Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“You married?” she asked.
“Hell, no. If I had a husband, I wouldn’t be working this shitty job.”
“Oh?”
“Of course not. Any boy I marry has to be rich.”
She cocked her head, raked her gaze down my body, and then back up again. “You’re perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“You want to marry a rich boy? How about a rich man? How about a billionaire?”
I nearly dropped the tray before I got it latched to her car.
“I asked if you want to marry a billionaire,” she said. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
I narrowed my eyes at the classy woman who clearly wasn’t from around here. “Yeah. You can use the app on your phone to pay, or we take credit, debit, or cash.”
“I guess you’re not serious about wanting to marry that rich boy.” She let out a laugh that sounded just like she looked—judgy and rich.
“Oh, I’m serious about marrying money. I just wasn’t born yesterday.”
I skated away, but Evangeline—I didn’t know her name yet—got out of her car, followed me into the diner, and made me an offer I’d have been an idiot to refuse.
Two days later, I arrived here—on Billionaire Island, as we call it.
That was two weeks ago. Since then, I’ve learned all about Evangeline and the whirlwind adventure that sounded way too good to be true when I had skates on my feet and red Alabama dust in my hair. This isn’t a reality show. No cameras, no videos. Billionaire Island is a life-changing opportunity for the right women. Too bad I won’t be one of the “right” ones. But that didn’t stop me from accepting the all-expenses paid trip, the free wardrobe, and the high-class makeover.
Now I’m wearing clothes that aren’t mine, my hair is a color that looks way more natural on me than what I got from Mama, and I’m lined up with a dozen other girls like a wannabe in the Miss Alabama pageant. Today’s the day. The billionaires have arrived.
Evangeline briefed us on the men we’re here to meet.
River Barrett, a rancher.
Brett Dawson, an entrepreneur.
Sebastian Tate, a rock star.
Alex Maxwell, a bestselling author.
Sebastian Tate is the only one I’d heard of before coming here. I don’t run in billionaire circles, obviously, and though I’m more of a country music fan, everyone knows who he is. I don’t know anything about ranching or business, and I can’t recall the last time I’ve read anything other than Cosmopolitan. We’ve been briefed on all of them, though—their hobbies, their likes, their dislikes, what they’re looking for in a woman, pretty much everything except their freaking dick sizes, which frankly would be nice to know.
They’re all rich and gorgeous, so why do they want to meet women this way? Of course, I got a free vacation and an amazing designer wardrobe out of it so I’m not complaining.
No way will I snag one of them, though. Not with Juniper Loring and Emily Kensington standing on either side of me. June is a lingerie model from Manhattan, and Emily is a fashion designer from London. We’ve also got an attorney, a hair stylist, an heiress—why she needs to marry a billionaire is beyond me—a dermatologist, and a physicist.
Yes, a physicist. Seriously.
We’re a virtual who’s who of smart and gorgeous women with impressive resumés.
Until you get to me, that is.
Ariel Tanner, a roller waitress who left school at sixteen and whose mother named her after a cartoon character.
Evangeline added auburn highlights to my light brown hair, and this skin-tight mini-dress is a rich, exotic teal—just like the waters outside the palatial mansion where we’ve been staying. Add a sequined tail, and I’ll be true to my name.
The eight of us—yes, there are eight women for only four men—stand in a row outside the back of the mansion, facing the large courtyard.
“Ladies”—Evangeline raises her hands—“the gentlemen will be here shortly! Let’s prepare to give them a welcome!”
I strike the pose I’ve been practicing thanks to Evangeline’s constant corrections—shoulders back, hips forward, right foot out, seductive smile. For some of the girls, smiling means showing a little bit of teeth. For me it means lips only, curved slightly upward.
“Your lips are so hot even I want to kiss you,” Evangeline told me. “Use them to your advantage.”
All eight of us are on display—a smorgasbord of tits and ass. At least I can compete with the others in that department.
But what billionaire is going to want just tits and ass when he can have tits, ass, beauty, and brains?
“For the love of God,” Emily says under her breath. “Let’s get on with it already.”
I stifle a chuckle. Of all the women here, Emily is the one I like the most. She’s always got something to say. We have that in common.
I don’t dare reply, though I’m thinking the same thing. When Evangeline told us to get into position, I figured the men would be here in a minute or two. My nerves are doing a line dance under my skin.