Accidental Tryst by Natasha Boyd EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Natasha Boyd
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 1 MB
- Price: Free
TRY S T A N
Charleston Airport
I slide my fingers under the rim of my starched shirt collar as I
walk off the plane in Charleston, South Carolina. The reason I’m here now
makes my collar and tie feel like they’re choking me.
I’d been hoping to at least stop by my hotel to check in, drop my bag, and
connect to my scheduled meeting back in New York. But my flight had been
delayed so I need to connect into my meeting from here.
I set my laptop bag on the bar height workstation at the gate across the
concourse from my arrival gate and plug in my dead cell phone. Might as
well get some work done before my call. Seems like everyone has the same
idea. Almost every charging outlet is taken, but I don’t have time to find
somewhere quiet.
A hint of sugar and flowers wafts through the air, and I’m jostled as some
chick next to me digs around in her oversized purse. Women and their
massive purses. I shake my head almost involuntarily. Why so much stuff?
My phone buzzes as soon as it’s got juice, and I answer.
“Trystan? It’s Mac. When are you back?”
“Best case, by tonight, worst case I’ll be back Friday.”
“Are you sure there’s not something you’re not telling me?” Mac asks.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it Carson is offering more. A lot more.”
Bloody hell. “I’ll grind his fucking nuts,” I snap, momentarily forgetting
I’m in public. The pressure of my current situation has apparently caught up
with me.
“He doesn’t have any fucking nuts or he’d up his game.” Mac laughs, but
he sounds nervous. “It isn’t the first time he’s done this. But I can trust you,
right, Trystan?”
I’d never shaft Mac. We’ve been doing business for years, and I owe him.
“It’s a good offer,” Mac adds. “He knows it. We know it.”
Yeah. Of course I know it. But I’m just over people being greedy
motherfuckers. Where’s the honor? The fucking decency? I’m strung tight
today and can’t check my irritation anymore. “If you see him before I do, tell
him to shove his offer up his—”
Now I definitely feel censure emanating from the floral hippie chick with
the oversized purse. I turn and catch her blue eyes. “His arse,” I finish.
“That’s my boy,” says Mac.
She’s cute. But hippies don’t really do it for me, no matter how pretty
they are. There’s a higher chance of underarm hair, coconut oil, and quinoa
for breakfast.
I shudder.
Been there. Tapped that.
“Exactly what I thought you’d say,” Mac says. “Or hoping anyway.”
Hippie Chick scowls at me and wanders away. I follow her arse, the
shape of two full moons visible against the fabric of her long patterned skirt.
Probably got legs like tree-trunks. Yes, I’m an asshole, but I prefer a delicate
calf. Fuck it, why do I even care? Because her hair is my weakness. Red. No,
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