Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Now I’m breaking all the rules
For an older man
Who’s my ex’s uncle!
Older, sophisticated and sexy as hell,
He’s also my new boss.
Being the good girl left me unsatisfied.
For once I’m going after what I want,
Even if he’s forbidden.
Sparks fly when we can’t agree on anything at work.
Fiery kisses lead to scorching nights together.
He’s determined to stay away from me because it’s ‘wrong’.
I’m shocked to discover I’m pregnant.
Now I have the perfect Christmas present for Dominic–
The news that we’re having a baby!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
DOMINIC
Most Tuesday nights found me with my four closest friends at our favorite bar on the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings in LA. Even on a mid-November night like this, we’d be up there, shooting the shit. This Tuesday, though, they’d all fucking flaked on me. Julian, a movie producer, was on set of his latest epic because it had already gone over its massive budget twice and he was ready to fire someone’s ass. That was forgivable. The rest of my friends–not so much. Landon, a former asshole who spent more time surveying people than actually talking to them, had a wife, a kid, and one on the way and they were doing family shit. My friend Con still ran a top-five talent agency, but he was increasingly handing off the reins to his second-in-command. Something about wanting to spend time with his new wife and baby. And my friend Garrett was definitely fucking around with his latest client, even though he hadn’t admitted it yet, so he was out, too.
Left to my own devices on this rare Tuesday, I did what any reasonable person would do.
I bought a black Ferrari.
I called my sister on the way home to tell her about it.
“What the hell do you need a Ferrari for?” Marjorie asked, a thread of warning in her voice. “You haven’t so much as ridden shotgun in anything other than a Mercedes in the last ten years.”
I frowned. “That’s not true. I let you pick me up from the airport that one time in your–” piece of shit “--Nissan.”
“Stop saying Nissan like that,” Marjorie ordered.
“Like what?”
“Like you mean piece of shit.”
“If the shoe fits, Marj.” I turned into the parking garage of my building. “I’m about to lose you,” I warned her. I wasn’t–the service was just as good down there as it was in my penthouse- but I wanted a reason to get off the phone before she went back to the topic of the Ferrari.
“The Ferrari had better not be for Jake,” my older sister said, unfooled. “Because I think you know how pissed I’d be if you got my twenty-five-year-old kid whose brain is still developing a fucking Ferrari.”
“He’s twenty-five,” I objected. “When you were twenty-five, you had a kid. That’s way worse than a Ferrari.” I drove onto the private floor of the parking garage, the one with the private elevator bays. I should have just had the Ferrari delivered to Marjorie’s house this weekend and then pretended like I knew nothing about it. My sister would have seen through it, though, and besides, I’d leave acting to the professionals in this town. I wanted to get my nephew a Ferrari, so I got him one.
As I parked and got out of my own luxury car–a Mercedes S580–I realized Marjorie hadn’t said anything for a while.
“Fuck, sorry,” I muttered, the dots connecting. When Marjorie was twenty-five, she had a one-year-old and a husband and some crazy idea that she had found happily ever after. She deserved it. Our parents had died in a car accident when she was twenty-one and I was fourteen and suddenly she was juggling college and raising a teenager, but then she met Bryan Marks, and for the next seven years, life was pretty damn good.
But by the time she was twenty-nine, she was an orphan and a widow.
Another car accident.
And I’d gotten Jake a fucking Ferrari.
“I’m not crying,” she said, but the words were sharp and brittle.
“And I’m not an asshole.”
“No, you’re definitely an asshole.”
I walked over to the elevator, but I shook my head at the concierge. I actually might lose service in that metal box, and I had to patch things up with Marjorie first. I was shit at apologies, but I offered what I could.
“Fine, I’ll take the fucking car back and get him an iTunes gift card or something really shitty like that. Worst he could get is a papercut from it.”
“No,” Marjorie said. “Bring the car.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised. The concierge straightened, thinking the expressions was directed at him. “Bring the Ferrari?” I clarified.
“Yes, the Ferrari.”
I frowned, wondering if this was a trap of some kind. Marjorie wasn’t particularly diabolical, but I hadn’t seen her in a few months. Maybe she’d changed.
“I have to go but let me know tomorrow what you want me to do with the car,” I said. I nodded at the concierge, and he pressed the button to summon the elevator. “I can sell it. Trash it. Doesn’t matter to me.”