Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Mommy's Landlord (The Boyfriend Diaries #3) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | S.E. Law |
| Language: | English |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | B07ZVYMFTM |
| Book Information: | |
Xavier Carlton is my mom’s gorgeous landlord. He’s growly, handsome, and sooo delicious. But he’s going to kick my mom out of her apartment unless I call him Daddy. My mom has never been great at paying bills. She’s not poor, she’s just forgetful sometimes. So when she tells me that Mr. Carlton wants her out, I get angry. Who does this man think he is? Sure, Xavier Carlton has more money than God, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a tyrant. So I storm into his office… His blue eyes seize mine … … and suddenly, I realize I’m in over my head. Because when he rises from behind his desk, I see that Mr. Carlton has an enormous present for me! But then, the powerful CEO takes me by surprise because he says I can do something special to qualify for a one-time rent break. But am I willing to take the chance when it involves calling the handsome man DADDY? This story is a forbidden, sweet and steamy tale filled with an OVER THE TOP alpha male and a sassy, feisty girl with a strong will. Katie likes lollipops and Xavier Carlton enjoys teaching her the benefits of eating candy. Warning: light DD/lg age play ahead. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers. | |
| Books in Series: | The Boyfriend Diaries Series by S.E. Law |
| Books by Author: | S.E. Law Books |
1
Katie
I let myself into my mom’s apartment. It’s a nice place, and very homey and comfortable. The carpet is the same brown shag that’s been there for years, and our old kitchen greets me.
“Hey Mom!” I call out. “I’m here. I have your cupcakes for you.”
Dinah calls out from the back somewhere.
“Thanks sweetheart. Can you just put them down for me on the counter? I’ll be right out in a minute.”
I make a face and slowly unload the tray of cupcakes I have on hand. There’s a huge batch of them, all from Lovely’s Lane downtown. There’s chocolate, hazelnut, chocolate with hazelnut spread, hazelnut with chocolate frosting, as well as specialty flavors like pumpkin spice, cinnamon mocha, and their most recent concoction called Turkey Gobbler. Don’t ask me what that one’s about. I guess in anticipation of Thanksgiving, Lovely’s Lane created a special flavor. While it sounds disgusting to me, it must be selling like hotcakes because this cupcake was the last one left.
“Hi honey,” sings my mom as she breezes into the utilitarian kitchen. “Thank you so much for bringing these over. Oh, what’s this? Let me try,” she says, swiping the Turkey Gobbler cupcake. Before I can say anything, she takes a bite and then makes a face before spitting out a mouthful of gooey brown and white cream.
“Uck, that was awful!” she coughs into a napkin. “What was in that?”
“I would have warned you, Mom, but it’s too late now. That one is called Turkey Gobbler and it’s Lovely’s holiday special. That bad, huh?”
My mom squinches her eyes shut and reaches for a glass of water like a dying woman.
“It was worse than bad. It tasted like turkey private parts mixed with avian sweat and dirty feet.”
I make a face too, as I try to quell my heaving stomach.
“That sounds gross, but that flavor must be really popular because there was only one left in the glass display. I guess all the other Turkey Gobbler cupcakes sold quickly.”
My mom gargles a bit before spitting out the water into the kitchen sink.
“No, that doesn’t mean that the cupcakes are popular,” she says with a knowing air. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Linda Lovely secretly only puts out one Turkey Gobbler at a time to make them seem like the next hottest thing. She’s probably got batches and batches of them stored away in the back, and just doles them out one by one so that they look like they’re really popular.”
I smile wryly because that’s why I had to go to Lovely’s Lane to pick up the cupcakes. My mom and Linda Lovely are business competitors and hate each other’s guts. My mom owns Dinah’s Delights right across the street from Lovely’s Lane, and unfortunately, they’re squarely in the same sector. They both sell colorfully decorated cupcakes, and seek to outdo one another all the time.
When my mom first opened up shop, I was puzzled, seeing that Linda already had her place just across the way.
“What’s going to make your cupcakes different from Lovely’s?” I asked with a bit of hesitation in my voice. But my mom wasn’t put off.
“You’ll see,” she said airily. “Linda’s stuff is made with low quality ingredients, and her artistry is just awful. Did you see that pink cupcake with the rainbow unicorn horn poking out of the top? It was more of a narwhal horn than a unicorn horn! Who’s going to buy that? Her decorating skills are atrocious.”
I bit my lip and didn’t mention that it was actually Endangered Species month, and thus the horn was likely supposed to be a narwhal horn. But the exchange illustrates what Dinah thinks of Linda and her cupcakes. Lovely’s Lane will never be a real contender to beat Dinah’s Delights, and it’s been ten years of subtle jabs and nasty innuendos now. The two women share false, frozen smiles whenever they pass one another on the street, but in fact, they’re ruthless competitors. Even though both ladies have a homely, middle-aged look to them, Linda and Dinah would both tear out your guts and eat them for breakfast if they could.
That’s why I had to pick up the cupcakes today. My mom enlists me as a foot soldier in this on-going war and it’s my job to do “reconnaissance” behind the enemy lines. I’ve mentioned to my mom that Linda recognizes me, so she knows that I’m likely buying a dozen cupcakes from her as “market research” for her competitor, but Dinah just scoffs.
“She doesn’t know you,” Dinah said, rolling her eyes. “I swear that that woman suffers from face-blindness, among all her other faults. What is it called again? Prosoprogalia? Prosofygmania?”
I sigh.
“Prosopagnosia,” I say in a weary tone. “And no, Linda doesn’t suffer from face blindness. She knew who I was when I went in there today. You’re underestimating her, Mom. She’s not an idiot. Linda’s been running a successful business for more than ten years now, so she must know something.”