Chapter 2
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.
Ford whistles. “You read that already?”
“It’s a gift.” I sign the margin and hand it back. “Tell them we’ll renegotiate the mileage clause.”
“God, I love having a lawyer who can read faster than I can think.”
I smile. “That’s a fairly low bar.”
He chuckles, but his gaze lands on the stack of handwritten pages by my laptop. “Working on one of your secret projects again?”
I arch a brow. “You mean the quarterly compliance report?”
Ford grins. “Sure. Is that what the kids are calling them now? Maybe I should try to woo Mia with some quarterly compliance.”
I snort. “You only wish you were smooth enough for that.”
“Mia likes my unconventional romancing.”
“Romance is easier in theory, anyway,” I say.
He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “That sounds like something Rosie Thorne would say.”
“Pure coincidence,” I lie smoothly.
He lets it go — for now. Ford’s too smart not to suspect, but he’s decent enough not to press.
“So,” he says, standing. “What did you think of the new social media girl?”
Addison’s cleavage swims through my mind. I shake my head to try to clear it. Her bright eyes, nervous energy, and self-deprecating laughter had me completely off guard.
“Poor kid was embarrassed, but covered well,” Ford says.
Kid. The word grates against me. Yes, she looked young, but I don’t think she’s a kid.
“Blurting out something about porn in your very first corporate meeting is definitely a day one on the job memory for the ages,” I say.
Ford laughs. “Mia took her to lunch to ease her mind.”
“That’s good.”
“You didn’t form any other opinions?”
“She seems…” My mind unhelpfully supplies an entire catalog of adjectives: fresh-faced, clever, far too pretty, tempting, a walking fucking fantasy. I clear my throat. “…enthusiastic. That should make her good at her job, I suppose.”
Ford smirks. “You mean you noticed she’s cute.”
“I mean,” I say evenly, “that I hope she can handle our unique brand of creative chaos without suing us for emotional distress.”
“Uh-huh.” He heads for the door. “Just remember, this company does not have a no-fraternization policy. But try not to break her heart before she’s been here a month.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say.
Ford scoffs. “Oh, okay. I’m talking about your incessant flirting.”
“I do not flirt,” I say.
“Sure you don’t.”
When he’s gone, I quickly write down the notes for the contract amendment. Then I open my laptop.
The blinking cursor taunts me.
Go back to the manuscript I’m supposed to be writing, or run with this new idea while the words are piling up in my brain?
The choice is easy.
I told myself I didn’t have time for distractions. Especially those that centered around the office. The no-fraternization policy existed for a reason.
Still, I was the boss. If I couldn’t break rules, then what was the point of being in charge?