The Wild Side: A Small Town Friends-To-Lovers Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Series), page 1
The Wild Side
The Wild Westbrooks Book 1
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Contents
Stories by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
So what to read now…?
Dirty Cameos & Easter Eggs
The Wild Side (A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers Romance)
Copyright © 2022 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Amazon’s Kindle Store is the only authorized distributor of this ebook. If you have downloaded or purchased it from any other distributor, please note that you have received an illegal copy. This not only violates the author’s copyright, deprives the author of royalties due and puts the book at risk of being removed from Kindle distribution, but it also exposes you to computer viruses, theft of your personal information by book pirates and potential legal prosecution.
Photo credit: Wander Aguiar Photography
Model: Vinicious
09062022
Created with Vellum
Stories by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Wild Westbrooks
The Wild Side
The Wild One
The Playboys of Sin Valley
Playing House
Playing Pretend
Playing Along
Playing Rough
Playing Loose
Bad Boys in Love Series
Mister Billions
Mister Baller
Mister Baby Daddy
Mister Bossy
The Blue Collar Bachelors Series
Lover Boy
Play Boy
Bad Boy
Hot Boy
Rich Boy
Dream Boy
The Dirty Suburbs Series
Dirty Neighbor
Dirty Player
Dirty Stranger
Dirty Favor
Dirty Lover
Dirty Farmer
Dirty Silver
Dirty Forever
Dirty Christmas
The Esquire Girls Series
Amber Nights (Amber – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Madison’s Story
For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Ruthie’s Story
Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Hailey’s story
Moments with Hailey (Hailey - Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Esquire HEAT Series
A Very Eager Intern
A Very Frustrated Attorney
Standalone Novels
Matteo
Beast
Happy New You
One
Cash
I push back the cuff of my custom-tailored dress shirt and glare down at the face of my Patek Philippe watch.
Fuck, I’m running late. Very late.
Across the massive mahogany conference table, a bunch of disgruntled corporate executives slam around their whiskey glasses and grumble about having wasted their Wednesday afternoon.
Tough luck.
Today’s negotiations were a complete bust but that’s not my problem. If those assholes had approached this deal in good faith, we could have easily struck a mutually-beneficial agreement. Instead, they decided to be stingy.
So, no deal.
I know what my time is worth and I know what Westbrook Wealth Management brings to the table. I refuse to do business with a group of slick-haired swindlers trying to lowball me.
In one seamless movement, I briskly glide out of my executive chair and give them a curt nod. “Gentlemen.” And I use that term lightly.
I’m unapologetic as I leave the men to their whining and exit the conference room. Nicky is hot on my heels, an iPad and a slim file folder neatly gripped in her manicured hands.
“Traffic is gonna be a mess at this time of day, and you still have to swing by the bakery,” she reminds me as we hustle down the carpeted hallway back toward my corner office.
Through the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the sun diving behind the skyscrapers embellishing the Chicago skyline. The clouds are dark and thick.
That’s not a good sign.
I throw her a scowl over my shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
She shrugs, struggling to keep pace with my long strides. “I told you I could have gone to the bakery for you.”
“And I told you I’d handle it myself.”
“The CFO of the city’s fastest growing wealth management company fetching a birthday cake from a bakery halfway across town—on the company dime, no less. Yeah, that’s fiscally efficient,” she bites, unfazed by talking back to her boss.
“The icing gets smushed every single time you go to the bakery.”
“That was one time.”
“Every time, Nicky. Every time.”
Agnes from Human Resources looks up from her fax machine and catches my eye. She gives me a grandmotherly smile. “Good luck tonight, Cash. If everything goes according to plan, next time I see you, you could be a married man!”
I crinkle my brow. Uh…um, huh?
Nicky snickers into her sleeve.
I turn my glare on her. “Do I even want to know what garbage the office rumor mill is spewing today?”
She flinches. “Probably not.”
I shrug it off. I so don’t have the time to deal with this.
“Were the balloons delivered?” I demand as we turn a corner down another long, busy hallway.
“For the seventeenth time, yes, the balloons were delivered. They’re in your office.” She pauses. “I still say you should go with roses. Red roses. Nothing says I’m here to collect my mail-order bride like red roses.” The little devil smirks.
My younger sister has never shied away from pushing my buttons. I hired her as an intern here a few weeks back. More and more, I’m regretting that decision.
“She is not my mail-order bride.”
“What do you want to call her?”
“She’s my friend,” I state as we enter my office.
And—whoa!—the balloons are here. A lot of them. I may have gone a bit overboard with my order. I have to twist my body like a contortionist just to get around my desk.
Nicky sets the tablet and folder on the edge of my neatly-organized wood and chrome tabletop. “Your friend who you promised you’d marry if she was still single at age thirty. Newsflash, boss—as of today, she’s officially age thirty. Time to redeem your marriage pact,” she sings.
“Jeez—that was a stupid joke Meghan and I made. A million years ago. You should quit spreading rumors about your superiors if you want to keep your job here. There is no marriage pact.”
I check the time again. Shit. I should have hit the road hours ago.
“So I’m supposed to believe that you’re driving the next six hours to deliver a birthday cake to a friend?”
“You can believe whatever you want to believe, Nicky,” I deadpan, growing tired of this little chit chat, especially when I’m running so late.
“Admit it—at night, you lie awake thinking about wedded bliss with Meghan Hutchins.”
“At night, I lie awake thinking about how much happier my life will be once I fire you.”
My sister dramatically throws her head back and emits a heavy sigh. “You’re twenty-nine years old, Cassius. You can admit to having a crush on a girl.”
Sylvester from accounting pokes his head into my office, purple satin shirt gleaming and green polka dot tie swinging. He props a hip against the doorjamb and folds his arms across his chest. “Ooh! What’d I miss? Cash’s off to do that whole arranged marriage thing? So fricking hot.” He fans his cheeks and wiggles his narrow shoulders.
I telepathically
He clams up and skitters off down the hallway.
Nicky titters under her breath. I snarl and narrow my eyes at her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles.
She’s not sorry.
Grabbing my dry cleaning and the balloons, I head for the door. On the way to the elevator, I nearly run head on into my father who’s wandering out of the executive break room, dairy-loaded bagel in hand.
“Daddy, lay off the cream cheese, would you?” Nicky chides in a low voice. “Remember what the doctor said.”
He looks like he might argue but we all know he’s mush in Nicky’s hands. Dad may be a hardass with my brothers and me, but my sister can get him to do practically anything she wants.
“Can’t catch a break around this place,” the old man grouses. He takes one big bite out of his afternoon treat and dumps the rest into the recycling bin under someone’s desk. He turns a grave expression toward me. “So the Blanchet Trust negotiations fell through this afternoon?”
“Yep.” Avoiding eye contact, I stab the elevator button.
I can feel him staring at the side of my head. “Well, that’s a shame…” he says carefully.
Nonchalant as fuck, I shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”
The elevator arrives and thankfully, it’s empty. But if I thought I’d get rid of my meddling family members so easily, I was wrong. My father and sister climb onto the lift right along with me and my three thousand helium-filled balloons.
“I reviewed the terms the company proposed,” Dad says, craning his neck around the balloons to catch my eyes. “We could have made a few concessions. At least, for the sake of closing the deal.”
I turn and stare at the elevator panel. I prod the ‘ground floor’ button half a dozen times. Can this thing move any slower?
“Those penny-pinching assholes were trying to undervalue us, trying to cut down our portfolio management fees. I won’t stand for it,” I snarl. “I’m confident that we can quadruple their money in the next eighteen months. But I won’t put in all that work for free. They have to make it worth my while.”
I scowl at him. He scowls at me.
“Maybe you could have taken them out for drinks?” Nicky intervenes oh-so-helpfully, trying to play peacemaker. “You might have gotten them to loosen up a bit, y’know, in a more social setting.”
My voice goes even rougher as my annoyance continues to rise. “Our company’s reputation speaks for itself. I don’t have time to pander to time-wasters who aren’t serious about what they want. I don’t have to kiss anyone’s ass.”
I set up a firm, un-fuck-with-able boundary long ago—whoever has the nerve to demand even a moment of my precious time had better make it worth my while. I’m a busy man and there aren’t enough hours in the day for bullshit.
“Jeez. Don’t bite my head off.” Nicky throws her palms up in surrender. “It was just a suggestion. Since the whole stubborn-grumpy-asshole vibe doesn’t seem to be getting you anywhere.” She turns to our father. “What’s that Grammy always says about catching flies with honey instead of vinegar?”
Dad’s face goes red and daggers of frustration shoot from his eyes. “You know how your brother is,” he says to Nicky like I’m not standing right here. “Set in his ways. You can’t convince him of anything.” He stomps a foot.
Lately, my father and I have been arguing a lot. Mainly about strategies for growing the company. We hardly ever see eye to eye on the topic.
I should be in charge. He should be retired by now.
I square my shoulders, ready to go to war with him—as usual—but the hostility in the elevator dissipates when he sways a little on his feet. A slight frown ripples across his forehead. He lowers his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Nicky and I exchange a look. I open my mouth to say something, to tell Dad that he can’t keep getting himself worked up this way. And beyond that, it’s damn time for him to slow down. But my sister subtly shakes her head, reminding me that now isn’t the time to get into it.
The elevator arrives on the ground floor. I wrestle my balloons out the door and try to hurry off with a quick goodbye, but my dad hustles on right alongside me, beating away the balloons that smack him in the forehead.
A teasing grin takes over his weathered face. “So…off to cash in your marriage voucher, huh?”
I groan. “Does everybody in this office just sit around gossiping about my non-existent love life?” With my free hand, I loosen the knot of my tie.
“Not everybody,” Nicky quips. “You might find someone in the mailroom who doesn’t—no, wait—don’t they have that bet going on downstairs?”
Dad smirks. “Yeah, I put fifty bucks in the pot.”
“Whaaat?! I only put in a twenty!” Nicky groans. “The pay sucks around here. I’m gonna have to skip a couple lattes this week to up my bet.”
I point a glare at her. “Your smug little attitude won’t serve you well in the unemployment line, Nicky.”
Dad throws an arm around my sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get HR to check the box next to ‘hurt Cash’s feelings’. Then you can come work in my office, where you’ll be appreciated.”
“Aww, thanks, Dad!” The little brat beams and my own father high-fives her. “By the way, do I get a pay raise?”
Dad thoughtfully considers it.
“Nepotism will be the downfall of this place,” I hiss under my breath.
Nicky ruefully shakes her head. “Y’see? There goes the pot calling the kettle black again.”
That’s where she’s wrong. My rise in the ranks of this company has not been a free ride. My father may be the one who founded WWM but I’ve sure as hell paid my dues, working my ass off all the way up the ladder. And I plan to keep climbing. I have big goals for the firm’s future. I just need to get Dad to see the vision I see.
That’s a discussion for some other time, though. I snap out a gruff response instead of prolonging this pointless argument. “Stuff it. Both of you. Or I’m not coming back.”
Stopped in the middle of the lobby, my father feigns shock, slapping his palms to both sides of his whiskered face. “Oh no! How ever will you find purpose and meaning in your life if you aren’t chained to your desk eighteen hours a day, six days a week? Might you actually find a hobby or two to revolve your life around?”
Dad and Nicky throw their heads back with laughter.
I have no time for their bullshit. So I keep walking. Straight for the door.
Richard, the security guy, offers me a grave salute as I stroll past the front desk. “Good luck with all that arranged marriage stuff tonight, Cash.”
Goddamn.
I don’t stop shaking my head as I’m fleeing the building, desperate to get out of the city before the traffic holds me captive for the night. After a quick stop at the bakery, I hit the highway.
The worst part of the six-hour road trip is being left alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that keep creeping in, trying to hijack my lifelong friendship, and take it to places that terrify me. Thoughts I find myself battling to push aside for every one of the next five-hundred plus miles.
The further I drive from the safety of Chicago, the more tied up I get in my imagination. I’ve entertained the idea of marriage and kids, I guess. But it’s always been something out there in the distant future. Far down the line. Something I could delay just a little bit longer. Something for some other day. But with each mile I drive, that landmark seems closer and closer on the horizon. Too close. It’s terrifying.
