The Boyfriend Project (The Boyfriend Project, #1)

by Farrah Rochon

“Master the smoky eye and you can conquer the world.”

Okay, fine. So his sense of humor left something to be desired. Was that a good reason to write someone off? If she wanted a laugh, Netflix provided a vast selection of comedy specials to choose from.

“You are a horrible person, and your jokes are corny. I wish nothing but the worst for you.”

“Because even with this nice condo and her incredible job and her boss-bitch car—whatever that is—people will still question why she doesn’t have a man,”

Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do that you haven’t done yet? Stick that on your checklist instead of looking for some man who doesn’t deserve you.”

I want to put a ding in the universe.

Managing to not roll her eyes every ten seconds would likely be her greatest feat of the day.

Pretending this was all some hilarious joke and not her fucking life they were laughing about had sparked a headache the size of the old Houston Astrodome.

Samiah looked up and had to remind herself to take a breath. Who’d ordered this midmorning snack in khakis and loafers?

“Having the entire world witness the most humiliating moment of your life and judge you for it sucks like you wouldn’t believe. And it makes me question my judgment about pretty much everything.”

Maybe it was time she accepted that plans changed. And sometimes they changed for the better.

Had rocketed up Trendsetters’ ladder of success in the three years since she was hired. The very definition of gorgeous.

He’d never witnessed anything so outstanding in all his life. Seeing the way she handed that guy his ass? It was breathtaking. And badass. The combination enthralled him.

He could watch her out of the corner of his eye without cluing her in to the fact that he couldn’t go longer than a few seconds without staring at her when she was near. He would need to work on that.

She authored her own narrative. No one else had the power to write it for her.

“It’s not that I’m anti getting-a-man, but I’m tired of taking what little extra time I have and putting it into someone who turns out not to be worth the effort.”

Her grandmother used to say that God always sent you signs. And for the really stubborn ones, he knocked you in the head. God had used a sledgehammer on her.

The outright euphoria rushing through his veins just at the sight of her after missing her for two days was his first clue that he was barreling headfirst into a crapload of trouble.

She would be content with admiring those ridiculously beautiful cheekbones and engaging in a little lighthearted flirting at the coffee bar, but that was as far as she was willing to go.

Engaging in hypotheticals was the equivalent of buying a first-class ticket to Disappointmentville.

She’d all but given up on there being any guys like Daniel still out there—genuinely sweet, empathetic, and the kind of sexy that made you want to apologize to his mama for thinking such naughty thoughts about her son.

“I don’t like seeing you disappointed. You’ve had enough of that in the past couple of weeks.”

“That’s my existence. The pressure to be perfect is overwhelming.”

“And like that ant, I’m carrying the weight of so many others on my shoulders.”

A thousand Adderall-addicted butterflies began to dance in her belly at the sight of his teasing grin.

It had been hard enough to resist him after their near kiss on the hiking trail. Now that they were working on the same team? Forget it. Resistance was for exercise bands and political activists. Not for a single woman who had to work with this delicious human being day in and day out.

don’t want to like you this much,” Samiah said. “I promise not to make you regret it,” he replied.

“So, this kiss? Was it the ‘oh, that was nice, now let me get back to watching Friends reruns’ kind, or the ‘oh, shit, this dude wrecked me. Let me fix my hair and makeup’ kind?”

“It was the ‘let me run to the drugstore and buy a pregnancy test’ kind.”

Before she could knock, the door opened and he greeted her with the kind of smile one reserved for opening presents on Christmas morning, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

bearing the familiar burden of having to offer comfort when she was the one who wanted to be comforted right now.

coincidences are just connections that haven’t been made yet,”

If someone could guarantee that she could get French roast coffee in prison, she would happily murder each and every one of the people sitting in her office.

She was two seconds from taking off her shoes and earrings and going straight-up Houston Third Ward on this bitch.

“You can keep your damn compliments,” Samiah said. “I don’t need them. If you try that shit you pulled yesterday again, I will literally kick your ass up and down these hallways, you hear me?”

A small part of her—the tiniest, most infinitesimal part that was still capable of empathizing with a fellow human being, even if said human being was straight-up trash—felt sorry for Keighleigh. But then Samiah mentally gut-punched that tiny part of her and sat it in a corner, facing the wall.

It was time for the knot that formed in the pit of his stomach to start paying rent.

“Over it as in you want to drink yourself into a stupor and then punch the wall, or over it as in we should remove all sharp objects and pills from your apartment before allowing you to be there by yourself tonight?

She was peace and fire and satisfaction and love all rolled into one.