Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
And I was expecting a sweet old man in his sixties.
Instead what turned up on my doorstep was…
A big fat self-made billionaire
With gorgeous blue eyes
And a hard-and-sexy body
I knew there was something sus about him,
He probably lied about his age.
But the deal he was offering was too good to pass on.
He wants 4 nights with me.
And NO! It's not what you are thinking.
The only things on offer are companionship, cookies and milk on my little farmhouse.
Apparently, billionaires also feel lonely and want a little company.
But when we end up sharing a bed…
He has me rethinking all aspects of the deal.
Not the platonic kind either.
But why does it feels like he is hiding something.
Is it just me being paranoid or does he know my real identity?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter one
Ignacia
Ignacia Sutherby may be my not-so-real name, but my legit toxic trait is that I let strangers sleep in my bed for money.
Hot bedding.
Okay, maybe it’s not that bad if people let me explain what the hell is hot bedding. I suppose I do it differently than most people, though. Yes, I’m careful. And no, nothing funky ever goes down. There are contracts and cameras for mutual protection. What’s more, all my clients are old, sweet, and harmless. How did it come to this? Well, a girl has needs.
Mine happen to be that I’d like to keep the run-down acreage I bought under a fake name when I fled the state and city from my scammer slash abusive ex and not lose it to the ravages of time. Time ravages are really a thing.
No one tells you that bugging out, getting a fake ID, going into hiding, and assuming a new life isn’t as fun as it sounds. You pretty much have to leave everything about yourself behind. For me, it meant taking a hiatus from my fairly lucrative, rising-star fashion design career and becoming someone who kind of lives on the prairie and sews prairie dresses. You know, those long boho-style ones that were so popular in the seventies? Cottagecore is actually a thing again.
I had to start from nothing all around, but in the past eight months, I’ve reinvented myself, though it came with a price tag. First of all, the acreage just about bankrupted me, but I did buy it in cash. Getting a fake ID isn’t cheap either, even when you know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Even without a mortgage, I have bills to pay, groceries and fabric to buy so I can eat and sew, and the constant upkeep of this place.
By upkeep, I mean I need to keep most of the buildings from falling down around me.
Luckily, the house is mostly cosmetic, but that’s not the case with the barn and shop. If I wanted to save them, something had to be done.
I didn’t have the money to hire anyone, so that something was done by me.
I first heard the term hot bedding when I was driving around in my ancient station wagon, trying to hear the crackly radio above the roaring heater that was spewing out very little warm air while I drove on snow-covered back roads, heading into town to mail out a stack of finished orders. Yes, I’m good. Starting over sucks, but it didn’t take me long to get back into the roll of things. My work speaks for itself, I guess. Plus, granny dresses are hot, so hence the massive order stack I had to get out.
I would have been doing fine if I hadn’t walked into the barn to feed the two stray cats that kind of came with the place and noticed that the walls were…what’s the term? Cantilevering? I’m not sure if that’s right, but one was moving one way in, and the other was moving the other way in, so they were both bowing in the middle in ways they shouldn’t. I took some photos and joined an online forum, where some very nice people informed me that I was hooped—and hooped hard—unless I acted fast. Meaning I needed to pour a concrete floor and pin the cement grade beams in place by digging out all around them and making sure they couldn’t move once I straightened them out and realigned the walls with them using all sorts of jacking and blocking methods.
It sounded really scary, but I learned there isn’t anything I can’t do with enough muscle power, enough hours of shoveling, and the knowledge and will to get it done.
The one thing I didn’t have was twenty grand to pour a new floor and make sure the walls stopped moving. Doing it by hand with bags and a mixer wasn’t an option for a pour of that size, so the advice I got was to call a truck in. The pouring would be done by the truck, and the rest would be done by me.
When I realized I’d need a big chunk of money fast, and I needed to also do a hell of a bunch of research, I turned to the internet. The only thing I was willing to sell was my feet, but it didn’t work out. Everyone talks about making bank off their toes, but I got a whole lot of zero tractions from the websites I tried.
And then.
Inspiration.
Hot bedding.
It’s not a very big thing here in the US, but I think it’s why I’m able to make so much money so fast. There’s a fledgling website that is gaining traction, so I signed up.
I couldn’t believe rich men were willing to travel out here, into the middle of bum farge nowhere North Dakota, just to share the other half of my queen-sized bed for the night. Regular hot bedding is supposed to be where people rent out half of their bed or their whole bed for a night, and they take a shift sleeping in it with a stranger. No one shares the bed at the same time. But maybe I was desperate, or maybe I was just willing to go the extra mile. I wanted something that would set me apart.