Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
POPPY
I am running on fumes. Between drowning in college textbooks and scrubbing floors at the exclusive #1 Love Place to pay my tuition, I have exactly zero time for distractions. My only goal today is to finish cleaning apartment 4C and get to class before I collapse.
But the universe, and a mischievous Frenchie named Pepper, have other plans. One minute I’m mopping, the next I’m trapped in the master bathroom by a fallen mop handle and a guilty-looking dog. I’m stuck, I’m sweaty, and I’m panicking. Then the bathroom door opens to reveal a mountain of a man with a badge on his belt and eyes that darken the second they land on me. I should be running for the hills, but the big, growly detective is looking at me like I’m the last drop of water in the desert. And honestly? I want to stay right where I am.
JACK
I deal with the worst of humanity all day. My apartment is supposed to be my sanctuary—a place of order, silence, and solitude. Or it was, until I come home to find a stunning, curvy brunette locked in my bathroom.
I’m not looking for love. I definitely don’t need any complications. But the second I lay eyes on Poppy, logic goes out the window. She’s flustered, beautiful, and everything I need. And now that I’ve found her, I’m never letting her go.
I’ve spent my life hunting bad guys, but she’s the only thing I want to catch. I’m totally obsessed, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make her mine.
This insta-love romance is short, steamy, and sugary sweet. If you like over-the-top possessive heroes and curvy heroines who keep them on their toes, this story is for you
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
POPPY
At ten a.m. sharp, I’m running the dust cloth over the last shelf in 4C, inhaling eau de entitled, otherwise known as fancy spa candles. Right now, I’m trying not to pass out from exhaustion or boredom. Both are strong contenders since I attend college full-time plus clean apartments several hours every day.
My own place is a six-hundred-square-foot shoebox a few floors down, which I’m lucky to have. I spend most of my time cleaning other people’s apartments, and I’ve seen enough embarrassing things in people’s medicine cabinets to fill a memoir. I keep reminding myself that I’m just biding my time until I can afford to finish college and get a job that pays enough to buy my own spa candles.
I pop out my left earbud. The notes for Business Law 210 keep playing in my right, Professor Riley’s voice monotoning like some legal-themed sleep meditation. My next exam is in sixteen hours, and the last time I actually had a full night of sleep… last Friday? Right now, it’s Tuesday and I have about as much brain power as a Roomba and twice as much dust to suck up.
I groan, catching my own reflection in a streak-free glass door. I look like someone who’s been dragged through the business end of a vacuum cleaner—hair coming loose from my bun, blue cleaning smock buttoned crooked over my ancient Def Leppard tee.
By noon, I’m running on fumes. The third apartment on my list is home to a homicide detective and his adorable black French bulldog who hates me. Not dislikes, hates.
The detective is never here when I clean, and I’m dying to meet him in person. I’ve only ever seen his handwriting. Even though he has my number, he chooses to leave little notes on the counter, usually next to a box of fancy dog treats.
Poppy,
Thanks for taking care of the living room mess last time. Pepper’s been in a mood since yesterday. Ignore her. She’s all bark.
Jack
His handwriting is all sharp angles and heavy pressure, like someone who presses too hard when they write. The blue ink bleeds slightly into the cream-colored sticky note.
Another time, he left a note next to a mug with the outline of a dead body chalked in white against glossy black ceramic. The sticky note was forest green this time, the same decisive handwriting slashing across it.
Poppy,
Sorry the den looks like a crime scene. I’ll send an extra tip to cover the additional work.
Jack
The notes always make me laugh. It seems like the detective tries so hard to sound serious, but I can tell he’s messing with me. I’m not going to lie, I have a little bit of a crush on the detective whom I’ve never met. My overactive imagination has conjured up a whole tall, dark, and handsome fantasy man. I’m really scared to meet him and find out he doesn’t come anywhere close to my dreams.
I let myself into the apartment and find Pepper stretched out on the brown leather sofa, chewing on something that looks suspiciously like an expensive shoe.
I freeze in the doorway, one hand clutching my cleaning tote like a shield. Pepper doesn’t even bother to look guilty. She just gives me a side-eye and keeps gnawing, little gremlin teeth working overtime. “I won’t be disturbing your cartoons very long, Pepper.” Yes, I’m talking to the dog.
She literally rolls her eyes at me as I get to work. The apartment itself is a typical bachelor pad. Floor-to-ceiling windows that make you feel like you’re floating in the clouds. There’s a giant TV mounted on the wall, playing cartoons for the spoiled pup. Everything is dark wood, matte black, and steel. Every time I step into the kitchen, I’m amazed at how the other half live.
There’s a wine cooler built right into the cabinetry, stacked with bottles that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Next to it, a whole separate fridge just for sodas and energy drinks. Who even has a soda cooler? Apparently, homicide detectives who like their La Croix cold and their merlot colder.
The appliances are all matte black and steel, not a single fingerprint in sight. I drop my cleaning tote on the marble countertop and get to work.
Most of the job is muscle memory by now: beds, counters, floors, bathrooms, all in a set order. I used to be slow, stopping to marvel at the massive walk-in closets or fancy marble showers. Now it’s all about efficiency. I can do a three-bedroom in ninety minutes flat, provided nobody has thrown a party.
Still, you pick up on things. The detective works long hours and spends his free time catering to his spoiled Frenchie. If reincarnation is real, I’m coming back as a dog in this building.
Especially a dog like Pepper. There’s literally a whole room just for Pepper that’s bigger than my entire apartment. It has a velvet bed. And not a dog bed. An actual, people-sized bed, upholstered in bright pink velvet and sitting low to the ground, like it was designed for a four-legged diva. The comforter is velvet, too.