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)
Evangeline, who looks naturally goth with her dark hair and eyes, creamy fair skin, and lithe frame, walks toward us, looking us over. We’re arranged by height, the shortest of us on each end, and the tallest in the middle.
“Emily, try not to look like you’d rather be anywhere but here,” Evangeline chides, “and Ariel, you’re slouching.”
I breathe in and pull my shoulders back.
“Better. Remember, you’re meeting a potential husband, not waiting for a hayride.” She steps away from me. “June, perfect as always.”
Perfect as always. Of course she’s perfect. She’s a professional model. A professional lingerie model, with honey blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect proportions. She’s not the most beautiful, though. That title goes to Dr. Ginger Swanson, the dermatologist, whose oval face, strawberries-and-cream blush, long dark hair, green eyes, and gorgeous curves scream 1940s pinup girl.
Me? I’m Ariel, the hayseed mermaid.
“Misty”—Evangeline pulls a tissue out of her black leather and chrome studded evening bag—“you’ve got lipstick on your teeth.”
Misty Holmes—she’s the heiress; her father is Barker Holmes of the Holmes hotel empire—bares her teeth while Evangeline wipes away the red smudges and then continues down our line, pointing out deficiencies, until she reaches for her phone.
“They’re coming!” She smiles. “You know what to do.”
Yes.
Shoulders back.
Hips forward.
Right foot slightly in front of left.
Seductive smile, no teeth.
Soft music from a real string quartet playing on the large terrace wafts through the air. The light tropical breeze brings with it the aroma of roast pork, the centerpiece of the spread already laid out for us to nosh on later as we mingle with the men.
I focus my gaze on the vibrant greenery, bright exotic flowers, and tall palm trees swaying in the warm, gentle breeze, and in the distance, the private white sand beach and sparkling blue ocean.
Still, my breath catches and excitement races through me. I’ve come to paradise to meet four billionaires. Not one of them will give me a glance, of course, but at least I’ve made some awesome memories, eaten some delicious food, even made a friend—sort of—in Emily. Not bad for a roller waitress from Alabama.
The French doors behind us click open.
Shoulders back.
Hips forward.
Right leg extended slightly.
Damn. Why can’t I open my mouth? I need to suck in a breath.
Because though I’ve seen photos and videos, these men are even more spectacular in person.
River Barrett, the rancher, holds a black cowboy hat in muscular hands. His hair is dark and wavy, his eyes intense and brown, and the way his dark blue jeans hug his thighs draws my gaze, making me want to squirm, until I have to force myself to look at the next man.
Brett Dawson is an entrepreneur who devised some software something or other that I guess revolutionized remote business. Whatever. What I care about is his sun-bleached blond hair that reminds me of a California surfer boy. His navy suit brings out his blue eyes that are the color of the clearest summer day back home. He’s the only one who wears a tie, and he loosens it as he gazes at us one by one.
Alex Maxwell doesn’t look like a bestselling author, although I guess I’ve never met a real author before. He’s got brown hair, hazel eyes, and he’s wearing a black blazer, black pants, and a white shirt, but it’s the no tie that gets me. I love a man in a suit with his shirt open and no tie. A flutter ripples through my belly.
Sebastian Tate, the rock star, wears faded jeans and a black shirt. His long brown hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and his amber eyes are long lashed and smoldering. My heart pounds. This guy is famous. Really freaking famous, and he’s here—he and his three equally gorgeous friends.
I close my eyes without meaning to and inhale a deep breath. I need to get a grip. Evangeline provided our bios to the men, so there won’t be any formal introductions. Still, my nerves are skittering. I’m sure all four of them will flock to Juniper or Ginger, but intense heat rakes along my body.
Maybe.
Just maybe one of them will talk to me... Give me more than just a toe-curling look...
I prepare to open my eyes when a deep voice sings into my soul.
“Would you like to join me for a drink, Ariel?
2
Blunt Emily
Emily
“What the hell?” Misty Holmes, the hotel heiress, says to me, glancing toward Ariel. “He’s going for her?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” I ask. “She’s lovely, really. Different, yes, but lovely.”
Misty scoffs, tossing her light blond hair. “Evangeline was desperate. She had another woman lined up, but she dropped out at the last minute. Is this the first pretty girl she could find? You and I both know she’s a poor man’s substitute.”
“That’s rubbish.” I glance around. “You’re just jealous, though for the life of me I don’t understand why. You don’t need to marry for money, so why are you even here?”