What’s worse than losing everything? Try driving a phallic-shaped RV across the country with your vile womanizing coworker.
Copywriter Callie Murphy has a bad attitude, a vicious tongue, and a serious aversion to Shimura Advertising’s resident manwhore, Walker Rhodes. Know where he can stick his good looks and Southern charm? She can think of a few creative places. Avoiding him wouldn’t be a problem, except her boss threatens to fire her if she doesn’t go along with him on their RV client’s cross-country tour.
Walker is sick of his job, tired of women, and in a big old creative rut. The upcoming client road trip is just what he needs to shake things up and rediscover his lost passion. But his plans go south when his partner drops out at the last minute, and Callie, the foul-mouthed tiny terror, takes her place. Unless he can find a way to thaw his icy coworker, he’s looking at two month’s of pure hell.
On the road, they experience one hilarious misadventure after another and soon find themselves on a life-changing journey. But when their paths veer off in different directions, will they hit a dead end?
A dissecting blue glare hit him. He groaned. “Christ, now what?”
“Out of curiosity? Do you come on to every woman you meet?”
He draped an arm over the back of the booth. “Aw, Bluebell, are you jealous of that sweet waitress?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, examining her fingernails. “Horribly.”
“I was just being friendly is all. Not that you’d know what that is.”
“Friendly?” She rubbed her chin. “Is that the hillbilly translation for acting like a dick?”
Getting all bent out of shape wouldn’t do him any good—that’d just give her more ammunition. He needed to stay calm or at least appear to be calm. He stretched his legs in the aisle and put his hands behind his head. “I know it’s difficult, Bluebell, but try to focus on something besides my dick.”
“It’s hard when it’s over six feet and spewing bullshit.”
“Oh, it’s hard and spewing all right.”
With a loud exaggerated sigh, she stuck the menu in front of her face, cutting off eye contact, as well as his awesome retort.
After a peaceful few minutes of Callie shutting her pie hole, the waitress returned for their order. “Tell me about the Intercourse special, pretty girl.” He dialed up the Cheese-a-Tron 3000 for his coworker’s benefit. Poppy chattered on about the amazing steak until his ears bled.
“Perfect, darlin.’ We’ll have two of those. Medium rare.” He handed the menu back. “Can’t wait to see what you have for dessert.” He winked. It was kind of an asshole thing to do, leading her on, but pissing off Callie gave him such a perverse thrill.
An ice cube hit him in the head. “Ow!” He rubbed his head. “Are you insane? Do I need to hide sharp objects from you?”
“Did you just fucking order for me?”
“Thought you could use a nice big piece of meat. Not sure how you’re gonna eat it though with that filthy mouth of yours.”
She gripped the table. “Ever consider I was a vegetarian.”
Of course she was. “No wonder you’re so violent.”
Bogus laughter roared out. Eventually, she stopped and wiped fake tears from her eyes with both middle fingers. “God, you’re funny.”
They narrowed their eyes and glared at each other. Heat surged through him. What was it about that little hellcat that made him want her so bad? Clearly, she hated him.
In view of that, he gathered his scattered wits and headed for the jukebox. “Evil Woman” blasted from blown-out speakers by the bar a moment later. Chuckling, he hurried back to the table to see if the devil had heard her theme song playing. Unfortunately, Poppy showed up right then, bearing juicy steaks and a flirty smile.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said. “Bet they’re as delicious as you are.”
Callie snorted. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Poppy frowned and dragged her feet back to the bar.
“Something funny, Bluebell?”
“What the fuck! Why do you keep calling me that?”
“’Cause of those great big blue eyes of yours.” He grinned. “And because you’re so dainty and sweet, just like a bluebell blossom.” The truth? He’d come up with the nickname at the Liberty Bell because her ball busting had given him the blues.
“Cute. I have a pet name for you too, but since you don’t like potty language . . .” She sliced off a piece of steak and stuck it in her mouth.
“Hold on, I thought you were a vegetarian?”
She swallowed and said, “No. I’m a don’t-tell-me-what-to-do-atarian.”