I'm not asking for too much...I just want you to break up with him, for me.
“The perfect summer romance!”
“Exactly the type of escape I needed!”
Prologue Hayden
unedited & subject to change before publication
I’m willing to bet that I know exactly what you’re thinking of me right now…
How can this gorgeous man of my fucking dreams—one who was recently named “Top Advertising Executive of the Year” and “King of New York,” possibly look so terrible when he was picture-perfect a few days ago? Why does he have two black and bruised eyes, a damaged spleen, and bruises all over his body like some type of human punching bag?
I’m tempted to tell you, but you’ll never believe me.
“Tell me exactly what the hell happened to you right now, or I’m leaving.” Elizabeth, the woman who I’ve hired to take those photos, steps a bit closer. “Can you even see me?”
“Of course, I can see you, Elizabeth,” I say. “My eyes are wide open.”
“They’re literally swollen shut.”
“You can start the photoshoot in my office,” I say, holding back a groan as pain shoots up my spine. “Make sure that you draw the blinds open so that the buyer will know exactly what type of view comes with this place. Be sure to get a decent picture of the roof garden for the listing, too. I left the elevator code on my desk.”
She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at me.
At least, that’s what it looks like she’s doing.
“My realtor believes that the rooms that typically sell houses the most are the bathrooms and the kitchens,” I say, “so make sure to get those at every angle.”
“I know how to take pictures, Mr. Anderson.”
“Do you? I can’t really tell because you have yet to take a single shot for the past half hour.” I try to roll my eyes, but it hurts too much. “I’m not a professional photographer or anything, but I’m certain that the first step is taking the camera out of your bag.”
“I prefer to start by taking pictures in the living room,” she says, looking around. “But I highly doubt that anyone will be interested in buying a twenty-million-dollar condo with all those empty beer bottles and take-out containers. Then again, maybe they’ll love seeing a man who clearly just got the shit beat out of him, starring in the frames.”
“Just edit me out of everything. You know how to use Photoshop, correct?”
“Wow.” She gives me a blank stare. “You know what? I’m going to head over to your other properties and take shots of those first. I’ll come back here in a few days, and hopefully, someone from your staff will have this place ready. If you won’t mind, I’ll need you to hang out in your laundry suite until I’m done that day.”
“Thank you for being accommodating.”
“I’m not. I’m just trying to make sure that get paid.” She slings her camera bag over her shoulder. “You know, even though you’re definitely one of the biggest sarcastic assholes that I’ve ever met, I don’t understand why someone would ever want to beat you up like this.”
“Because someone didn’t.” I tense as I clench my jaw. “Like I’ve told you, for the umpteenth time, the cabinets attacked me. Twice.”
“Mr. Anderson—”
“It’s hardware season,” I say, cutting her off. “They tend to get really aggressive during this time of year. I should’ve covered their knobs with tape to soften the blows. Shouldn’t have talked shit about replacing them while they were listening.”
“Right…” She blinks a few times, gives me one final look of pity. Then she slams the door as she leaves.
The moment I hear the ping of the elevator, I let go of the last of my restraint. I move the ice packs from my shoulders to my eyes and let out a sigh at the much-needed relief.
For a split second, I feel like my former self again.
Less than seventy-two hours ago, I was on top of the world and my life couldn’t have been any more perfect. I was closing a multi-million-dollar deal, tossing back a few beers with my best friend since high school, and falling harder for a certain woman who was always off-limits.
My heart was in a freefall state of euphoria that I’d never felt before, and I was determined to make this woman mine for the rest of my life.
Until tragedy struck.
In one moment, I was texting her about wanting to come over and finish what we’d started the night before (“I don’t care whether your neighbors hear you screaming my name or not…”), and the next I was being ambushed by my own kitchen cabinets. In broad daylight.
At least that’s what I’ll have to keep telling myself until my wounds heal. Until I force myself to face all the damage I’ve caused.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
My phone’s vibrations pull me out of my thoughts, so I set aside the ice packs.
I’m hoping it’s the Uber-Eats “Your food has arrived!” alert. I’m also hoping that it’s the same driver I’ve had all week, since he knows to leave the bag at the door instead of bothering to knock.
When I squint at the screen, my hopes are immediately dashed.
It’s her.
The woman I need to distance myself from for now. Forever.
Even though I’ve changed her name in my phone to “Do Not Open: Do Not Make This Shit Any Worse,” I can’t resist.
Text message from Penelope: You are an ASSHOLE!
Text message from Penelope: I hate that I ever slept with you. That I TRUSTED YOU!
Text message from Penelope: F-U-C-K You!
My phone buzzes again, this time with a message from this woman’s best friend.
Text message from Tatiana: I will never EVER let her forgive you for this shit. Periodt!
Why does she always insist on adding a “t” after the word “period”? What the hell does that even mean?
As if her best friend can somehow read my mind from miles away, she sends me an immediate
