Recruited by the Billionaire Read Online Mallory Monroe

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

Robert Marris is the sole owner of a brand-new NFL expansion team in Florida. All he wants to do is enjoy his fast life and watch his team win baby win. But when he meets Francesca, an aide in his recruiting office, he realizes just how shallow his life has been, and how much he wants her, and nobody else, to fill that void.
Francesca “Frankie” Clark has been treated shabbily by men her entire life. And when she meets Robert, she sees him as a kind, decent soul who just might be different from all the rest. But after he gets what he wants from her and then proceed to treat her just like all the others, she refuses to go down that rabbit hole with him. Despite the fact that her job is at risk, not to mention her heart, she fights back against those overwhelming feelings neither one of them can suppress. Until she finds herself giving in too many times and living a lifestyle she always swore she’d never live.
But when Robert’s grown son is in trouble, and forces seem to be conspiring to keep Robert and Frankie apart, they join together in a union that they both know could make or break them. They decide to take that leap of faith that could plunge them into the abyss of despair, or eternal happiness.




“Miss Clark?”

She continued typing furiously on her computer.

“Miss Clark?”

Still no response.

“Miss Clark will you please listen to me!”

Francesca “Frankie” Clark finally stopped typing and looked at the young lady standing in her office. “I’m up against a hard deadline, Britney. I told you that.”

“But I have a question and nobody can tell me anything. I don’t know what to do!”

Frankie had already informed her entire staff that she was not to be disturbed. She even had a sign on her door. But that never stopped Britney.

Frankie leaned back in her chair, folded one leg over her thigh, and folded her arms. “What’s your question?” she asked her, not even attempting to hide her annoyance.

Although Frankie Clark wasn’t as bad as some of the other supervising editors in the building, that didn’t mean Britney liked her. What was there to like? The only positive thing about her was that she knew how to dress, Britney thought, as she looked at Frankie’s red slacks buckled down by stylish red and white suspenders, her white blouse with puff sleeves, and her red beret hat slightly slanted on her small head. Looking very Parisian and chic to Britney. She had some style about her, alright, especially compared to the other supervising editors who all dressed like homeless people. But as far as Britney was concerned, that was all she had going for her. “You know what torture looks like, don’t you, Miss Clark?” she asked.

Frankie was seated behind her desk with a deer-in-headlights look on her face. What on earth would possess that child to think she would know anything whatsoever about torture? “Excuse me?”

“It’s Raymond’s new book,” said Britney. “I’m doing copy for his new book. It’s all about those torture chambers during the first Gulf war if you can believe somebody would waste time writing about something that boring. But that’s so Raymond.”

“I know your assignment,” said Frankie. “I’m the one who gave it to you, remember? But you said I would know torture when I saw it. What would ever give you the impression that I would know anything at all about torture?”

“Duh! Like because.”

She said it as if that gibberish said everything when it said absolutely nothing to Frankie. “Because why, Britney?”

“Because you’re like what they call longsuffering, okay? Because you’re that girl.”

Longsuffering? Do they even use that word anymore? And she was that girl? What girl? “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Frankie said.

“You keep it all in. You peace-out. You put up with shit when you don’t even have to put up with shit. You could write your own ticket. You could sleep your way to the very top of this industry, but you won’t do it. That’s what I mean.”

Britney was chewing gum. That was what separated the young staff from the old guard. The old guard chain-smoked. The youngsters gummed. Since Frankie saw herself in the middle, not old and certainly not young, she did neither.

And to talk about Frankie being able to write her own ticket? A black woman in this uber-white publishing world writing her own ticket? Was this child even living on planet earth? And who in their right mind would view sleeping your way to the top as a virtue?

“And since you take shit,” Britney continued, “I figured you’d understand what Raymond trying to say about those death chambers and what those people were going through with all that torture and shit. Because I don’t get it.”