Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Connor is a former Force Recon Marine who runs a housecleaning business. When he’s hired to get Jeremy’s house market-ready, he’s startled by how attracted he is to his client despite their many differences. But his past, especially his final mission, weighs heavily on him. He’s not certain he can be the man Jeremy needs, but no man has ever made him want to take a risk like Jeremy does
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Jeremy
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York
—William Shakespeare, Richard III
It sure as hell had been a winter of discontent, the worst semester I’d experienced in the four years I’d been teaching at Wentworth College. Only a few of my students had the writing skills to back up their insufferable arrogance, and I was ready to run screaming from my office as I tried to grade their appalling essays.
All winter I’d constantly reminded myself how lucky I was to have a job. It wasn’t easy for someone with a PhD in English to find a job, and I’d even received research grants. I’d been naive before I started my PhD program. I’d thought I’d spend my days inspiring students the way my best professors had inspired me and doing research that I could turn into books that would interest not only fellow professors, but also the general public. Instead, I’d slogged through semester after semester battling hostile coworkers, disinterested students, and a schedule too full to allow for much research, despite the increasing demands for productivity from my department chair. Academia was nothing like I’d dreamed.
As I sat in my office grading essays and pondering whether I could keep this up for the many years I had left before retirement, I received a call from Mr. Chilcote, my aunt and uncle’s attorney. He regretted to inform me they were no longer with us. They’d been killed instantly when their car slid on a wet road and slammed into a tree. The funeral had already taken place without any of my other relatives bothering to inform me. I didn’t even warrant a personal call about my former guardians’ passing or an invitation to say goodbye. The fact that I would likely have refused was irrelevant. I hadn’t talked to my aunt and uncle in several years, yet a lump still formed in my throat at the thought of them dead and buried.
They’d done their duty by me, raising me after my mother died. They never technically harmed me, but they also never loved me. Once I turned eighteen and came out, we’d parted ways, barely civil. For the last few years, I hadn’t even made their Christmas card list. Now they were gone.
I realized I hadn’t responded. “I appreciate you calling me to let me know. I guess no one else wanted that job.”
Mr. Chilcote cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have been the one to break the news, but I needed to let you know they included you in their will.”
Had I heard that right? What would they leave me? A gift certificate for conversion therapy? “They left something to me? You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. You are listed as their sole heir.”
I nearly fell out of my chair. “I’m what?”
“You’ve inherited everything they left behind.”
“Their home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And money?”
“Yes, sir.”
When he told me the total value of my inheritance, I had to bend over and put my head between my knees to keep from passing out. I didn’t have to teach in the summer, and hopefully I could take a sabbatical for fall semester since I could support myself through it. If I did, I’d actually have time to write the novel I’d been snatching moments to work on for the last year. And if I sold their house–their huge house in a highly desirable Asheville neighborhood–I might not have to return to Wentworth at all. I’d have to talk to a financial advisor, but that was for later. For now, I had to write up my sabbatical plans. As soon as I wrapped up the semester, I’d have at least seven months to ponder my next step.
Connor
Oh, I am very weary,
Though tears no longer flow;
My eyes are tired of weeping,
My heart is sick of woe
—Anne Brontë, Appeal
I’d seen enough hell in the desert to last me the rest of my life. No one, not even Mario—my best friend, the man who’d saved my life, and who’d given me the courage to risk it in the first place—could convince me to re-up when my second tour ended. I was home. Well, I was back in the States. I didn’t really have a home since my stepdad thought I was worthless despite having served eight years as a Marine, four of those on a Force Recon team, and my mom refused to let me stay with them since he disapproved. At least Mario’s sister, Sabrina, had invited me to stay with her until I figured out what to do next.
The problem was I had no clue. I’d gone straight into the Marines after high school. My stepfather had made my life hell with his strict rules and expectations set so high no one could meet them. When I didn’t please him, he showed off how good he was with his fists. I’d been desperate for a way out, because a future working at his garage was all I had to look forward to—the man sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for me to go to college. My mother had taken to escaping by drowning herself in liquor, so I wouldn’t get any help from her. When a Marine recruiter came to my school, I jumped at a chance to make my own future, so I went from one restrictive home to another, but unlike my stepfather, the Marines gave me confidence and showed me what I was capable of instead of making me feel like trash. It turned out I was capable of a hell of a lot. But on my last mission, I’d pushed myself as far as I could without something breaking inside.