Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Yay! It’s a Friday night, and I’m out on a girl’s night out with my three besties at our local bar, in Hackney. Tequila shots, here I come.
Halfway through, though, my phone rings. Hmmm… an international call. Must be a scammer. Maybe a Nigerian Prince.
But no…
Turns out it’s a fancy New York solicitor. He blows my mind by telling me what I’d believed for the last 26 years of my life was a total lie.
I, Jo-Anne Louise Button, have a father. Apparently, he’s an American and he’s super rich.
But he is dying and he wants to see me before he passes away. Everything has been arranged. All I have to do is agree to see him, and I will be whisked off to America.
I’m too shocked to do anything but agree.
When my father dies, I become the heir to a fabulously large fortune. But collecting it isn’t as simple as it sounds. There is a stipulation.
And the stipulation involves Axel Rhodes. A man who leaves me utterly speechless. Never in my life have I ever met such an arrogant, rude, cold, scowling, smug, infuriating, high and mighty devil.
But my, is he drop dead gorgeous and hotter than hell, or what?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter
One
JO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOubzHCUt48
-die young-
O’Malley’s bar is loud and steamy in that way that signifies it’s a Friday night: nobody here intends to wake up without regret. Neon pink lights bleed down the brick walls, making everyone look flushed and guilty. The bass thuds through my head like it’s trying to kill off my last two brain cells, and the air reeks of cheap cologne and alcohol fumes, but if I tilt my head just right, I can almost pretend tonight is a brilliant life choice rather than the beginning of a hangover I’ll be negotiating tomorrow morning.
I’m wedged into a curved leather booth with my three besties. All of us pressed knee to knee, and shouting to be heard over the blaring music. Our table is already cluttered with nearly a dozen empty cocktail glasses.
Fearlessly bubbly Jenny Arnold is to my left. Her blonde hair cascades down her back in artfully casual waves, but I know it required a minimum of forty-five minutes with a curling wand to achieve. She’s wearing a red dress that hugs her curves like it’s in love with her, and I’m ready to bet every man within a ten-foot radius has already clocked her as the babe they’d love to take home. And she is pathologically incapable of not flirting right back. It’s one of her many talents.
Across from me is Serena Mason. Her dark hair is cut close on one side and falls freely in glossy sheets on the other. She’s dressed in black as always, and her combat boots are planted firmly on the sticky floor. A silver necklace rests against her collarbone where a green dragon tattoo peeks out from the inside of her t-shirt and curls around her neck, making her look dangerously sexy.
Next to her is Olivia Green. She’s quiet, which people often mistake for shyness until she opens her mouth and annihilates them. She’s wearing a white slip dress and a brown leather jacket that she has tossed over the back of the booth. Her fiery auburn hair is cut blunt at her shoulders.
And then there’s me, Jo-Anne Louise Button, but everybody calls me Jo. I guess I have nice eyes, but I am the classic wallflower. Pale and nondescript, I can effortlessly and perfectly blend into any background, which I kind of like. It’s fun to be underestimated and then jump out and shock people with my brilliance.
I lift my shot glass and grin around at my friends. “To bad decisions.”
“That turn out to be excellent decisions at the stroke of midnight,” Jenny corrects, clinking her shot glass lightly against mine.
Serena groans. “Why do we have to beat around the bush like this? To all the men with big dicks who know how to use them!”
Olivia raises hers last, her expression solemn. “Oh, fuck it. To orgasms, any fucking way they come.”
Laughing, we throw the shots back. The tequila burns down my throat, the heat sharp and immediate, and I have to suck in a breath and cough.
Jenny slaps my arm. “Oh, come on, lightweight,” she teases. “Your job is restoring seventeenth-century oil paintings with toxic chemicals, and you breathe that just fine, but this is where you draw the line?”
“In my defense I don’t drink the chemicals,” I say hoarsely. “I feel like my esophagus must object on principle alone.”
Serena slides another round of shots into the center of the table, having somehow summoned them without me noticing. “Esophagi are not meant to be seen or heard. Now drink up!”
“How are you not the dictator of a whole country?” I mutter, reaching for my cocktail.
Olivia leans forward, her eyes bright. “You know that guy I told you about? The one from that architecture firm?”
“The one with the eerily symmetrical face?” Jenny asks.
“Yes,” Olivia agrees serenely. “Him.”
Serena smirks. “The one you said looked like he’d cry if you raised your voice?”
“That’s the one,” Olivia confirms. “Anyway, I kind of went on a date with him… and ended up in his place.”
Jenny’s eyes light up. “Ooooh,” she breathes. “Tell us more.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t planning on staying over,” Olivia explains. “I genuinely wasn’t. I just wanted to see if his bookshelves were as pretentious as I suspected they would be.”
“Yeah, right,” Serena scoffs and we laugh, even Olivia.
“And were they?” I ask.
“They were color coded by their emotional impact.”
I choke on my drink. “Noooo.”
Olivia nods sagely. “Yes. Talk about a major red flag. But then, he poured me a glass of wine that cost more than my weekly food budget and did this unusual thing with his eyebrows. One thing led to another, and somehow, I found myself in his bed.”
Serena tilts her head. “All is well that ends well.”
“Well, not exactly,” Olivia says with a grimace. “We were kissing, which was fine. Nice, even. Until his bedside lamp fell over.”