Once Upon a Lumberjack - Maggie Dallen Page 0,2

read my book.” Her grin grew smug. “Win-win.”

Really, she had been a winner. With zero Internet access and limited cell reception, it was impossible to get any work done. For the first time in forever she’d found herself with a period of guilt-free time where she literally could not work. Lying around a hotel room all day had been sweet bliss.

“Mmhmm.” He waved his hand in a gesture to continue.

“So today I said that it still hurt and managed to get out of yet another day of ridiculous bonding activities with my coworkers.” She managed to refrain from making a gagging face at the mention of her coworkers, but just barely. It wasn’t that she hated all her coworkers at the cable news station…just the ones who were here on this executive retreat.

Probably because they were executives. She was not an executive, at least not at the same high level as all these jerks, and they all knew it. She’d only been invited because she was the number one sales rep in the company.

Honestly, if she’d known this would be her big prize for being the best, she might have toned it down a bit.

No. Not really. She wasn’t capable of toning it down when it came to her job. She’d created a plan for herself a long time ago and had been steadily working her way up the corporate ladder ever since. The plan was all-encompassing—mainly focused on her career, but it took into account the fact that one day she might want to get married and have kids. So yeah, that was all part of the plan.

But she still had years to go before she reached that point in the plan, and right now she was solely focused on developing her career.

However, if she’d known that this would be her reward for salesperson of the year, she might have given herself an excuse beforehand so she wouldn’t have found herself spending her precious weekend hours hobnobbing with a bunch of dweebs with egos the size of that mountain outside.

The bartender’s lips were twitching with contained laughter and the sight was mesmerizing. “So, how exactly did that lead you to my bar tonight?”

My bar. She liked that. His easy confidence made her think of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. He had that old-school kind of charm.

When she was done grinning like an idiot, she gave her head a little shake, took another sip, and continued with her story. “The problem was, I finished my book yesterday while playing hooky.”

“Ah.” He nodded sagely as though he knew exactly where this was going.

She explained anyway with a sigh that was worthy of an Academy Award for all the angst it signified. “I should have brought my kindle.”

He nodded, his wince filled with understanding.

Finally having the time and leisure to read to her heart’s content but with none of the books from her TBR pile on hand? Torture. Sheer torture.

She sighed again. “Today, obviously, I was bored. Out of boredom I came out here to seek some company and…I found Steve.”

The hottie’s brows rose. “So that’s how you know Steve.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Indeed.”

Steve had been the instigator of her bad behavior, the accomplice to her hooky day, and the supplier of her coffee refills. Plus, his girlfriend worked the night shift and had a veritable treasure trove of gossip magazines which he’d leant her.

Steve was the best.

But this guy. This not-Steve. She rested her cheek on her fist to better gaze upon his beauty. She liked him too.

He was smiling at her in a way that was far too knowing, but also strangely sweet. Like he knew her. Like they knew each other. Like they’d been great friends for ages and not just strangers who’d met in an empty bar this very night.

He moved to refill his own glass. “And the headache?”

She stared in confusion for a moment. Headache? What headache?

Then she sat up a little too quickly. Oh yeah, that one. “I had a little too much coffee—” Like three giant urns too many. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d come out here and see if Steve had some aspirin.”

“Sorry, wine is the best I can offer,” he said, nodding toward her glass.

She wasn’t even halfway through her glass and she was riddled with guilt. It was a work night. She never drank when she had work in the morning. And even if that work merely meant being sociable over breakfast, it still counted as