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12 inches might make you sigh.
Mason, Derek, and Parker.
Until we meet Cara.
She’s something else entirely.
There’s forces looking to destroy us.
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Hot and bothered.
That describes the state I’m in right now. With my Cradle in one hand, I purse my lips as my eyes dance over the words on the screen. Shutting my legs, I start breathing harder as I feel a warmness spread from between my legs to the rest of my body.
“We’re here, Miss.”
I know I shouldn’t spend my time reading books like this, especially when there’s so much going on at work, but I simply can’t help it. A word of warning—if you ever find yourself about to buy one of Abby’s books, run in the opposite direction. Throw your laptop away. Break your credit card in half. I don’t care what you do, just don’t buy it.
If, despite what I’ve just told you, you insist on it… Well, get ready to see your laundry bill grow. You’ll start spending a lot more on underwear. And don’t be surprised if you start thinking of hot men burning with lust for you 24/7.
“Miss? Are you listening to me?”
I wish I could spend all day reading Abby’s books, but unfortunately, being wet doesn’t pay the bills. Okay, just one more chapter of 24 Inches and I’ll shut my Cradle off. I promise. Just one more and —
Sitting up straight, I finally peel my eyes off the Cradle and stare at the taxi driver. He’s turned on his seat, one arm draped around the headrest, and he looks like he’s pissed.
“Oh,” I whisper, realizing the taxi has already stopped in front of my office building. How long have we been here for? “I’m sorry!” I tell the driver in a single breath, stuffing my Cradle inside my purse and feeling my cheeks warming with embarrassment. I can’t believe I was reading 24 Inches and probably smiling like a horny idiot while the driver was waiting for me to get out of his car.
Pushing two folded ten dollar bills into his hands, I get out of the car and breathe in the cool New York morning air. Autumn’s just around the corner, and you can already feel its breeze sweeping through the crowded streets of the city. Soon enough Central Park is going to be covered in a scarlet blanket of broken leaves, and I can barely wait to go through my wardrobe and prepare for it.
“Oh, crap,” I mutter as I take one quick look at the watch on my wrist. I pop a gum into my mouth, close my eyes for a second, and ready myself for Sienna’s sermon; it’s already 9:10 am, which means I’m late. Sienna never really cared much about tardiness, but lately I get the feeling that she’s just looking for an opportunity to fire my ass. I know I should feel bad about it, but just between you and I, I don’t even care if she fires me.
I always dreamt of becoming an author, and when I landed a job working for Sienna Sinner, an up-and-coming romance writer, I was more than thrilled. She put me in charge of her Advance Review Copy (or ARC for short) team, and my job is to make sure that I get early copies into the hands of her adoring fans … of which there are none. Sure, there are always a lot of people who want to get their hands on a free book, but true fans? Yeah, Sienna doesn’t have many of them.
Her writing is dry and stilted, and her books have been dropping off the charts fast. She probably blames it on me, but what can I do? I’ve been working for her ever since I left college, and I always worked as hard as possible to make sure her books succeeded, but I’m not the one writing them, you know? She doesn’t have that Abby flair, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Back when she started writing, she had a few bestsellers … but nowadays her books have been tanking hard. She bitches about it every single day, telling me I’m not doing my job properly, and I even had to take a paycut (and let me tell you, my salary wasn’t that hot to begin with).
“You should quit and punch that bitch in the face,” my roommate always tells me. Jenna is just like that; she doesn’t beat around the bush, and she’s as protective of me as anyone I’ve ever met. Too bad that I need the money to pay the rent. Jenna told me she would float me for as long as I needed to, but I don’t really want to burden her. I want to pull my own weight, you know?
Rushing my way toward the office building, I let my high heels tap against the pavement harshly as I sling my purse over my shoulder. Inside the old building, I hurry up the worn stairs, the wood creaking underneath my feet. Despite having her offices in midtown Manhattan, the building they’re in is a throwback to an older era, one where men wore hats to work and kept a bottle of whisky inside their desk drawers.