Online lovers … offline rivals.

Ambitious and career-driven, I have zero time for dating until Blind Love—an app designed for those seeking genuine romantic connections without the hassle of awkward first dates—hooks me in. The only catch? Ninety days of anonymous messaging are required before identities are revealed.

I connect with Stranger88 immediately, and before long our flirty banter becomes a welcome escape from my demanding schedule.

Soon I’m desperate to know his true identity, so I go digging—only to discover that Stranger88 … is no stranger at all.

In a cruel twist of fate, it turns out the mystery man consuming my every thought is fellow attorney Brooks Abbott—a sharp-tongued devil in a three-piece suit, my biggest office rival, and the one obstacle standing between me and the promotion of my dreams: a job Brooks has every intention of landing.

Behind the screens, there’s no denying our electric chemistry, but at work, our rivalry grows stronger than ever.

But when passion meets profession, will we redefine the Law of Attraction … or will our hearts face a ruthless cross-examination with no chance of appeal?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a standalone romance. You do not need to read HATE MAIL or YOURS CRUELLY first.

*Uncorrected Excerpt

Tenley

I sip my tepid coffee at my desk and attempt to concentrate on the endless stream of unread emails in front of me.

It’s only a quarter past nine and I’m yawning already and finding it impossible to focus. I usually come to work, ready and raring to go. Today I can’t keep my eyes open to save my life.

I was able to put Stranger88 out of my head at around twoAM, when I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to be woken by my alarm three hours later. I pride myself on being the first person into the office every day, turning on the lights and watching everyone step off the elevator exactly at nine. It shows pluck. Drive. Ambition. Motivation. Self-discipline. All the things an up-and-coming attorney should possess.

I’d never dream of sneaking off into a dark corner of the office to have fun with a delivery person. That’s not me. I actually have respect for myself, for the law, and for this institution. I’m here to work and only to work.

But apparently not today, which is concerning with that promotion on the table.

In an attempt to keep my eyes open, I decide to get up, stretch, and refill my coffee. Only the second I rise from my chair, the elevator across the hall dings, the doors part, and out steps Brooks Gentry, swagger, arrogant smile, and all.

The sight of him makes most women wet. He has thick, dark hair that tumbles over his forehead in a devil-may-care way, ice-blue eyes, a strong jaw that always has a five o’clock shadow, even early in the morning. I’ve never seen him in anything other than a suit, though he rarely wears the jacket and always seems to have his sleeves rolled up in a let’s get to work kind of way.

Not that I’ve ever seen him do much actual work.

Everything comes so easy to him—especially the women around here.

I’m not sure what bothers me more … the fact that highly intelligent women in this place act like groupies at a concert the second he walks by—or the fact that he’s my number one competitor for this promotion.

I pride myself on never showing a ripple, but it’s impossible with him. The mere sight of him makes it nearly impossible to control my facial expressions. Then there’s the fact that he’s an Ivy League snob, from Yale or Harvard or some law school that wouldn’t even look at me. Secondly, he’s infuriatingly gorgeous, tall and athletic and easy on the eyes—and he knows it. He has the entire office wrapped around his charming little pinky finger. If the man had a single pore on his perfect face, it’d be oozing confidence.

Brooks gets want he wants almost as easily as he breathes. It all comes naturally, effortlessly. The wins, the adoration, the accolades. He’s the practice darling, the superhero in an office full of overworked women desperate for male attention.

What makes this entire thing all the more maddening is that because of him, I have to work twice as hard to get noticed.

At the end of the day, Brooks Gentry is the reason I’m here from seven in the morning until ten at night. Whenever I think I might want to pack it in, all I need to do is picture his smug, gorgeous, annoying face.

Good thing I love my job.

Brooks glances at me for a moment before striding toward his office.

“Morning, Ms. Bayliss,” he says almost off-handedly as he passes by.

I nod. “Mr. Gentry.”

We separate as quickly as possible, like two rockets shooting in opposite directions. A second later, as I’m heading into the break room, I happen to glance over and spot Mr. Popular hanging over one of the pretty interns’ desks, his hand on his hip and a schmaltzy grin on his face.

He thinks he’s so smooth.

His ploys would never work on me.

I see through them like cheap cellophane.

Rolling my eyes, I go to myself a coffee. When I return, he’s still there, remarking on some photo on the blonde intern’s desk. She giggles, too loud, and then fusses with her hair.

Shaking my head, I return to my office and shut the door.

A minute later, my inbox dings with a meeting request from Lisa Hamilton, one of the four main partners at the firm. She, Ed Foster, and his younger brother Tom Foster, are the cornerstones of Foster and Foster, along with Bill Lindsey, who’s retiring this summer and the sole reason there’s an open partnership positionand corner office on the horizon.

The meeting subject is: FUTURE PLANS.

My breath hitches. Ed handles the day-to-day business of the firm, Tom is the face of the firm, so he’s always travelling. But Lisa primarily works from home and when she’s here, she handles the HR and staffing concerns. Because of that, I’ve rarely met with her. The last time I did, it was when I’d beenpromoted from Junior Associate to Senior Associate a year ago.

Is this about the promotion? Is it finally happening? Surely I’ve done nothing that would warrant disciplinary action of any kind. Certainly not a termination.

My fingers tremble as I click on it. It was set up by Shelly, Lisa’s executive assistant, as all important meetings are, and there’s an exclamation point on it, indicating it’s urgent.

Of course it is.

Lisa wants to meet this afternoon.

I can’t click the ACCEPT button fast enough.

After several minutes of analyzing this urgent, last minute request, I decide this has to be about the partnership. Bill Lindsey is leaving in less than two months. He made the announcement last year, which was when I kicked my campaign to be his replacement into overdrive. They’re going to have to select someone soon so the candidate can get up to speed before we cut the cake at his retirement party.

My excitement reaches a fever pitch—until I glance at the top of the invitation, which names other meeting invitees. I expect to see Ed. Tom if he’s between trips. Maybe Bill if he hasn’t checked out yet. They’d want to congratulate me.

But it’s not the partners’ names I see.

Other than Lisa and me, there’s only one other name.

Brooks Gentry.

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About Winter Renshaw

Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.

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