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Chapter One
Natalie

Victoria and I spilled out onto the sidewalk and escaped the crammed coffee shop that smelled like holiday drinks and gingerbread biscotti. The door swung closed behind us and sealed off the chorus of people calling out their coffee orders and a high-pitched Mariah Carey Christmas tune. We strode past the lights that winked in the cafe window, blurry and foggy behind the faux-frosted glass, and hopped over the crack in the sidewalk both of us had caught our heels in on more than one occasion on the walk from our apartment up the block to our office half a mile away.

Our heels clipped the pavement of the sidewalk as I popped the lid of my latte off to not so gracefully sip the whipped cream off the top of my coffee. It was peppered with crushed pieces of peppermint.

Victoria gave me a side-eyed smile. ���You got some on your upper lip, Nat. You do this every time. And your lipstick was so immaculately applied this morning. Here. Have a napkin.��� She passed me a little paper serviette she���d been using as a sleeve to protect her hand from the side of her hot cup.

I ran my finger along my upper lip line. ���I���ve got it. I don���t want even a little bit to go to waste.��� I licked the dollop of whipped cream off my red-lipstick-stained fingertip.

Victoria chuckled. ���What is with you and peppermint mochas?���

���It���s Christmas in a cup. What���s not to love?���

Victoria, all long legs and grace, shrugged a dainty shoulder, flipped her wavy dark brown hair over her shoulder, and sipped her half-fat, no-whip, sugar-free, hazelnut latte. She never deviated from her order regardless of the weather or season. Fall? Hazelnut. The dead of summer on a blistering hot day? Still hazelnut. ���Those things are too sweet,��� she said. ���They hurt my teeth.���

���They hurt my waist size,��� I muttered as I pressed the lid back on.

Victoria giggled.

The sidewalk became more congested the closer to Union Square we got. We kept to the outskirts and hopped off the curb more than once to bustle past slow-moving pedestrians or parents struggling with moody children complaining about having to go to school. The morning was sunny but not warm, which was common this close to Thanksgiving. Soon, the whole city would be lit up with Christmas lights. Decorations would wink and dazzle on every light post and rooftop. The Macy���s tree would arrive in Union Square any day now and would be lit on Black Friday for the first time. If it wasn���t a busy evening work-wise, Victoria and I might make our way down for the event���with coffees in hand, of course.

We arrived at my office fifteen minutes before ten o���clock. I twisted the key in the lock and shouldered the door open. Victoria followed, locked up behind us, and set her coffee down on my desk so she could shrug out of her jacket and hang it on the Swarovski-studded coat stand I���d purchased as a gift to myself and my office last winter. Had it been an extravagant and somewhat indulgent purchase? Yes. Did I regret it? Absolutely not.

I added my red pea coat to the rack and went about turning on the office lights, starting up my computer, and listening to voicemails. We had six missed calls from gentlemen who���d tried to reach us well into the evening last night. It was typical. In my line of work, the clients came out of the woodwork after nine o���clock.

It was normal for an escort service.

I jotted down the names of the callers as well as what they were looking for: brunette, thin, full figure, short hair, long hair, sexy, sassy, cute, sophisticated, rowdy. We offered something for everyone. Once I had my list, I deleted the inbox to make sure it didn���t fill up and cost me any callers.

Victoria sidled up to my desk and leaned one hip against the edge. ���Can I do call-backs this morning?���

Victoria was my best friend, but she also happened to be my prot��g�� at On His Arm, my high-end escort service. I���d started the company three years ago after working in the field myself for three consecutive years prior to that. My experience in the real world of the escort service made it really easy for me to tell what clients were worth bringing into our database and which ones were not. I could spot a red flag coming before it even walked through the door. I hadn���t always been lucky enough to have that skill, especially when I was a doe-eyed, cash-strapped twenty-one-year-old, but I���d honed those skills now.

I slid the notepad across the desk to my friend. ���They���re all yours. Two are return clients. Moira���s clients, if I���m remembering correctly.���

Victoria pursed her lips approvingly. ���The girl is on a hot streak, isn���t she?���

���Something about those big baby blues the boys can���t get enough of, I suppose.���

���Lucky bitch. She���s making bank leading up to Christmas.���

I sipped my coffee and kicked my heels up onto my desk. They were one of my favorite pairs to wear to the office. They were glossy black with pointed toes and a red sole. The heel, undoubtedly the best part of the shoe, was a piece of gold cut into roses and vines that looked like they were climbing up toward the back of my ankle. ���She had a rough year last year, so it seems fitting things are turning around for her. Besides, she���s really come into herself and finally believed me when I told her men don���t always want thin women. There���s a flavor for everyone.���

���She grew up in a house where her mother was constantly cutting stuff out of her diet,��� Victoria said darkly as she settled onto the bench seat in front of one of the office windows. ���No wonder it���s taken her twenty-four years to start loving herself.���

Every girl I���d ever hired had some sort of hang up about her body. This business, my empire, helped them see how beautiful they really were. There was a fine line between a woman feeling powerful because she was desired and a woman only striving to be looked at. Here at On His Arm, I took pride in teaching my girls the difference and sending them out into the world as confident, secure, intelligent young women who knew the worth of their hearts as well as the beauty they possessed. I never knew it would be my passion until I started doing it and now I couldn���t imagine my life without this place.

It was my home and the girls were my family.

I checked the time. ���Five minutes until we open. Might as well crack those curtains open and let the light in, babe. Some of the girls will be rolling in soon.���

Victoria slid open the plush velvet curtains hanging over the windows. She hooked them back, creating a romantic draped effect, and secured them off to the sides with a satin rope. She unlocked the doors, turned on the open sign, and spun to face me with a cheeky smile.

She dropped in a bow. ���We are open for business, your majesty.���

���Drink more coffee. You���re still too sassy to be talking to clients.���

Victoria snorted, fell back onto the bench seat, and crossed one leg over the other. ���Oh please. I always get a better tip when I���m sassy. Men love it.���

���I���m not men. I���m your boss.���

���You���re my best friend.���

���And your boss.���

Victoria stuck her tongue out at me. ���Someone has to keep you on your toes, Nat. Who better to do that than little old me?���

I kicked my heels down and got up out of my chair. I gestured at it in invitation for Victoria to come sit. She was right. Having someone in the office to keep me quick was an asset. Being out of the field and working behind a desk had cost me some of that wit and charm I used nightly on my male clients. I���d honed other skills, of course, but every now and then, I missed the adrenaline rush of going to a fancy party in a ballroom surrounded by elite members of society. I missed the way men and women alike used to look at me. They knew I didn���t belong, and yet being on his arm, whoever he happened to be that night, meant I was worthy of the same spaces they were. It drove the women mad and made the men more than a little curious. My red hair and full curves made me difficult to miss in a room full of women who looked like they belonged on the covers of magazines or on fashion runways. The way I dressed turned heads, too. I���d always been the kind of girl who needed a bit of sparkle in her life. I needed drama. Flair. And a red lip.

Always a red lip.

Victoria took her seat at my desk and tucked herself in. She opened the booking software on my computer where I could access the schedules of all my girls and book them based on their availability. She pulled the notepad with my scribbles on it toward her and peered down at the first name.

���Andrew Kemple,��� she mused. ���Isn���t he the guy with the sideburns?���

���Unfortunately for him, yes. He���s sweet though. And he tips well. Nobody in this office would say no to Andrew. See what his event is and what kind of girl he wants. I believe his last girl was Anya.���

Victoria clicked through the schedule. ���Yep, Anya. She liked him, didn���t she?���

I nodded. ���Everyone who���s ever gone out with Andrew likes him. He���s kind. You know what you get with him. We like a consistent boy.���

Victoria nodded, picked up the phone, and called Andrew.

He was an easy client to book. He���d been coming to me for dates for his special occasions ever since I opened up shop, and he���d sent a lot of business my way as well. Any friend of Andrew���s was a friend of mine, and I���d treated them as such. He was a big reason why I���d found success so quickly. His friends led to more connections until I was in a spot where I desperately needed to hire more girls because I couldn���t keep up with the demand. What started as a five-person operation had now become a team of almost twenty women working together to provide companionship for single men all throughout San Francisco.

Victoria handled the call brilliantly. She asked him if anything about his identification had changed. We had his driver���s license and passport on file. If either had been updated, we wanted the most up to date copy in our records. I had a zero-tolerance policy for men who refused to provide me with identification and their address. I needed to know who my girls were with, where they were, and where they���d been. This business didn���t come without its detriments, and one of them was constantly worrying over the safety of my girls.

I���d spent time alone in rooms with men who had no business keeping female company. I knew how frightening and dangerous that could be. I never wanted one of my girls to be in a position like that, so I took every precaution necessary to deter those kinds of men from booking with us. I also made sure I could point the police in the right direction should a situation ever arise.

Three years into my business, it never had and I had to believe that was because of the measures I took.

Andrew booked Anya for his Christmas party two weeks away.

The office door swung open and Moira rolled in. She flashed us a charming smile as she unwrapped a pretty pink scarf from around her neck. ���Morning ladies,��� she chimed. ���It���s starting to feel like Christmastime out there, isn���t it? When are we going to start������

���Don���t say it,��� Victoria warned.

���Decorating and playing Christmas music, Grinch?��� Moira finished, shooting a scowl at Victoria.

���The first,��� I said matter-of-factly. ���You had two callers leave voicemails last night and request your company, Moira. Well done. You���re knocking last year���s numbers out of the park. I���m really proud of you.���

Moira���s cheeks turned pinker than the scarf she draped over the Swarovski coat rack. ���Thank you, Natalie.���

���I hope you���re planning on treating yourself to something nice this Christmas,��� I said.

Moira bit her full bottom lip. ���I might have had my eye on a little something.���

I arched an eyebrow. ���And what might that little something be?���

���I don���t want to say it out loud in case it doesn���t happen.��� Moira ran her hands over her waist-cinching corset she wore over top of a silky black dress. The sheer sleeves showed off the tattoos on her arms and shoulders. ���But when it does, you���ll be the first to know about it.���

I nodded at Victoria. ���Let���s see if we can put one of those callers on Moira���s calendar, shall we?���

Victoria grinned. ���On it, boss lady.���

 

Pretend To Be Mine Cover Reveal…

PRETEND TO BE MINE

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BLURB:

I need someone to help me stick it to my ex.

A fake fiancée will do the trick, and this woman is gorgeous.

My ex-wife cheated on me and now is marrying the bastard.

And I have to attend the wedding for my daughter’s sake.

Well, I’m going armed with hotness. Nothing like pretending your life is together.

We might have pretended a little too well.

The crazy part? She’s not from the escort service that a buddy set me up with.

She owns the service.

And she’s pulling out all the stops. I’m not sure who’s more convinced about her affections, my ex or me.

Needless to say, she’s willing to pretend to be mine.

The only question is, can I keep her when it’s all over?

I plan to work like hell to make that happen.

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"C. Morgan does a fantastic job with Looking Real Good. I loved reading Lukas and Kayla’s story. It’s well written, intriguing storyline with characters that get under your skin. This was a great roller coaster ride filled with lots of emotions and drama. Would I recommend it: Yes"

"A well written romance about rising above your beginnings but still losing out on life. Enter two different women trying to help his self esteem. This story pulled me in and I couldn’t stop reading until I read the end. A must read for that HEA."

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Chapter One
Lukas

My public-relations consultant flicked off the lights in the conference room. She held a remote in her hand and pointed it at the projector at the far end of the conference table. She clicked through a couple of slides, each one lighting up the room in the predominant color of the slide. Red, blue, white, green. Finally, she stopped clicking, and she read the words aloud on the presented screen.

“The negative shift in media and public opinion toward tech billionaires,” she said. Lisa’s tone was monotonous but assertive, and her gaze slid toward me as if to double-check that I was in fact paying attention.

I nodded for her to continue.

Lisa, my PR consultant and younger half-sister, clicked past the index page of the slideshow she’d created to inform me just how out of favor I had fallen. According to her, wealthy men and women like myself were being seen more like villains than successful business people. She’d been breathing down my neck about how I needed to do better.

Better than building my own empire from the ground up? Better than providing a stable work environment for my employees with full-ride benefits and generous salaries? Better than the property and the mansion I owned? Better than pulling myself out of the slums and becoming one of Seattle’s wealthiest and most eligible bachelors?

Not that I had time to date.

We’d bickered about this nonsense for weeks now—possibly months. She wouldn’t relent, and neither would I, so she’d not so subtly sabotaged me in my own damn conference room this morning with a slide show she’d prepared. Her intention, it seemed, was to showcase how disliked I was.

It was a great way to start my Monday.

A picture of dozens of families leaving a rundown apartment somewhere downtown filled the screen. Lisa didn’t flip to the next slide. She turned to me with one hand on her hip. She set the remote down on the conference table and stared expectantly at me.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Your kind are seen as responsible for this.” She gestured at the screen. “Money-hungry elites are driving up rents in big cities. Consequently, low-income or no-income tenants and their families are driven out onto the street with nowhere to go. The consequences of this are severe, Lukas.”

“I haven’t evicted anyone.”

My half-sister carried on like I hadn’t even spoken. “Perhaps not directly. Regardless, other millionaires and billionaires are portrayed as making fortunes and then failing to give back to their communities. They’re instead choosing to continue lining their pockets. They disregard any and all negative repercussions of them pursuing yet more wealth and—”

“Lisa,” I said dryly, “are you trying to tell me I’m a jackass?”

My sister blinked impassively at me. “Perhaps.”

“You’ve been telling me the same thing since we were kids.”

“And I was right all along. Imagine that?”

I scoffed without humor.

Lisa sighed. “Lukas, just let me get through my presentation, okay? I know you don’t want to sit around and listen to this, but please try to learn something from it. I’m not telling you this as your sister. I’m telling you this as your PR rep. I’m doing my job. You know, the job you hired me to do?”

I sighed. “Fine.”

Lisa flipped through a couple more slides. They flashed images of more people being evicted from low-income housing apartments and townhomes. Next came pictures of wealthy CEOs, many of whom I knew in the flesh, who had bank accounts as overflowing as my own. She stopped flipping through slides and landed on a picture of my face.

I recognized the picture. It was of me sitting in my office in this very building. Across the top of the image were the words “Success at Whose Cost?”. In the picture, I wore a bespoke dark gray suit and a smirk. The Seattle skyline sat behind me against a backdrop of blue skies. The article had not reflected well on me, and Lisa had been doing damage control over the last three months since it had been published.

“That was a good suit,” I said as I stroked my chin.

Lisa huffed. “Focus, Lukas. Articles like this have swayed public opinion. You’re being lumped in with bankers, oil barons, and Wall Street tycoons. Tech CEOs like yourself are the new whipping boys in the court of public opinion.” She moved through a few more slides, all of which were pictures of me. “The fell swoop that led to your decline was when you demolished the old building that used to stand right here so you could build this office tower in the historic district. Yes, you have a nice view, but the people who were born and raised here never wanted this building here, Lukas. It’s an eyesore.”

“An eyesore? Have you looked at this building, Lisa? It’s the definition of modern and exquisite architecture.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

“You’re obnoxious,” I muttered.

My sister sighed and dropped the remote control on the table, leaving the final image of my face on the screen. “You’re being accused of everything from gentrification to negative environmental impact.”

“Oh, come off it. The building that was here before I started development was a vacant health hazard. The mold and asbestos were off the charts. That alone was enough to get rid of it. It was infested with rats and vermin. It was lowering property values in the neighborhood. And you want to talk about a health risk? Teenagers were breaking in all the time, breathing that shit in. If anything, I did this community a favor by eliminating a dangerous environment.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“What is the point then?” I asked sharply. I was getting tired of this nonsense. I had other things to do.

“The press is against you right now. You need to polish your image.”

I arched an eyebrow as my attention slid back to the ten-by-ten-foot image of me shining on the screen at the far end of the conference room. “Looks pretty polished to me.”

My half-sister rolled her eyes. “Not your physical image. You’re impossible, you know that? You need to polish people’s perception of you.”

I liked grinding her gears. “Perception?”

She nodded. “Your bottom line will drop if public perception continues to be negatively affected by the negative press. Here, for example.” She clicked through a few more slides and paused at a familiar chart. It displayed last quarter’s profits which had started to dip despite a recently launched upgrade. “Your profits should have been in an upswing after your last upgrade. But they’re not.”

“Because people don’t like me?”

“And they don’t trust you.”

“I’m not a politician,” I said, straightening my suit jacket. “I’m a businessman. Since when did my success equate to being trusted and liked?”

“Since forever. Look, Lukas. You hired me because you knew something wasn’t working and you needed help. This is my forte. I’m the professional here and I need you to trust me. I’m your sister. I want to help you—even though you already have more money than any one person could spend in an entire lifetime. Or eight.”

I stayed in my seat as my sister turned off the projector and moved to the door, where she flicked the lights back on. I squinted and shielded my eyes as she packed up her things into her work bag.

She dropped into the chair beside me. “Did any of that get through to you?”

I didn’t answer her question. Instead, I returned one of my own. “I assume with all the effort you put into this to change my mind that you have a game plan?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

Lisa sat proudly and lifted her chin a little. She and I had an unconventional history compared to a lot of siblings. We shared the same father but different mothers. At twenty-eight, she was two years younger than me, and just like me, she was the outcome of our father’s serial philandering. He lived in a rundown neighborhood that he treated like his own personal whore house. He maintained affairs with several women—some married, some single, some somewhere in between—and managed to keep his indiscretions under wraps until two pregnancies were tied back to him: mine and Lisa’s mothers.

He got the hell out of Dodge after that so he didn’t have to pay child support or be a father.

My sister and I grew up as neighbors. It was unconventional, sure, but it worked for us. Our mothers became allies after what our father put them through and, in turn, best friends. Sunday mornings were spent alternating between each apartment for breakfast and we’d have at least three dinners a week together as a family.

Things had changed a lot since then.

“The plan is for you to institute some kind of charitable-giving campaign,” Lisa said.

“A giving campaign?”

“Yes, Lukas. A giving campaign. It’s time for your business to give back to the community instead of just reaping the benefits. According to my research, CEOs are more favorable to their audiences when they take a hands-on role. Said audiences prefer when this hands-on charity work is done to help those in need within their own cities. So with that in mind, I want to show you a couple of proposals of some projects you could dive into.”

Lisa pulled a portfolio out of her bag and flipped it open. There were dozens of charts in there, as well as more articles.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as she began laying them out on the table in front of me. “Lisa, I have other meetings today. Just tell me the bottom line.”

Lisa glanced up at me. “What?”

“You tell me what I should do. Don’t present me with all these options. Like you said, I hired you as my public-relations expert. I don’t have time to hear out all of these.”

My sister leaned back in her chair. “Fine. I have connections to a non-profit organization here in Seattle that does excellent work. I can set up a meeting with their director to fit your schedule.”

“Talk to my assistant. I have a conference call to hop on.”

Lisa started packing her things back up as I got to my feet and moved to the door. “Lukas?”

I turned back to her.

“I’m on your side, you know?” she said.

“I know.”

I left my sister in the conference room and moved down the pristine hallway to my office. I closed the door behind me and went to stand in front of my floor-to-ceiling windows. Gazing down at the city streets below and the rooftops of the historic district, I thought about the things Lisa had said.

There was a time when I had nothing. My sister knew that better than anyone. She hadn’t had anything either. Our mothers had struggled to put food on our plates. I remembered how it felt being sent off to school with two quarters in my pocket. My mother always asked me if it was enough. Could I buy lunch with fifty cents?

I always told her I could. And it was always a lie.

My first day of high school hadn’t been easy with those quarters in my pocket, hand-me-down clothes, and a notebook I’d found at a garage sale with a kitten on the cover. I’d swiped pens from places that always had dozens of them in holders on their counters, like the print shop or the DMV. At the time, I’d thought I was going in prepared, but all I was walking into at school was four years of torture at the hands of merciless bullies who terrorized me for my clothes, school supplies, lack of a father, and how poor my family was.

I came home with more black eyes than my mother ever could have dreamed of.

And now?

Well, I’d worked hard to amass my billions. I’d sacrificed leisure time and relationships to build my software and find success. I had no intention of giving those billions away and leaving myself or my mother vulnerable again. She needed me more than anything, especially now.

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"Wonderful story of fulfillment and love. It amazes me that we women tend to connect our self-esteem to whether or not we can produce children. Nick is a widower workaholic with a small child. When Max began having trouble in school, Nick hires Liz to be nanny/teacher. He has to move to Monaco for his business, so he takes Max and Liz with him. The romance is off the charts! Great read! '

"Come Go With Me is well written and the story is a great one that keeps your attention from beginning to end. There is great chemistry from the two main characters, the romance is sexy, the drama & family dynamics are very real issues many families face. I will definitely be reading many more books from this author and look forward to reading more in this series."

"I just loved reading Nick and Liz���s story. It���s a captivating storyline that keeps you entertained until the last end. Definitely looking forward to reading more from Ns Morgan. Would I recommend it: Yes!"

"Nick and Liz's story is great! What begins as a purely profession situation ends in a sweet love story! Chloe has such a great writing style and this is another excellent book by her!"

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Chapter 1
Nick

As I sat in the Inferno Casino, one of my company���s recent projects, I could rest easy knowing another build was behind me. Hopefully after tonight, another one would soon be underway. Grady had asked me to meet him there with one of his business partners, a man who could possibly land me my next build.

���Here���s to another successful job and to having you back in town,��� said Grady as he lifted his glass. ���And to future prospects.���

���Thanks,��� I said, glancing at my watch. I called the waitress over to order another drink.

���Man, that���s pushing you close to double digits. I���m going to have to get my limo driver to carry you home if you don���t slow down.���

���Who���s counting?��� I asked, knowing damn well I���d never been one to put them away at the rate of my college buddies. Besides, it was only my sixth beer and hardly anything I couldn���t handle without being a sloppy drunk.

���I���m counting obviously. My friend should be here any minute. Why the sudden urge to get so smashed? Are you nervous?���

���Not at all. Should I be? He probably won���t even show.���

���No, he will. He���s on a tight schedule, but I think I convinced him. As for nerves, it���s cool. Santino is a nice guy. And if this job goes well, you might never have to work again.���

���So much for not being nervous,��� I said with a laugh. I wondered just how big of a job it could be and how wealthy the man was. Grady was already a billionaire. That didn���t intimidate me, but I had also shared a house with him in college.

���Just don���t overdo it,��� he said, shaking his head. ���Damn, it���s a strange day when I have to tell you that.���

I agreed with a nod. ���Relax. I don���t want to get wasted. I just want to loosen up.�� It���s been a stressful week.���

Grady chuckled. ���You get any looser, you���ll fall apart. But hey, don���t let me discourage you. I feel it���s about time actually. You have always been the saint of the group. And besides, Max is like ten now, right? It���s not like you have an infant at home.���

���You and Clay suck. You know that? Neither of you can ever remember how old my son is. It���s like you lack any real concept of time because you���re too busy living the good life.�����

Both had been prone to the party life, at least until Clay settled down. Grady was a different story. He had his entire future sewed up and had to fill the time somehow.

���My bad,��� he said, holding up his hand in defense. ���How old is he?���

���He���s seven. Or wait. He���s eight now.��� I stopped to realize I wasn���t sure which birthday he���d celebrated last. His mother was always much better at that kind of stuff, and since her death, everything had been one long blur.

Grady laughed. ���Sounds like I���m not the only one who sucks. You don���t even know how old your own son is. Seems like you���ve been too busy living the good life too.���

I peeled the label on my bottle. ���Fuck you. I���ve been working my ass off trying to keep things together.���

Grady belted a laugh. ���Come on, man. You���ve had great success. With this casino and the Williston project, don���t pretend your pockets aren���t loaded. That wallet is so fat you���re leaning to the right. Life can���t be that bad.���

I let out a deep sigh. ���I sold the house. We���re living with my mom and dad on the farm.��� Being that close with my parents again was not easy, and Max was doing his best to make matters worse.

Grady gave me a narrowed look as if he were trying to figure me out. ���Well, it can���t be for money, unless you���ve picked up a bad gambling habit.���

���I haven���t got a gambling problem. I���m too busy building casinos to gamble in them.���

���So, it wasn���t the money. You needed to get away from old memories?���

���Yeah, it���s not a financial thing. It was time for us to move on, and with me working so much, and usually in another state, I don���t have time for anything else and I was barely there. I decided that it was best to leave Max with my parents full time. Mom and Dad work the farm, and they can teach him things that he can���t learn anywhere else. Besides, we both needed to heal. The house was just too much of a reminder of Amelia and what could have been.���

���Do you think you���re ready to move on?��� asked Grady. I had told him and the others very little about what I���d gone through, losing Amelia. ���Is that what the booze is for? Liquid courage?���

���No,��� I said with a laugh. ���I don���t need liquid courage to talk to women. I actually thought I was ready to move on when I was in Williston, but I put that on hold. Coming home made me realize I have too much to do with work. Building the company is tough enough with a son, and bringing another woman into my life would just complicate things even more. I barely have time for Max, much less another person in my life who I���d no doubt neglect.���

���Well, I know I���m not a father, but you seem to be doing all you can. And after tonight, you���ll be set for life if things work out how I think they will.��� He made it all sound so easy. But what should I expect from someone who had become an overnight billionaire after a lengthy period of sitting around on his ass playing video games?

���I won���t hold my breath,��� I said, trying hard not to hold a grudge because I had to bust my ass to make it all hold together and he could still sit on his ass all day if he wanted.

���Max needs something I can���t help him with. He���s doing bad in school, and he keeps acting out. Disciplining him is making it worse. My mother is at her wit���s end with him, and I think she regrets us moving back home with her. She never gets a break.���

���Was Max angry you sold the house?��� It was a valid question, one I���d thought of myself before realizing that wasn���t the problem.

���No, it���s not that. But it���s getting harder and harder it seems. You know me. I barely got by in college, and book learning was never my strong suit, so there is only so much I can do.���

���You could hire someone to help. Like a tutor. A hot one. Some of those nerdy chicks with glasses are sexy.���

���Easy boy. I���ve actually thought about a housekeeper. Not a hot one, just a normal one. Not only for him but for my mother. Maybe someone who could do a bit of both. Maybe take some stress off of Mom.���

���Hire a hot one and let her take the stress off daddy.��� He gave a wicked laugh. ���Seriously, it might just be what the doctor ordered.���

���You���re impossible.��� I shook my head and laughed.

A tall man with a regal appearance and a salt-and-pepper beard approached our table. He smelled of money and wore a dark suit like someone in a spy movie.

Grady was ready for him, but I was busy chugging down the last of my beer.��

���Mr. Diallo, thanks for meeting us here,��� Grady said. ���This is my good friend, Nick Martin, owner of Martin Construction. Nick, this is Santino Diallo.���

���You���re the man who created all of this?��� Diallo asked in a thick accent as he gestured to the grandeur of the Inferno around him.

���Yes, sir,��� I said, offering him my hand. ���It���s good to meet you.���

���Call me Santino,��� he said. After a firm handshake, he pulled up a seat. ���I love what you���ve done with this place. The lights, the water features that look like fire, and not to mention the architecture of the building itself. I���m overwhelmed.���

Grady smiled at the man, and they seemed to have a pretty strong and laidback relationship already. ���I told you not to leave town until you checked it out.���

���I only wish I had more time to spend here,��� he said, still busy getting an eyeful of the place. ���The use of metal and reflection? It���s like stepping into a fire. That���s just the kind of creativity I���m searching for.�����

He seemed blown away by the aesthetics of the place, which was good because I was trying to build a reputation around just such features.

���Well, thank you, Santino. What do you have in mind?��� I was curious what kind of building the man needed. I had done so many casinos, a change would be welcome, but they were kind of my thing.

���I���m financing one of the largest hotel casinos in Monaco and I want you to build it for me.��� He certainly sounded as if he had already made up his mind.

���Santino already co-owns the world famous Palmero-Diallo hotel. He���s looking to branch out with a casino to rival all others. When he explained his concepts to me, I told him you were the contractor he needed.���

���I want it to be like an underwater paradise. I want the guests to feel like they are stepping into the ocean.�����

���That sounds like a big undertaking.��� I wasn���t sure if I could handle something else out of town.

���Oh, make no mistake,��� Santino said. ���It will be. And when it comes to budget, the sky���s the limit.���

That got my attention. ���I like the sound of that.���

���I will make no bones as I have a plane to catch,��� he said. ���I want to hire you. I haven���t found anyone else with your aesthetic concepts, and I must work with you.��� He didn���t seem like the kind of man to take no for an answer.

I nodded, liking the idea of working for someone with such deep pockets. ���I���ll think it over and be in touch.���

���That���s all I can ask.��� He passed me his card and glanced at his gold and diamond watch. And with an apologetic look, he turned his attention back to Grady. ���You never let me down, my friend. I���m so glad I came to check this out. But I���m afraid I���ve got to get back to the car. My plane awaits. Goodnight, gentlemen.�����

He got up, and after shaking our hands a final time, he left me there with Grady, feeling stunned.

���Wow,��� I said. ���That was fast.���

���Well, he kept insisting that he wouldn���t have time. But that���s how some of the best things happen in life. All at once. And let me just say, you���d be a fool not to accept. He���s going to line your pockets with gold by the time you���re done, and you won���t meet a friendlier man to do business with. Once you know him, he treats you like family.���

���What is he, some kind of mob man?��� That accent was either French or Italian.

���Not at all, but he is very powerful and wealthy. He���s worth more than I am.���

���Monaco? I���ve never been there. What state is that in? New Mexico? Florida?���

���Are you serious? Haven���t you ever heard of the Billionaires��� Playground?���

���No, is that a secret sex club or one of your high-roller cults?���

���Monaco is home to thousands of millionaires. There are over ten thousand in one square mile of the city.���

���But where?���

���Don���t you even look at a map? It���s in Europe, on the Mediterranean.��� He shook his head and laughed. ���Didn���t you get your college degree?���

���Yeah, but when it came to geography, I had Rylen do my work. I hated that class. The professor was such a dick.���

���Well, that dick might have taught you something.���

���Well, shit. I can���t go to Europe.���

���Why not? You go do this one job and you���d be set. Trust me. You can���t turn this down. You���ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life.���

���I appreciate it, but I don���t know.���

���Hey, trust me on this. You want to do business with a man like Santino Diallo. And it might just be the change you and Max need.���

He had a point. But a whole other country? It seemed a bit extreme. ���I���ll think about it.���

���Well, as Santino would say, that���s all I can ask. But dude, seriously, if you say no, I���ll never hear the end of it with him.���

I didn���t want to put him on the spot or in a lurch with his wealthy friend, but this was a lot to process.

Grady snapped his fingers as if he had just had a wonderful idea. ���I���ve got it. If you do the job, I���ll fly everyone out to celebrate when you complete the job.���

I chuckled. ���Man, seriously, all I want right now is another beer before I have to get back to the real world.��� I took another swig of beer and wished the fun could last forever.��

But that only happened to some people.

 

FAN PRICING ONLY 99��

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Happy Friday, check out book 3 in my Vegas Bad Boys!

Blurb Reveal:

I'm focused, which is a good thing and a really bad thing too.

My job has my attention. It should. I have a son to provide for.

Unfortunately, I don't have much time for the boy.

Hiring a nanny is a must after he gets into some trouble that leaves me needing extra eyes on him.

But the woman I hire is everything I want in my life and in my bed.

A job takes me overseas and I have no choice but to offer her a great opportunity to go with us.

I don't have time for family so I sure as hell don't have time for love.

Funnily enough, love didn't ask.

I'm drowning in desire around this vixen and falling for her more and more every day.

Watching her with my boy leaves me wanting so much more than a work arrangement with her.

But she's protecting herself because she can't have kids and is worried a good man won't accept that.

She's dead wrong. I'm getting her to leave that old life of condemnation and come follow me to something better.

Love. Warmth. Smoking-hot heat.

Pick Me, Handsome fan pricing ends at midnight!

You guys have loved PICK ME, HANDSOME!

Check out some of the reviews below and don't forget that FAN PRICING ends at midnight!

99�� FAN PRICING ENDS AT MIDNIGHT!

"I know I���m always going to get an entertaining read from this author. This story was fun and funny, silly and sweet, with a kick of spice to keep it interesting. It kept me laughing, it made me sigh, and in the end my heart was so happy for where Becca and Shane ended up."

"This is the first book I've read from C. Morgan and I'm very pleasantly surprised.
I really enjoyed this romance between a single mom and a secret billionaire. The main characters, Shane and Becca, were a likeable pair and there was character development throughout the story. But it were the side characters, (adorable ) Hayden and Maurice, that helped move the plotline along and were an integral part of the book. The story was full of dramatic, funny, sweet and silly moments.
I recommend this book to anyone who likes this author or likes sweet romances."

"C. Morgan did a great job on this story, Pick Me, Handsome had a strong written plot. Becca and Shane were good for each other, the connection between them was strong, they were drawn to one another, their chemistry was sexy. They were good together. I enjoyed Shane and Becca's story."

"This book was an enjoyable read.��The story was written very well and held my attention for an afternoon read.��The couple had lots of good chemistry.��I would recommend this book to others."

"An incredible story with great characters, story and perfect for fall nights. You will not want to put this one down. Another great story from this author."

Read Chapter 1 of Pick Me, Handsome

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Chapter One
Shane

One Year Ago

I pulled on my boots, tying one and then the other. It was going to be a nice day, but the early mornings were always a little chilly. I pulled on the old plaid shirt that was torn in one corner, and the sleeve on my left had a snag that was just ready to rip wide open. I grabbed my favorite ballcap that advertised the orchard and stepped outside. 

My little cabin was nestled behind some trees that were planted in a straight little row to act as a windbreak for the apple trees nestled inside the cocoon created by the towering trees on three sides. The trees also helped hold in the heat on a cold fall night when an unexpected frost hit. 

I inhaled the crisp morning air, something I didn’t think I would ever get tired of. Even when I was away at school, I missed home. Not home but the small town in northwest Maryland where I grew up. Home wasn’t exactly the word that triggered warm and fuzzy memories. But the land did. 

It was still dark out, but that didn’t stop me from getting to work. I didn’t hear the alarms go off in the orchard last night, which meant we didn’t get a freeze. A little cold weather was good for the apples, made them all the sweeter, but a freeze could devastate a crop. 

I exhaled, watching my breath blow out in a steady white cloud as I cut through the tree line and into the orchard. I heard the rumbling of an old diesel coming down the dirt road at the back of the property. I wasn’t expecting to see Maurice so early. I was usually the first one up. The pickers didn’t usually show up for another hour. It was my favorite time of the morning. It was just me and the apples. 

I walked down a row, casually inspecting the trees as I moved. I waited for Maurice to cut the loud engine before hopping out of the truck. Even if I did decide to sleep in, his loud truck would have woken me up. 

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked him. 

He pulled on his own flannel shirt, a haggard brown and red one. “I snuck out before any of them kids woke up and wanted something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “What a good dad.”

“Dammit, Shane, they had me up until midnight last night. Five kids is like herding cats. One goes down, another gets up for some stupid reason. Get that one down and another one has to pee and tell you about Minecraft or some shit. I love ‘em, but holy shit, they drive me crazy sometimes.”

“So you leave poor, sweet Millie home all by herself to deal with them?”

“All she’s gotta do is get them out the door.”

“I’m sure that’s easy,” I said sarcastically. 

“She lives for that kind of thing. Hell, she’d have twenty kids if God allowed it.”

“You would die.”

“Damn straight, I would.”

“You know, there are ways to keep that sort of thing from happening.”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Shane, do you know how babies are made?”

“Um, yeah, I think I got that covered.”

“Well, I’m not about to give up that,” he said with total seriousness. 

I chuckled, shaking my head again. “Then you better figure out how to keep from knocking up your wife. It’s been like four years since the youngest was born, right?”

“Yep. We’re on a roll. Don’t jinx me.”

I was not going to get into the subject of birth control with the man. “Fine. We’ve got the local kindergarten class coming out today. We need to make sure there are no ladders out for them to climb on. You remember what happened last year.”

He grinned. “That boy will be the talk of the town for the next ten years.”

“That boy damn near cost me the business.”

“Shoot, both of my boys have broken both their arms. One little broken arm never killed anyone. Parents are raising a bunch of sissies these days.”

“He broke his arm in two places,” I reminded him. 

He shrugged, unfazed by the facts. Maurice was old school. He was raised on the old-school ways. You wanted to teach a kid to swim, you tossed them in the deep end. Or off the dock. Whatever was available. He worked for my father for ten years before I took over the family business. He was a fixture just as much as one of the heirloom apple trees. 

“When are the little rugrats getting here?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Good. We need to check that back area. Something’s getting in there.”

“Something?” I asked, following him down the row. 

“Bugs. Not aphids. I don’t know. Damn these trees. All this organic bullshit is hell on yields. If you wanted to cheat just a little, I wouldn’t tell.”

“We’re not cheating. They are organic.”

“They are organic all right because they are a load of crap.”

I said nothing more. The organic thing was my idea. My dad had resisted, but when he saw the profits, he got on board. Slowly, the company brand became known for organic apples. I liked that we were doing something a little good. Yield was down a bit but that was to be expected. We were figuring it out. 

“We better get up front. We don’t want those kids running amuck.”

“Stun gun,” he said. “That’s what I use at home.”

I laughed, knowing he was full of shit. We strolled through the orchard, going up to the little building we used to sell direct as well as give customers a place to browse. My long legs ate up the distance. I had to remind myself to slow down for Maurice, who was a few inches shorter than me. 

“Good morning, Mr. Corden,” one of the young women who manned the front desk said with a smile. 

“Please, call me Shane. Mr. Corden was my dad. I’m just Shane.”

“Yes, Shane.”

“We have the group coming in,” I said. 

She nodded. “Yep. We have all their little goodie bags ready for when the tour is over. Are you going to give the tour?”

“Yes, even though Joan usually does the tour. I’m normally just the guy who makes sure the kids don’t climb ladders or trees or anything else.”

She gave me a knowing smile. “I believe they are bringing chaperones.”

“They need to bring prison guards,” Maurice said. “I’ve got a kid this age. They’re criminals and sneaky. They could escape Alcatraz.”

“I used to work in a daycare, so I believe you,” she said with a laugh. 

My experience with kids was next to nothing. I couldn’t imagine a little human less than half my size could possibly be that big of a problem. “Showtime,” I said when I saw the bus pulling to a stop out front. 

Maurice groaned as he followed me out the door. We stood in front of the building, waiting for the kids to get off the bus. The door slid open and an older woman got out, smiling as she looked at us. 

“Are you ready for this?” she asked at the same time a series of squeals and laughter erupted from behind her. 

“We’re ready,” I told her. 

A steady stream of pint-sized humans hopped off the bottom step. Three adults brought up the rear. My eyes were immediately drawn to the woman with long, auburn hair. She was wearing dark sunglasses and a pretty pink blouse with long sleeves and gaping shoulder cutouts. The cropped skinny jeans she had on showed off her shapely legs and dainty ankles.

She pushed up her sunglasses and looked directly at me. Apple green. That was the color of her eyes. They were beautiful, as was she. She smiled at me and it was one of those gut-punch kind of things. The kind that reached right down and squeezed my balls, sending delicious shivers of desire up and down my spine. 

“Hi,” she said in a voice that was just a touch raspy. It was sexy as hell. 

“Hi,” I said and stepped forward. “Are you the teacher?”

“I’m a teacher, but today, I’m a chaperone. Becca.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Shane and this is Maurice. We’ll be your tour guides.”

“Great. The kids are thrilled to be here.”

Maurice took charge. He pretended he didn’t like kids, but I knew otherwise. He was a natural. A little gruff but he knew how to talk to them in their limited language. We started moving through the orchard. Maurice and I talked about the different kinds of apples, and Maurice, always prepared, busted out his knife much to the excitement of the little boys in the group. 

“Who wants to try a bite?” he asked. 

Several hands shot up. He wiped an apple on his shirt before expertly cutting it into slices. Nowhere else in the country would this kind of thing fly, but here in our small town, people were more laidback. 

“Eww,” one little boy said. “It’s icky.”

I laughed. “That’s an apple you bake. I bet your mama makes apple pies with that kind of apple.”

“I thought apples were sweet,” a cute little girl said. 

I looked at her, the woman I met earlier putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Some are sweet. Some are tart.”

I didn’t have to question the genetics. It was mother and daughter. Some dude was a very lucky man. “Your mom is right. These apples are not great for eating, but they are great for baking. We’re going to go over to another stand of trees with some delicious apples. They are sweet and perfect for eating. Should we check them out?”

There were plenty of shouts of excitement. Maurice and I led the way. “That was mean,” I whispered to him. 

He chuckled. “Nah, it was teaching them the difference.”

“You knew they wouldn’t like them.”

“Now you get to be the hero.”

Every child was given the go-ahead to pick a few apples. It was like an Easter egg hunt, but instead of the kids searching the ground, they were looking up. The pretty blonde was helping another student pick an apple while her daughter struggled to get one that was just out of her reach. I knew what it was like to see an apple you just knew was going to be perfect and you couldn’t quite get it. 

“Can I help you?” I asked her. 

“I want that one,” she said and pointed up. 

I reached out and touched the apple. “This one?”

“Yes. Can you get it for me please?”

She was too cute. “Absolutely.” I plucked it and handed it to her. 

Becca looked my way and smiled. She started to walk toward me. Before she could reach me, a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. 

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. 

Scarlet was charging at me like a bull seeing red. Her red hair was flying out behind her as she moved toward me. I instinctively stepped away from the kids, moving to head her off like she was a charging animal. 

“What the hell did you do?” she snarled. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You think this is going to work? No, this is mine! You don’t get to cut me out of everything!”

“Leave, Scarlet. You get nothing.”

“We’ll just see about that,” she hissed. 

I glanced over my shoulder and noticed the kids and chaperones watching us. I didn’t dare lay a hand on Scarlet, but damn if I was going to let her make a scene in front of everyone. I used my larger body to block her forward progress. “Get out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing.”

“Don’t pretend you give a damn what those little brats hear,” she spat. “I want my money!”

“You don’t have any money here. You already got all you are going to get. Leave.”

“By this time next month, I will own this place. I’m going to turn these trees into wood chips and build something worth having!”

I smirked. “Yeah, you do that. There was a reason he didn’t leave you shit, you dirty little gold digger. Now get the hell out of here before I make your life miserable.”

“I’ll be back,” she shot back. 

“Just like a bad rash, Scarlet.”

I escorted her all the way to the employee parking lot and watched her get into the red Porsche my father had bought for her. She got to keep that damn thing. She should be happy with that. I walked into the office/reception building to check on things. Scarlet was worse than a tornado. When she came in, she always caused a ruckus. 

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. I tried to stop her.”

“It’s fine. There’s no stopping a charging bull.”

I walked out in time to see the kids climbing back into the bus. I saw the back of the auburn’s head and that was that.