Pride and Papercuts – The Austens Read Online Staci Hart

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Pride and Papercuts - The Austens

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Staci Hart

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B0867LQVK4
Book Information:

Hate is a strong word.
Depending on the company, loathe is a good substitute. Abhor might be a little fancy, but it gets the job done. But the word that really sums up how I feel about Liam Darcy is, without question, hate.
He doesn’t seem to think much of me either. The second he lays his fault-seeking eyes on me, he sets out to oppose me. Everything about him is imposing, as if he consumes the nearby air to power the rise and fall of his broad chest, and it’s clear he resents my presence on his advertising team. Every idea I have is shot down. Every olive branch I offer is set on fire by nothing more than the blistering coals he calls eyes.
In return, I light him up with my words. It’s not as if he can dismiss me, since I work for his client, Wasted Words. Instead, he’s forced to tolerate me, which seems the closest we’ll ever be to friends. Fine by me.
I can be civil and still hate Liam Darcy.
But if there’s more to him than his exterior shows, I won’t be able to hate him at all.
I might stumble over that line between love and hate and fall right into his arms.
Books by Author:

Staci Hart



1

Loincloths and Leather

LANEY

“How about Find-a-Fabio?” Cam asked, pulling a highlighted blond Fabio wig from the box.

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Fabio-and-Seek.”

“Where’s Fabio just doesn’t have a ring to it for a themed party. What about Hide-and-Go-Fabio?”

When I giggled again, she shrugged.

“I can’t believe we actually got the Fabio to come to Wasted Words. When he gets here and we make people find him in a sea of Fabio wigs, it’s going to be a riot. Let’s make sure we’ve got a good freaking seat for that.” She tugged on her wig and adjusted it blindly. “Is it straight?”

“Here,” I said, fixing it. “How’s mine?”

“You look absolutely ridiculous. So … perfect.”

I picked up one of the two giant boxes of wigs and headed toward the front of the bookstore with Cam in my wake.

When I’d started working at Wasted Words last year, the massive book bar instantly became one of my favorite places on the planet. My twin brother, Jett, was a manager here, and after talking it up for years, I jumped at the chance to run the social marketing here when presented the chance.

Cam and I had become best friends within five minutes.

She was a tiny thing with big glasses that somehow managed to look cool despite their size. Like most people, I found Cam impossible not to like—her propensity to make me laugh until my stomach stitched was a big factor. That she was technically my boss added to the appeal of the job exponentially. The access to all the books I could possibly read tipped it into Best Job Ever status.

“Think anyone will refuse to wear one?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the box of wigs.

“No wig, no entry.”

“Even for the ad execs?” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the invasion of the ad executives who’d been brought in to manage the national expansion of Wasted Words put my job in a precarious position. Why use me when they had one of the biggest ad firms in New York on the payroll? If I didn’t end up phased out at some point, it’d be due to loyalty alone.

She snorted. “Especially the ad execs. If I don’t see Liam Darcy in a Fabio wig tonight, I might shrivel up and die. But I bet you ten bucks he refuses.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“He has the bone structure of Adonis and the personality of Adonis’s marble representation in the Met. Darcy is the owner’s buddy. Plus, their ad agency is a BFD.”

“A BFD?”

“A Big Fucking Deal. Darcy I could do without, but his sister is a goddamn delight. Is it weird that I want to be her best friend?”

“For you? Not even a little. You asked her already to be your best friend, didn’t you?”

“Just because I asked you to marry me within the first four seconds of meeting you doesn’t mean I asked her too.”

I shot a look at her over my shoulder.

“Well, why’d you ask if you already knew?” she defended. “I can’t help it, Laney. This is just who I am as a person.”

“I’m trying not to be jealous, but you’re not making it easy.”

“Don’t worry,” she said on a laugh. “You’ll always be my number two.”

“I’d ask you to call me your deuce, but that’s not any less shitty.”

That earned me a full-blown cackle. “Sorry to imply that you, one of my favorite people, are excrement. I have a toddler. Everything seems to come back to poop talk these days.”

I dropped the box on the table at the door, where one of the cashiers, Ruby, started sifting through it.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re going to meet them, since you’ll be working with them,” she said. “You’ll fit right in, I’m sure—so long as it’s not up to Liam Darcy. But he’ll warm up once he sees what you can do.”

“You make it sound like he’s going to oppose me.”

Cam’s dark brow rose with one side of her smile. “Don’t take it personal. I’m pretty sure Liam opposes everybody.”

“That’s comforting,” I deadpanned.

Cam addressed Ruby with the fire-engine red hair behind the table, “Free drink tickets to any guy who takes his shirt off. Fabio Freebies!”

“Even the chubby ones?” Ruby asked hesitantly.

“Especially the chubby ones. In fact, give those guys two for being good sports.”

“You got it, boss,” Ruby answered on a laugh, and we headed toward the bar, where several of our hottest bartenders were prepping for the crowd.

And what a mighty sight that was to behold.

Three gigantic, shirtless men in middle-parted, flowing blond wigs worked behind the bar, carrying ice buckets and loading liquor onto the shelves. Beau walked up with a crate of bottled beers wearing little more than a loincloth and a leather strap across his outrageous chest. Harrison dumped ice into the well in a pair of leather pants. That was it. Leather pants and combat boots, his pecs that outrageous shape that was not quite round, not quite square, but some strange in-between that made your fingers itch. Greg had donned a billowing pirate shirt, unbuttoned to the belt of his very tight, very black flat-fronted Victorian-looking trousers.

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