Read Online Books/Novels:
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Shelby Walsh is struggling to make ends meet. She spends her days doing singing telegrams for extra cash, but she never expected to be sent out to perform for the world’s most famous composer. And definitely not in a skimpy Greek goddess outfit. How is she supposed to keep it together when every part of her is screaming for him to take her?
Theo Hayes is a recluse. He just wants to be left alone to work on his next big movie score. He’s even grumpier than usual because he’s in a bit of a rut. But when his brother sends him a singing telegram for inspiration, he finds his muse and plans to never let her go. Keeping her for his very own is the only option.
Warning: We’ve teamed up with Fiona Davenport to give you an epic symphony for your lady business. What’s better than two authors working you over? How about four? If you want insta-love with all the safety and security of a happily ever after, then jump in bed with us. There’s room for more!
|Books by Author:|
I want to bang my head against a wall in hopes that it will crumble the barrier that seems to be surrounding my brain. The instruments in my studio are laughing at me, and the deadline clock sitting on the shelf above my equipment is silently judging me.
“Fuck!” I bark as I push my chair back and stand up, running my hands through my unruly dark hair. A haircut is on my “to-do” list for when I finish the score for the newest movie projected to blow up the box office. That list just keeps getting longer and longer because for the first time ever, I am truly in danger of not meeting a deadline. I’m stuck and have no clue why.
Between movies, television, and theater, I’ve written almost sixty compositions in the last twenty years. I was a child prodigy and wrote my first movie score at fifteen. I’ve won two Academy Awards, three Emmy Awards, one Golden Globe, six Tony Awards and eighteen fucking Grammy Awards. Yet here I am…unable to pluck out even one decent melody. I’ve never had a mental block like this, and I have no fucking clue what to do about it. This could be the end of the line for me. I think it’s passion I’m lacking. I have no idea how to make myself passionate about something. There just isn’t anything there when I try to reach it.
My cell phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a picture of my little brother making a goofy face and the name “Hot Shot Movie Star.” I roll my eyes but a smile tugs at my lips. Clearly, Austin messed with my phone again the last time he was here. I can only imagine what other crazy nicknames he gave some of my contacts.
Austin is incredibly intelligent, but his real talent lies in his charisma and sense of humor. It landed him his first role as the comedic sidekick in a television show at the age of seven. Since then, he’s been typecast in those roles, but it’s never bothered him. He’s no slouch in the looks department, and I imagine the millions he makes per movie and the multiple awards for Best Supporting Actor don’t hurt. Besides that, he thinks playing the sexy heartthrob is boring, and it saves him from having to do romantic storylines with sex scenes that could come back to bite him in the ass later on. That’s the other thing about Austin…he’s a hopeless romantic and believes in “the one.” I think he’s crazy. I need a relationship in my life like I need a hole in my head. But I keep that opinion to myself. While I might be a cynical grump, as he refers to me, I would never want Austin to change from who he is.
He’s probably the only reason I ever laugh. Or leave the house. I freely admit to being a workaholic. I get lost in my music and once I hear it in my head, I can’t rest until it’s down on paper. Plus, I hate crowds, which is why I live an hour from the city on a couple of acres. I enjoy being alone.
I swipe the screen to answer and he appears with a boyish grin. “How goes the mental block?” he asks by way of greeting.
“Thanks for the reminder, asshole,” I sigh into the phone. “And hello to you, too.”
Austin laughs, but then his face sobers a little. “Seriously, though, how are you doing? Any luck with the new project?”
I shake my head and groan as I walk out of my studio and toward my house. I converted an old, unattached garage into my workspace when I bought the land because it was situated only fifty or so feet from the house.
The afternoon sun beats down on my shoulders and I have to squint to see Austin on the screen. “I can’t seem to find any inspiration,” I admit with a shake of my head. For the first time in my life I feel lost. Or like maybe something is missing. What that is, I have no fucking idea or I’d go and get it.
“And getting out of your house and maybe going on a date…? Have you considered that option?” Austin’s tone is humorous, but I know he’s only half-joking.
“No, Mother,” I answer, sarcasm dripping from the words. “I don’t have time for social crap. People annoy me. And are a distraction. And I have work to do.” I reach my back door and type in the code before stepping into my kitchen. Austin snorts a response to my comment, but I ignore him as I set the phone on the counter and grab a water from the fridge. All that is true. It’s why I live all the way out here.