Very Bad Billionaires by Alyse Zaftig, Meg Watson, Marie Carnay, Alyssa Alpha, Cassandra Dee, Layla Wilcox, Morgan Black, Molly Molloy, Holly Stone, Misha Carver
Authors: Alyse Zaftig, Meg Watson, Marie Carnay, Alyssa Alpha, Cassandra Dee, Layla Wilcox, Morgan Black, Molly Molloy, Holly Stone, Misha Carver
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something over the phone, but I've already cut the line and torn the article to pieces, paying special attention to the photo of Kaiden.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid fucker!" I scream loudly, stomping around my bedroom loudly and groaning as I imagine my super strict father reading that article. I want to sink five feet down in the ground, but that's not about to happen.
Not until I'm finished with a certain Kaiden Hunter .
Even though I'm fuming angry, I know full well I can't just storm out of the apartment. I'm sure there are a bunch of paparazzi waiting for me, and I'm not about to be photographed in a state of disarray, especially not courtesy of Hunter.
I get ready in a rush, but with my usual carefulness. I pick out an outfit put together by my stylist (if anyone asks, I don't have one. And if you tell, I will cut your fingers off one by one. I'm serious) and add my signature scent, Chanel Chance.
Throwing on some dainty jewelry and doing my hair and makeup, I check out my appearance in the mirror.
With my bedroom waves - which actually take half an hour to create - my striped top and A-line black mini, I look like a Parisian. After a short thought, I apply some red lipstick and throw on my tortoiseshell cat-eye sunglasses.
I chose some red pumps, grab my Chanel bag and am out of the door in a hurry.
Don't mind the fact it took me an hour and a half to get ready.
Emmalee keeps calling me, so I finally answer, needing Hunter's address anyway. From the way her voice sounds when she gives it to me, I'm pretty certain she slept with him, which is the reason why she recites the address to me immediately.
I love Emma, but she's such a slut. For a quiet girl, she sure gets around a lot.
Indeed, there's a flurry of photographers waiting for me, and they take a few snaps as I jump in a cab. I didn't have time to call my driver, so I scoot on the edge of the seat in the car, but not before wiping it with a baby wipe.
The cab driver gives me a look in the rearview mirror, which I promptly ignore, but he's obviously one for conversation. "Dressed to kill," he whistles, and I roll my eyes.
He keeps chattering about something or other, which goes on and on and on for half an hour before we make it to Brooklyn. Who even lives in Brooklyn?
I pay the driver handsomely, and he thanks me profusely, which I wave off. I stand in front of Hunter's apartment building for a while, getting ready to pull his heart out through his throat.
Then, finally, I set out inside, flash a smile at the doorman, who even walks me to Hunter's door and take a deep breath before pressing the doorbell with purpose.
"Coming," he calls groggily from the inside, but I don't let go of the doorbell.
"For fuck's sake, would you just ..." He starts unlocking the door, grumbling something under his breath, and I cross my arms in front of me, tapping my foot impatiently.
He opens the door finally, and he's shirtless.
I gawk. Fuck, I admit I do, because he's like a marble statue. Delicious.
"Eyes up here, princess," he says with a smirk, and I raise my flushed cheeks to his face. He's wearing jeans, low-slung on his hips, and that perpetual fucking smirk that makes me crazy, as much as I don't want to admit it.
"Well well well," he says, grinning widely and crossing his arms in front of his body, mimicking me. But he makes sure to flex to show off his muscles, the jerk. "What a nice surprise this is!"
Chapter 4
FRANCESCA
I curse out loud and shove him to the side, walking into his flat, steam probably rising off of my skin.
Oh, wait. That's his skin, because apparently he just got out of the shower. There's a shower on the floor and his hair is soaking wet. There are even a few droplets of water on his chest.
Yum.
No! Not yum.
"I take it you saw the article," he says lazily, strolling inside after me and closing the door after he enters.
"You bet your ass I saw it," I scream out loud, not caring about my tone or my volume. He raises his hands
"Stupid, stupid, stupid fucker!" I scream loudly, stomping around my bedroom loudly and groaning as I imagine my super strict father reading that article. I want to sink five feet down in the ground, but that's not about to happen.
Not until I'm finished with a certain Kaiden Hunter .
Even though I'm fuming angry, I know full well I can't just storm out of the apartment. I'm sure there are a bunch of paparazzi waiting for me, and I'm not about to be photographed in a state of disarray, especially not courtesy of Hunter.
I get ready in a rush, but with my usual carefulness. I pick out an outfit put together by my stylist (if anyone asks, I don't have one. And if you tell, I will cut your fingers off one by one. I'm serious) and add my signature scent, Chanel Chance.
Throwing on some dainty jewelry and doing my hair and makeup, I check out my appearance in the mirror.
With my bedroom waves - which actually take half an hour to create - my striped top and A-line black mini, I look like a Parisian. After a short thought, I apply some red lipstick and throw on my tortoiseshell cat-eye sunglasses.
I chose some red pumps, grab my Chanel bag and am out of the door in a hurry.
Don't mind the fact it took me an hour and a half to get ready.
Emmalee keeps calling me, so I finally answer, needing Hunter's address anyway. From the way her voice sounds when she gives it to me, I'm pretty certain she slept with him, which is the reason why she recites the address to me immediately.
I love Emma, but she's such a slut. For a quiet girl, she sure gets around a lot.
Indeed, there's a flurry of photographers waiting for me, and they take a few snaps as I jump in a cab. I didn't have time to call my driver, so I scoot on the edge of the seat in the car, but not before wiping it with a baby wipe.
The cab driver gives me a look in the rearview mirror, which I promptly ignore, but he's obviously one for conversation. "Dressed to kill," he whistles, and I roll my eyes.
He keeps chattering about something or other, which goes on and on and on for half an hour before we make it to Brooklyn. Who even lives in Brooklyn?
I pay the driver handsomely, and he thanks me profusely, which I wave off. I stand in front of Hunter's apartment building for a while, getting ready to pull his heart out through his throat.
Then, finally, I set out inside, flash a smile at the doorman, who even walks me to Hunter's door and take a deep breath before pressing the doorbell with purpose.
"Coming," he calls groggily from the inside, but I don't let go of the doorbell.
"For fuck's sake, would you just ..." He starts unlocking the door, grumbling something under his breath, and I cross my arms in front of me, tapping my foot impatiently.
He opens the door finally, and he's shirtless.
I gawk. Fuck, I admit I do, because he's like a marble statue. Delicious.
"Eyes up here, princess," he says with a smirk, and I raise my flushed cheeks to his face. He's wearing jeans, low-slung on his hips, and that perpetual fucking smirk that makes me crazy, as much as I don't want to admit it.
"Well well well," he says, grinning widely and crossing his arms in front of his body, mimicking me. But he makes sure to flex to show off his muscles, the jerk. "What a nice surprise this is!"
Chapter 4
FRANCESCA
I curse out loud and shove him to the side, walking into his flat, steam probably rising off of my skin.
Oh, wait. That's his skin, because apparently he just got out of the shower. There's a shower on the floor and his hair is soaking wet. There are even a few droplets of water on his chest.
Yum.
No! Not yum.
"I take it you saw the article," he says lazily, strolling inside after me and closing the door after he enters.
"You bet your ass I saw it," I scream out loud, not caring about my tone or my volume. He raises his hands
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