and from work—on time—most days.

“Finally,” the young driver sighed as I slid into the backseat of his idling Toyota and pulled the door closed. “ Took yah long enough, lady. It’s rush hour, and I can’t have yah killin’ my rides for tha rest of the night.”

“Sorry,” I huffed, trying to straighten my long pencil skirt. Changing after my meeting was out of the question since the executive marketing team’s presentation had run long. Those lucky bastards didn’t have to go to this ridiculous team-building event that Sloane, my boss, had arranged with the publishing house genre heads. “Missed the elevator and had to run barefoot down ten flights of stairs.”

“Bet that was somethin’ tah see,” he smirked, but quickly averted his eyes at the glare I returned. Men .

This was why I was keeping to myself lately. No matter the age or walk of life, men were constantly judging me based on my looks. Apparently, tall, blonde, and dimpled warranted the male population of Boston and the surrounding tri-state area to think I was a ditz or a whore. Or both. Never mind that I worked my ass off in High School to get out of my tiny midwestern town and earn a scholarship to an Ivy League university. It couldn’t possibly register with them I worked three jobs—and no, none of them were stripping, although it might have paid better—during undergrad and grad school to pay for what my scholarships didn’t cover. Which was a lot when you lived halfway across the country from your family, who pretended you didn’t exist because you left behind the family farm to do something they considered pointless.

But none of that mattered because if you had a vagina, so you clearly couldn’t be taken seriously half the time. I hated that my career was seemingly at a standstill. I hated that the genre I chose to edit was constantly being trashed, despite the millions of dollars in revenue it generated for the publishing house each year.

But fuck dwelling on what I couldn’t change because those bastards could lick the sole of my one pair of Louboutin heels if they had a problem with me being an empowered woman.

I could survive in Boston just fine without a support network. I had friends, sort of. And I had loyal co-workers, well…I had dedicated interns. Plus, I had the support of my boss, who inspired women in the publishing industry everywhere.

“We’re here,” the Uber driver announced quietly, looking warily at me in the mirror. Maybe my stony glare and ten minutes of silence had changed his decision to make smartass comments about my appearance. But I wasn’t expecting miracles. He just wouldn’t say them to my face. I was sure the word bitch would be muttered as soon as my door closed, but as I pushed a strand of sweaty hair behind my ear, I didn’t care.

“Thank you,” I sighed, plastering on my biggest smile, and quickly gathering my things to make my way into the ax-throwing bar. I was already late and didn’t want to stay any later than I had to.

“Alright, listen up, people.” Sloane called the group to order once I’d settled in at a barstool, my co-workers quieting down. “The teams are as follows. Chloe and Roger are in bay one against Logan and Ryker. Amanda and I are in bay two against Julia and Mark. Kyle and Zuki are in bay three against Elliot and Hilla. Fred and Reilly are in bay four against Donna and Jacob. And last but certainly not least, Lorenzo and Kate in bay five against Isobel and Adrian.”

“Oh, joy,” I muttered under my breath as Adrian walked through the crowd toward me. “I get to partner with Dickhead. ”

Yes, he was objectively handsome—tall, with broad, muscular shoulders, light blue eyes, and hair as dark as ink on a crisp white page. In fact, the first time I’d seen him, I’d stopped short, my heart beating erratically as I watched him verbally berating the copy machine on our floor. He’d somehow managed to get paper sheets stuck in every place it could jam inside the machine. That’s what he got for trying to duplex print an entire manuscript—using an ancient copier that was notorious for eating anything that enters it—rather than ordering a bound copy from the printing department. Rookie mistake.

I’d thought it was adorable. The scowl on his full lips, the muttered curse words thrown into his thick Bostonian accent, but then he’d noticed me watching, delivered one sexist come-on, and I’d disliked him ever since.

Want to fix this for me, gorgeous? You’re probably more familiar with this beast than I am. Then he gave me a smarmy full-body scan and said something even worse. On second thought, I got this. Wouldn’t want you to get that skirt dirty since I’d love to see you in it again.

Adrian O’Neill was arrogant. He was an asshole. He treated some interns like they were worse than gum stuck on the soles of his expensive Italian leather shoes. He was a genre elitist. And despite all that, he was annoyingly good at his job. I’d never seen another editor quite as good at plucking obscure authors out of a submissions pile and getting them to the top of all the must-read charts. He often saw potential in authors that others overlooked. It made me simultaneously in awe of him and constantly befuddled when he continued curating this crude playboy persona.

And worst of all, he was easily the most attractive man I’d ever seen when he kept his mouth shut. He’d look even sexier with a piece of duct tape covering it. There was something about the set of his lips and how his eyes crinkled when he was about to say something stupid. He knew half the shit he said would get a negative reaction, but he said it anyway. The man had absolutely no filter.

He was also a misogynistic jerk. And did I mention arrogant?

“Hey, Is, long time no see,” he greeted. The polished professional fa?ade fully in place. This was the face most people saw. They didn’t see the strong Boston accent and the sarcastic quips I’d spied when he interacted with people outside the office. I was certain the phrase ‘wicked smart’ had never passed his lips on company property. And his you’s and yeah’s sounded nothing other than crisp and perfectly enunciated.

When he was in work mode, he was on. Degree from Boston College with honors, a deep voice with perfect inflection, every strand of shiny dark hair precisely in place, expensive suits with expert double Windsor knots in designer silk ties.

Once, just once, I wanted to see the veneer crack and see the real Adrian. The one he’d buried deep under this giant douche persona. I knew there had to be more than met the eye, or ear, but he was so insistent on cultivating the office asshole persona that he never let anyone see past the bullshit. I recognized professional armor, as I often wore it myself.

“Adrian.” I nodded, hating that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when his arm brushed against mine.

“Are you sure you can handle doing this in those shoes?” he asked, leaning toward me so only I could hear his words. “Not that they aren’t amazing, but I can’t see three-inch heels being good for your balance.”

“Can you handle this with the three inches you pack below the belt? I mean, I’m sure you think it’s amazing, but it can’t be good for…well, anyone,” I hissed, stepping away from him. I bumped into Lorenzo, grimacing as his drink sloshed over the edge of his glass.

“You alright there, Isobel?” Lorenzo asked as he reached over to steady me with a hand on my elbow.

“She’s fine.” Adrian’s calloused fingertips closed over my other elbow, and I wobbled as my eyes darted between the two handsome men who towered over me.

“No thanks to you, I’m sure,” Renz muttered as he narrowed his eyes at Adrian. There was no love lost between the two rival editors. Adrian was an asshole, which most of the interns, including my own, called Dickhead . Lorenzo was the office eye candy, and the interns frequently ogled his vast collection of snug dress slacks.

Lorenzo was nice, but his nice-guy personality left nothing about him to the imagination. A good heart wrapped in a pretty package. While that should have been attractive—especially to a woman who was nearly out of her thirties and should be thinking about settling down someday—it seemed a little anticlimactic. What you saw was what you’d get. All that you’d get.

There was no mystery there, no spark. No passion simmering under the surface. There were no secrets to uncover that no one else knew about. Maybe I’d been editing romance novels for too long and had become immune to the ‘nice guy.’ After all, the toxic hero seemed to sell, and women swooned over an asshole by the millions—especially if he had millions. Too bad the asshole in my real life wouldn’t be pulling a redemption arc anytime soon.

“I’m fine,” I told them both, clearing my throat. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“I have some sneakers in my gym bag if yah need ’em,” Adrian whispered as he leaned into my personal space again. My eyes flashed over to Lorenzo, but he was already deep in conversation with his partner, Kate, a non-fiction editor who had as much personality as wallpaper paste—and was just as in demand as an antiquated wall covering adhesive.

“I’m good, thanks,” I responded, glancing at his polished leather shoes. His feet weren’t huge, but they were also substantially larger than my size nines.

“You sure? I’d hate to see those affect your aim.”

Turning to face him, I paused, taking in the lone curl of hair falling onto his forehead. I’d rarely seen his hair looking anything but like it belonged on a Ken doll, and my fingers twitched with the urge to push it back into place.

“My aim will be just fine.”

He hummed, nodding before bringing his glass to his lips and taking a sip of the amber liquid inside while maintaining eye contact with me.

“Want to place a wager on it? ”

“I’m not betting on ax-throwing with you. You’re bigger than I am and stronger…” His grin grew as I kept talking, and I had the increasing urge to dig one of my heels into the top of his foot.

“No, no, keep going.” He smirked as he did that masculine thing where he was clearly undressing me with his eyes. “I’m interested in all this sudden praise you’re throwing out.”

My nipples pricked with how he paused when his gaze was aimed at my cleavage. Pig . “Eyes up here, big boy.”

He chuckled, tipping his glass in my direction before leaning close to my ear. “Which one is it? Do I only have three inches, or am I a big boy? Surely, they aren’t exclusive, or your boyfriends have been seriously lacking in what they’re packing.”

I clenched my teeth together as I fought the shiver that ran up my spine at how his warm breath felt as it fanned over my bare neck. He smelled good—fresh and alluring, with a hint of wood smoke and something vaguely floral.

Considering he spent most of his lunch breaks in the corporate gym on the bottom floor of our building, he always looked surprisingly put together.

I hated running into him down there because my fair skin only turned bright red with physical exertion. Genetics ensured I didn’t get that glow some women got when they exercised. My Scandinavian heritage meant I looked like a pink-cheeked hot mess with an excessive perspiration problem. No amount of dry shampoo would save me from that mess.

“Hmm,” he hummed before he leaned away. “Care to make a wager on the outcome of this evening?”

Turning toward him, I frowned. “We’re on the same team.”

“I’m aware.” He nodded and took another sip of his drink, his eyes clocking the nervous shifting I’d been doing since he’d set his sights on me. “Total points, bonuses for bullseyes.”

“You going to keep score?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. I didn’t trust him not to cheat.

He shrugged, lifting his chin toward me. “Don’t trust me? ”

“Should I?”

He’d given me zero reasons in our history as co-workers to trust a word he said, in a professional capacity or otherwise. More than once, he’d undermined something I said in a staff meeting. He also had the bad habit of hijacking conversations and turning the subject back to his own department.

“Fair point,” he laughed, stepping in and placing his free hand in the center of my back. It wasn’t anywhere inappropriate, but the jolt it sent between my legs hadn’t gotten the message. “You keep track. My math is shit. But I’m sure you can handle it with that impressive Ivy League education your parents bestowed upon you.”

If he only knew my parents were grain farmers who cared more about crop yields and the newest corn hybrids on the market than whether their youngest daughter got an education at one of the top English programs in the country. I may have dressed the part, but I wasn’t some elitist snob like he perceived me to be. My upbringing was probably less glamorous than his. He’d likely never been asked to mix organic fertilizer by hand in his life. My job during high school had literally been shit-stirring. And not the kind he engaged in.

“Because you’re clearly lacking in educational pedigree.”

“According to some,” he laughed, dropping his hand and stepping around me as Sloane motioned for us to move toward the cages where we’d be doing the actual ax throwing, not just the lobbing of verbal ones. I’d missed the entire demonstration, but how hard could it be?

Hold the ax, aim at the target, pretend bullseye is Adrian’s face, and throw.

“You ready for this?” he asked as we stepped inside the enclosure. Kate and Lorenzo stood against the opposite wall, clearly planning their strategy.

“What are the stakes?” I asked quietly as my fingers trailed over the handle of one of the axes in the hanger on the wall.

“What do yah want?” Adrian chuckled, his palm settling in the center of my back.

“You to quit disparaging my authors. It makes you sound like an arrogant douche when you comment about how other genres are beneath you.”

“I never said romance was beneath me, Is. I said that the market share wasn’t as deep.”

“Quit comparing the two. You stay in your lane. I’ll stay in mine.”

“But it’s so fun to veer into your lane and cause chaos.” I could hear the smirk in his voice with no need to turn around.

“What do you want?”

He paused, his fingers flexing against my back. “I don’t think you’re ready for what I really want.”

“Try me.” The smoldering look he had aimed in my direction may have worked on other women, but I wasn’t some na?ve intern.

“A kiss. I’d like to see if that fire can hold up or if you’re all smoke.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and placed my hand in the center of his chest, pushing until he stepped backward. “Done. No tongue.”

“Deal.”

He abruptly stepped back, taking an ax from the holder and stepping up to the line.

“You mind if I have first throw, Renz?” Adrian asked before he tilted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders back. I tried not to stare at how his dress shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his back, but his little warm-up made it difficult to look away.

With a quick wink over his shoulder, he staggered his feet and squared his shoulders, bringing his arm up to align with the target. With a snap of his arm, the ax flew, wedging itself into the center of the target with a solid thwack .

I had a feeling I’d just been played. Smug bastard.

As the night wore on, the soreness in my feet grew, but I refused to admit defeat as I stepped up to the line to throw my final ax. If I hit the bullseye, I could tie Adrian. But I knew he’d stopped actively trying to win a little while ago. He didn’t think I had a chance and was teasing me with the close score. And I was taking the bait because my competitive streak wouldn’t let me back down.

“Might as well admit defeat, Is. It’s a work night. Don’t want to keep you up too late.”

Kate and Lorenzo had lost interest, checking their phones as Adrian and I continued to bicker between shots.

He seemed to think Red Sox fans were more devout than Cubs fans, and I was educating him on how, despite their recent World Series win, the Cubs fans were diehard loyalists who would celebrate their team until their dying breath, even if they never made another series run in this lifetime.

“Oh, come on. The Sox’re one of tha originals. How can you not love the legacy of one of the first franchises in American baseball?”

“I didn’t say they weren’t loved. I said Cubs fans were more devoted.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled as she shook his head, picking up his glass of scotch and swallowing the rest. I tried not to stare as the muscles in his throat flexed, but judging by the smirk, I failed. “Fenway is so much coolah than Wrigley. There’s history heah in Boston.”

I smirked at his accent slipping through, and his eyes widened, a frown crossing his features. “No, I get it. Architecturally, Fenway is nice, but I think it’s easier to be a fair-weather fan than one who is enthusiastic for the underdog, even when they’re beaten year after year.”

“After year, after year, after year,” he smirked, and I kicked my foot backward, my heel poking him in the shin.

“Don’t be a dick,” I laughed.

“Ah, but I’ve gotta live up to my name.”

“At some point, you could just stop being a dick, and maybe the nickname would die out.”

“And what fun would that be?” He winked. Of course, he liked that people called him a dickhead, including when it wasn’t behind his back.

“Quit distracting me.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up your mediocre baseball team.” Turning around one last time, I fixed him with a glare, but his cocky smile widened. “You gonna throw that ax or just tease its poor shaft all night?”

Kate gasped at his crass question, Lorenzo’s face pinching into a frown as he looked between us. Our team had already won. My last throw was just a formality. And it determined whether Adrian got that kiss he wanted. Not that I had any idea why he wanted it. We didn’t get along, and I doubted we ever would.

“Maybe I like to take things slow.”

“Maybe you’re stalling because you know you’ll lose,” he taunted. “Or maybe you’re trying to lose.”

Gritting my teeth, I took a deep breath and focused on the center ring, pulling my arm back and breathing out as I released my weapon toward its target.

My eyes closed before it hit, my body jolting with the sound of the impact.

“Nice throw,” Renz cheered, and I opened my eyes, surprised that I’d hit dead center on the target.

“Thanks,” I smiled as I looked back in his direction.

“You were a formidable opponent,” Adrian drawled as I turned toward our side of the range and wiped my sweaty palms down my skirt. “Guess it was a draw.”

“We both know you let me catch up. Does that mean we’re both winners?”

As much as I wanted him to quit being a dick to my authors, I wasn’t sure I wanted his lips anywhere near mine just to get him not to be an asshole. That seemed like a terrible idea. We worked together. He was an epic asshat, and my attraction to him was solely to his body, not his lackluster personality.

“Nah. I don’t need a pity kiss. We’re good.”

“If you say so.” I nodded, relieved. “Wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed when it fell short.”

“Well,” Sloane interrupted from opposite the fence, smiling widely at us. “Looks like you two did quite well tonight.”

“Were we keeping score for something other than bragging rights?” I glanced over at Adrian, but he only shrugged, looking back toward our boss.

“I didn’t tell anyone ahead of time. Whoever had the highest score will represent Vivid at the New England Publisher’s Conference next month.”

“And who would that be?”

“Adrian, since he scored the most points.”

“Technically, Isobel scored the same number of points, so we tied,” Adrian offered helpfully, smirking at me.

“Looks like you’re both lucky then.”

“Am I really?” I asked under my breath, trying to sound less annoyed than I was. He’d been tolerable tonight, but I didn’t want to be trapped in Eastern Maine with him for almost a week. While I enjoyed going to trade conferences, I knew we’d have to spend time together if we were being sent to represent Vivid. And I’d have to pretend I didn’t despise him.

“I was secretly hoping it’d be the one of you, with the press Adrian got for Stone’s latest release and the articles you’ve been contributing about the resurgence of romance novels into mainstream media with streaming services green lighting movies, I think you’d be good representatives. Neither of you have any releases that conflict with the conference, so it seems like a perfect fit to send you both.”

Glancing over at Adrian, I tried to gauge if he was dreading this as much as I was, but his eyes weren’t focused on our boss. They were focused squarely on my ass. Great.

“I’m sure it’ll be more than worth our time. Have Chloe send the itinerary to Sam to ensure all the edits on my plate are covered, but I’m in.”

Sloane smiled, reaching over to squeeze his arm. He grinned at her in response, and she cleared her throat before looking at me. Of course, she’d fall for his bullshit. Everyone seemed to. “Think you can make it work, Isobel?”

“Do I really have an option? Neither of us has conflicts, and it seems like a great opportunity.” I tried to tack on a smile at the end, but I wasn’t sure I was successful with the slight frown she directed at me before she stepped back, plastering a grin on her face.

“Great. I’ll get you all the details this week and have your travel booked. I know the venue shifted, so we need to book rooms soon.”

Yeah, there had better be rooms, plural . I was not sharing the same hotel room with Adrian. I’d rather sleep in the rental car. And the only one bed trope needed to stay in my author’s books where they belonged.

As Sloane walked away, Adrian stepped forward, placing his hand on my back as he deposited his empty glass on the high-top table in the corner. “Don’t worry, Is. I’ll make sure we have a good time. Maybe you’ll lighten up outside the office.”

“Ugh. You’re such a dick,” I hissed, stepping around him. “Just because I don’t fall on yours doesn’t mean I’m an uptight bitch.”

“Hey,” he chuckled, raising his hands in defense before he stepped to the side, holding open the net for me. Kate and Lorenzo took off while we talked to Sloane, and our other co-workers were headed home or toward the bar down the street. “I never called you a bitch. I think wicked smart, opinionated women are sexy as fuck.”

“You lost me at opinionated. I’m sorry that standing up for my authors and chosen genre makes me opinionated.”

“I thought we were calling a truce,” he chuckled, seemingly unaffected by my hostility.

“We tied. And you said you didn’t want a pity kiss, so I thought that meant I’d still be receiving your closed-minded, sexist, crude, incorrect, and often offensive commentary for the foreseeable future.”

“I can keep up my end of the bargain. I’ll try to watch my mouth, but I don’t want you to kiss me if you don’t want to. I’m not that much of a dick.”

“You sure about that?” I scoffed, pulled out my phone, and ordered a ride as he followed me toward the door. I would try to escape him outside, but it was still raining and dark.

“Trust me, Is.” He smirked as he stepped in close and tucked a few loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “If you’re not begging for it, I’m not interested. I can be patient. You won’t keep me waiting long.”

“You’re likely to be in the ground before that happens,” I growled as the alert that my ride had arrived popped up on my screen. I didn’t look back when I pushed through the door and jogged down the sidewalk to my awaiting car.

Adrian watched me through the glass with a smug grin as the car approached where I was standing. Pressing my hand against the car window, I flipped my middle finger, hating that he had turned me into this person. While I would readily admit I was stubborn and determined, I never wanted people to think I really was a bitch. Then I’d be just as bad as he was.

I could see his smile widen through the rain-streaked glass, and he held his hands over his heart while I narrowed my eyes and faced forward. I wanted to smack him for baiting me into competing against him. It was his fault I would be stuck going to that conference with him, and he seemed to look forward to tormenting me the entire time.