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Falling for the Playboy (Bedtime Reads #2)
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Never trust a man who gets paid to take off his clothes for a living and then uses it as a pick-up line to get girls in bed with him.
That should’ve been enough for me to call in sick that day.
I’ve worked with male cover models like him before and they’re all the same—smooth-talking, sexy as sin, egotistical know-it-alls who think they’re God’s gift to women—all traits I know to steer clear of.
Assisting authors comes with many perks—reading on the job, using my organizing skills on a daily basis, drinking coffee by the gallons—but Maverick Kingston barges into my life and demands more than I can handle.
When we’re forced to road trip across the country together, he pushes every boundary I have and rearranges my thoughts on playing it safe. And when he “accidentally” drops his towel, he makes it very clear what he’s offering and proves he’s packing more than abs of steel under his clothes.
Working with him was brutal, but falling for him was unexpected.
**This is a complete STANDALONE novel — filled with plenty of humor, steam, & romance! 18 & up only due to explicit sexual content, language, and adult content.**
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“There’s No Way”
-Lauv feat. Julia Michaels
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Panting. Heavy breathing. Toes curling.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as a wave of pleasure hits my core, and then…
The piercing sound of my alarm bellows out, and my body shoots straight up in a panic to turn it off. I look and see it’s six a.m.
That’s the most action I’ve had in a year, and it was all a damn dream.
I stretch and slide out of bed, mentally going over my to-do list for the day. Walking to my kitchenette, I grab my mug of coffee that’s ready to go. I always program my Keurig the night before, so all I have to do is add creamer in the morning.
As I walk toward the bathroom, I blow into my cup and take a small sip. Just as I check my phone, I see Rachel has already left three messages.
Rachel: I need you here by 8 today.
Rachel: Make that 7. Coffee extra hot.
I roll my eyes at her last text, knowing it probably pained her to use that word. Author Rachel Meadows is a #1 New York Times Bestselling Author who has hit the list more times than I can count and is known for being socially awkward and blunt. She’s in her midforties, and although she writes about romance, she doesn’t have a love life because she eats, sleeps, and breathes writing. She’s the very definition of a workaholic, which is why I work sixty-hour weeks. I maintain her life so she can focus all her energy on her work.
Perhaps if she did have friends nearby or went out with a man once in a blue moon, she wouldn’t be so damn uptight 24/7. However, most people could probably say the same thing about me, which is one reason Rachel and I work so well together. Well, that, and I have the tolerance and patience of a saint.
My previous author client, Vada Collins, found her happily ever after and moved to the East Coast, which is how I ended up working for Rachel. Her assistant quit, leaving her in a major bind, and I needed a new job stat. The cost of living in Chicago is too expensive to stay unemployed for long.
So when Rachel Meadows called me back for a second interview, I prayed to the gods for good voodoo because it was the only local job opportunity available at that time. Now, after a year of working for Rachel, I know nearly everything there is to know about her and cater to her every need.
For example, when she says to arrive at seven with extra hot coffee, that’s code for come fifteen minutes early and have a protein shake ready to go. Which means I have exactly forty-five minutes to shower, get dressed, stop at the Starbucks half a mile from her apartment, and read through her emails so I can brief her while she sucks down her blended meal.
Or when she’s four days away from her cycle, I know to stock up on Andes Mints and red wine. She has two microwavable rice bags that I rotate out, so she always has a hot one ready for her lower back when she needs to lie down after sitting for too long. Though, if she’s on a major deadline, she’ll lie in bed with a heating pad and dictate her words to me so she can work through the cramps.
This morning, I woke up early so I wouldn’t have to rush, but now I’ll be taking a five-minute shower—cold—since I don’t have time to wait for the water to warm. All thanks to Rachel deciding at the last minute that I need to arrive an hour early.
I manage to finish my first cup of coffee in the shower, so while my hair is air-drying, I take a few seconds to dab concealer on the bags under my eyes. I’m a workaholic just like Rachel, except I run marathons around her while she carefully crafts her words for thousands of readers. Once I’m dressed in a pencil skirt and tuck in my blouse, I slide on my Chucks, grab my oversized bag with everything I’ll need for the day, and rush out the door.
My Uber arrives as soon as I jog down my apartment building stairs. I fly into the back seat, asking him to step on it. He understands my urgency and guns it down the road. I quickly read over Rachel’s emails on my phone until we drive up to the Starbucks closest to her place. Since I ordered ahead on the mobile app, I won’t have to wait in line, but I’ll still be rushing to Rachel’s at this rate.
As I hurry inside to grab the coffees, I check my phone and realize I have less than five minutes to get there. We’re only half a mile away, but we’re on a one-way street, and her building is behind us. Which means instead of having my driver drop me off at her door, I’ll have to jog there.