Chapter 1

One

Haden

The dictionary defines a jerk as a contemptibly foolish person.

That’s being nice.

And nice isn’t something I do.

Give me something in return, and maybe I can play nice.

You see, guys like me, we don’t just exist because we play by the rules. I run Lantern Publishing, one of the largest publishing groups on the West Coast. Holding the position of Publisher means I have responsibilities. Shareholders invest their money into company stock, aiming for a return on their investment. It is my duty to ensure we perform, and our numbers have surpassed the previous year’s due to an organizational restructure and cost-cutting in a few departments.

Okay, so sometimes I play the nice boss, you know, just to get those fuckers to haul ass and meet deadlines. I throw in some perks, make it look like I care when, in reality, my ass is always on the line, and I have targets to meet. Come crying to me one more time about your personal shit, and you’re out the fucking door.

Where I clearly fail at being nice is at home, according to my wife, Presley. And all those times she promises me some sweet pussy, but what a disappointment that turns out to be.

I got what I wanted from life because I don’t give a damn.

About anyone or anything.

All right, I’ll admit that’s a bit harsh.

I’m not that jerk anymore.

I’m a father. A role model to my four-year-old son, Masen. This kid is my life. I wouldn’t exist without him. He’s a mini-me in every way—something that drives Presley ridiculously insane.

Oh, and I’m married to a bitch.

I still want to have fun. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m only in my early thirties. I’ve passed the twenties and still have a wild animal inside of me ready to be unleashed. This life is not for me. Dinner parties on Friday nights and yoga on a Saturday morning. I saw a brochure on our kitchen table the other morning to join some scrapbooking club. I have no fucking idea what scrapbooking is, but it sounds like the most annoying thing ever.

I’m bored, and I need a new challenge. Something to keep me occupied.

Our office is one giant playground. I dubbed myself the school bully, and the bitch is my target. It’s her own fault, though. Before her, I’d never met a woman so fucking uptight you would need a whole army to pull the giant stick out of her ass.

But what a fucking ass.

Perky, with that round bounce which makes a terrific sound when you slap it with your palm. Fuck, my dick is hard just thinking about it.

But that is beside the point. Way beside the point.

Actually, no—that is the point.

Our marriage has turned into one monotonous episode. It’s all about work. And granted, I love my job and am just as driven as she is, but I just want more of her.

We argue all the time. Careless words have been thrown around such as ‘sex maniac.’ Yeah, that’s what she calls me.

I never cared for her stubbornness, nor her obsessive need to have everything clean and orderly. Like who fucking cares if my socks are in rows of white and black? Socks are socks. I still remember our first argument over it. The night ended with me using one of the socks and shoving it in her mouth to shut her up. Fuck, she looked sexy, though, and even better when she was lying on her back, and I was fucking her, legs spread in the air.

Focus.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her. Naked.

Four years together, and she still hasn’t changed.

I loathe the way she answers every question like a pompous know-it-all bitch. She easily goes out of her way to prove me wrong. What irks me most is the way she parades around the office with her nose stuck up in the air. Miss I’m-Too-Good-For-All-You-Juveniles-So-I’m-Going-To-Act-Like-A-Fucking-Grandma. You would think she would leave that persona at the office. I wish. Last night she rejected my need to be inside her because the final episode of The Bachelor was on, and she wanted to know who won.

Excuse me, the show is about some dude trying to get copious amounts of pussy by pretending he’s really looking for the one. Never mind the fact that the ladies in the office are forever wasting precious company time by arguing who should have stayed or gone. Presley is the worst offender among them.

I still remember the days in the office when she would parade that ring on her finger like some damn accomplishment, and it drove me fucking crazy.

Then it happened—the day that ring no longer taunted me because I was the one who put it on her finger.

Women everywhere told me that this would be the best time of my life. That life doesn’t truly start until you say, ‘I do.’ But men had other things to say—get used to jerking off because you’re going to get less sex than you did when you were single. I thought it was a joke. Like seriously, I’m in bed every night with the most beautiful woman who happens to be my wife. I can have her whenever I want to.

Screw jerking off, right?

Wrong.

Presley Cooper is a cold, hard bitch.

She knows it, I know it, and I’m not afraid to tell her to her face. It’s one of the reasons she stormed out of my office only moments ago, red-faced.

And it left me as a hard as a fucking rock.

It’s exactly the challenge I need.

And I don’t intend to play nice.

It isn’t payback, and it isn’t vindictive.

It will be clean, harmless fun.

Fuck that—it’ll be dirty fun.

There is only one way to get her attention, just one way for her to finally notice I exist. I have to make her life in the office a living hell, again. Push all the right fucking buttons.

According to her, if it walks like a jerk and talks like a jerk, then I am a jerk.

But I understand the meaning of ‘jerk’ a little differently. I’m going to be a selfish, manipulative, insensitive asshole luring her in by playing Mr. Nice Guy only to give her a false sense of hope and leave her cursing the day I was born.

Game on, honey.