Format: ebook
Source: provided for review
Disclaimer: As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.
Date read: February 17, 2021
Work For It
1. Street Smart
2. Heart Smart - Paperback | Kindle
3. Book Smart
4. Smart Mouth
5. Play Smart
6. Look Smart
7. Smart Move
8. Stage Smart
Emma Lee Jayne
| Website | Amazon |
Synopsis (Goodreads):
Dr. Maximillian Ramsey has a problem…Thoughts on Heart Smart: Growly, oft-times jerky heroes who are aware they're not all that nice, but who don't know how to be anything other than what they are (for REASONS) are my weakness. Let's just say this description fits Max and move onto Holly. Holly who is kind and good at her job and who has her own issues (outside of Max and his issues, that is) to deal with. Holly who knows that grumbly, intelligent, not-great-at-communicating men are HER weakness.
I’m a jerk. Everyone I know or have ever worked with agrees. “Misanthropic asshole” is the term I hear most often.
I don’t care what other people think as long as they leave me alone to focus on my research on soil microbiology. Plus, I walk with a cane thanks to a childhood accident. I have scars on my face. And if that isn’t enough to scare people off, my bad attitude and general grumpiness seal the deal. Which is just the way I like it.
Except, I’ve been short listed for one of the most prestigious academic fellowships around. To win it, I’ll have to give a series of speeches. On a stage. With an audience. While being filmed.
Yeah. None of that is going to happen.
Unfortunately, my boss has a plan. He brings in one of the communications lecturers to give me a “make over,” help me write the speeches, and manage my social media.
But the last thing I need is some nosy, bossy, gorgeous woman meddling in my life.
And Holly is the solution…
I’m a mere communications lecturer at a prestigious research university. I’m used to being outclassed and under-educated compared to the PhDs who surround me.
But I’m good at what I do. Brilliant, actually.
When Max’s boss (who happens to be my ex-husband) begs me to help transform this beast of a man into someone worthy of the fellowship, I have my work cut out for me.
It’ll take a lot of badgering, blatant manipulation, and some outright thievery to get Max to cooperate. All of which I handle with the enough professionalism and restraint that should earn me a fancy grant.
What I can’t handle is how unexpectedly attractive I find the stubborn and brilliant man.
This is a battle of wills and wits, and neither is prepared to admit defeat …
Yeah, these two fight this thing between them. On Max's end, he's 100% sure no one wants him with his scars and gruff attitude and exacting way of doing things. He's not great at reading social cues, so he pushes down his attraction because he figures there's no way Holly would be into him. On the other end, Holly's dealing with holding onto a professional relationship with her ex (who cheated on her at the absolute worst time in her life, that d-bag), making sure her job is secure for the future she's working toward, and dealing with self-esteem issues (it's actually not quite self-esteem, but that's close enough, I guess) that make her think she's "too much" for most people.
As it turns out too much is just right when it comes to these two. Max is exacting and blunt and terrible at social interactions. Holly is determined, crafty, and she's not about to let this brilliant man fail when she has the skills to help him out. Of course, it takes a while for Max to relent enough to actually put effort into what she's trying to teach him, but they get there. Eventually.
Snarly interactions, a few miscommunications, a brilliant scientist, and a woman on a mission. Did I adore watching these two verbally spar and circle one another until they reached a relationshippy compromise? I SURE DID! *thumbs up*
He stands up and shrugs out of his wet duster. I take it from him. It’s still dripping, so I walk into the back to hang it up in the work area where it can drip on the linoleum instead of the wood floors. When I turn back, I see Max has also shucked his jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair.
And he’s unbuttoning his shirt.
My steps slow. Then stop.
He’s looking down, so he doesn’t see my mouth drop open as he shrugs out of his oxford shirt. He’s wearing a white T-shirt on under his oxford.
I never, not in a million years, would have thought wearing a white shirt under a dress shirt would be inherently sexy. It shouldn’t be.
It’s oddly formal. It calls up images of old-world elegance and cuff links.
But it’s also just . . . hot.
Because while all of Max’s other clothes are ill-fitting—including the pants he’s still wearing—the crisp white undershirt is snug. It highlights every one of those perfect muscles I’ve been trying not to think about since I saw them at his house that day.
Every. Single. One.
From his stupidly broad shoulders to that narrow waist.
I’m still staring—who am I kidding? I’m still drooling—when he looks up from carefully draping his shirt over this jacket.
I must look like a pervy cartoon with bugging eyes and a long, dangling tongue, because he clears his throat and says awkwardly, “I don’t like having hair caught in my collar.”
I nod mutely.
“So I took off my shirt.”
I nod again. Still dumbstruck.
But surely I’ll be able to speak again sometime in the next couple hours.
“I hope that’s okay.”
I clear my throat.
Because the whole struck-dumb-by-his-muscles thing is starting to get ridiculous.
“Yes.” I swallow. “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
God, I hope that didn’t sound like a proposition.
I clear my throat again and quickly add, “To feel comfortable. You should do whatever you need to feel comfortable. That’s the point, right? You should be comfortable and I should be . . .”
Silent.
I should be silent.
Because, oh my God. Dumbstruck was so much better than this rambling mess.
“Firmer is better,” he blurts.
“Excuse me?”
He blushes and presses his lips together, before saying, “When you’re washing my hair. Or touching me. A firmer touch is better than a light one.”
I nod, the pieces falling into place. I had read that people with sensory issues and people on the spectrum sometimes find light touches over-stimulating.
“Thank you for telling me.” I want to say more. Something that will get him to open up to me. But is that really a good idea? Do I really need more ideas about how Max likes to be touched?
Um . . . that is a big, fat no. No, I do not. Because I’m only touching him to cut his hair and trim his beard. I do not need to be getting ideas beyond that.
Excerpt
He stands up and shrugs out of his wet duster. I take it from him. It’s still dripping, so I walk into the back to hang it up in the work area where it can drip on the linoleum instead of the wood floors. When I turn back, I see Max has also shucked his jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair.
And he’s unbuttoning his shirt.
My steps slow. Then stop.
He’s looking down, so he doesn’t see my mouth drop open as he shrugs out of his oxford shirt. He’s wearing a white T-shirt on under his oxford.
I never, not in a million years, would have thought wearing a white shirt under a dress shirt would be inherently sexy. It shouldn’t be.
It’s oddly formal. It calls up images of old-world elegance and cuff links.
But it’s also just . . . hot.
Because while all of Max’s other clothes are ill-fitting—including the pants he’s still wearing—the crisp white undershirt is snug. It highlights every one of those perfect muscles I’ve been trying not to think about since I saw them at his house that day.
Every. Single. One.
From his stupidly broad shoulders to that narrow waist.
I’m still staring—who am I kidding? I’m still drooling—when he looks up from carefully draping his shirt over this jacket.
I must look like a pervy cartoon with bugging eyes and a long, dangling tongue, because he clears his throat and says awkwardly, “I don’t like having hair caught in my collar.”
I nod mutely.
“So I took off my shirt.”
I nod again. Still dumbstruck.
But surely I’ll be able to speak again sometime in the next couple hours.
“I hope that’s okay.”
I clear my throat.
Because the whole struck-dumb-by-his-muscles thing is starting to get ridiculous.
“Yes.” I swallow. “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
God, I hope that didn’t sound like a proposition.
I clear my throat again and quickly add, “To feel comfortable. You should do whatever you need to feel comfortable. That’s the point, right? You should be comfortable and I should be . . .”
Silent.
I should be silent.
Because, oh my God. Dumbstruck was so much better than this rambling mess.
“Firmer is better,” he blurts.
“Excuse me?”
He blushes and presses his lips together, before saying, “When you’re washing my hair. Or touching me. A firmer touch is better than a light one.”
I nod, the pieces falling into place. I had read that people with sensory issues and people on the spectrum sometimes find light touches over-stimulating.
“Thank you for telling me.” I want to say more. Something that will get him to open up to me. But is that really a good idea? Do I really need more ideas about how Max likes to be touched?
Um . . . that is a big, fat no. No, I do not. Because I’m only touching him to cut his hair and trim his beard. I do not need to be getting ideas beyond that.
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About Emma Lee Jayne
I write the kinds of books I want to read. Fast-paced books with lots of world-building, snarky heroines, and swoony heroes. I love story, pop culture, gossip, and baked goods. I’m a modern-day hippy and certified LEGO nerd.
I live in the Austin, Texas hill country, with my geeky husband and two extremely geeky kids. We have dogs, chickens, cats, and more LEGOs than should be allowed by law. Oh, and I stress bake. So if my characters talk about food a lot, that’s why.
Emma also writes as Rita award winning author Emily McKay.
I live in the Austin, Texas hill country, with my geeky husband and two extremely geeky kids. We have dogs, chickens, cats, and more LEGOs than should be allowed by law. Oh, and I stress bake. So if my characters talk about food a lot, that’s why.
Emma also writes as Rita award winning author Emily McKay.
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