Try and Play Me, Boy (The Playgirls #2) (6 page)

I hope you liked that one!

Next, you'll have The Brat,

Standalone, ready on pre order.

The brat, extract.

Ten Years ago.

“You’ll end up with that girl,” Pops told him.

Shane forced his gaze away from the swimming pool where his baby sister and her friends were making a fool of themselves.

They'd always held these parties, but the previous year and the year before that, the girls had been flat chested and wearing braces. Now, they were little ladies. Strange.

“Mhh?”

“That girl,” the old man said, pointing towards the silly brunette with out of control curls, currently perched on top of a picnic table, an air guitar in hand, rocking it in front of her entire class.

Brooke – or Runt, as he liked to call her, since it infuriated her.

Shane turned to his grandfather, concerned. Was he alright? Had he fallen head first on the concrete floor within the last thirty seconds? Even if it hadn't been for the ring he’d reserved for Fiona, there was no way – no way in hell - he'd ever end up with someone as… What was the word?

She wasn't unrefined. He'd seen her dress up for prom and the girl was pretty – gorgeous, for a kid. That was, until she opened that big mouth of hers.

Then, she just turned back to a silly brat.

Description:

Shane has a plan in mind, revolving around the welfare of his business, and Brooke isn't part of it.

Three years ago, he learnt everything he ever wished to know about women, now he has one use for them; but then, Brooke comes back to town.

Ten years ago, Brooke's reason of breathing used to be annoying the hell out of her brother and his best friend, Shane. She's back in town and while college has made her a teeny, tiny bit more mature, she just can't resist raising their blood pressure.

Then, of course, Emma’s Playgirl story:

She was going to beat him, today; she was sure of it. Three accounts. She’d banked three accounts in one week – there was no way he could possibly have done any better.

“Just get it over with and bang him already.”

Emma chose to ignore that; the first hundred times, she’d bothered arguing that her absolute need to beat Kane Colburn had nothing to do with sexual tension. If she’d felt an unbearable attraction to him, she would have screwed him to get him out of her system. No, she needed to do better than him because he’d been an absolute ass to her since day one.

If he was a misogynist pig to every single woman in the company, she might have forgiven him; but no, Kane was
nice
to anyone else.

To her…

She recalled her first day. Emma was a confident, self-assured woman, but anyone would have been intimidated, had they been hired right out of school by Colburn Industries. She didn’t show it, but inside, she was shaking.

She’d waited at the front desk, a cold coffee on her lap, wondering why the checks were taking so long. Did they find anything amiss? Where they going to come out and say “Sorry, we made a mistake, you wouldn’t do, after all.”

It wasn’t likely, she hadn’t lied at all on her CV. She had been valedictorian in high school, had finished college top of her year, with a double major, and the company she’d interned for had offered her a permanent position.

But she was also twenty-three, and starting up with a salary approaching a six figure at her age had been on the surrealistic side.

“You’re new?”

She’d looked up and for one moment, everything disappeared – the tension, the doubts.

She’d done her homework, so she knew who that was. Kane, the Colburn who instead of bothering with college had taken over a failing part of the family business straight out of high school; he’d turned it into gold dust within three years; now, the competition was buying into them. 

No homework had prepared her for what he actually looked like. The photographers should be shot for making him seem average on the company website; he was anything but.

He was tall and muscular, with broad shoulders she could see under the grey suit. His hair was neatly combed and parted on the side, but she could imagined there would be a little wave to it, if he’d left it alone. His green eyes, under the rectangular glasses, were piercing.

He was hot.

She frowned; a hot boss hadn’t been part of the plan. She’d fully intended to end up on top of any company she worked, but she also had a policy about always having sex with people she found attractive; that would be a problem. Fucking the boss wasn’t very wise – if she got ahead, people would assume it was because of all the extra hours she’d spent screaming his name. 

Thankfully, he was also an asshole, as he proved three seconds later:

“I take my coffee black, no sugar. Bring it at nine and three and I might overlook other defaults.”

What the ever freaking hell. Yeah, she’d gone to school to serve coffee to a dickhead.

Needless to say, she hadn’t serve him one in the three years since she’d started; even when she’d needed to stretch her leg and had brought the rest of her team a round of fresh drinks. He couldn’t say a thing, as there had been no
shortcomings
to make up for.

She also hadn’t screwed him; that particular attraction had died when he’d open his mouth.

Or rather, she got very good at ignoring it.

Emma didn’t want to beat him only because he was unbearable, though; the thing was, Kane was very good at his job. Doing better than him – if only once – meant she could stand a chance to get the next promotion.

Emma entered the meeting room and immediately saw that there was something ultimately wrong with it.

The chair dominating the oval table was empty.

It had never been empty.

Never.

Even when it fell during his rare holidays, he popped in to attend to the weekly reports.

The teamleaders tried to run the show, but no one was into it; after hearing their half-hearted attempt at establishing some sort of authority for a full five minutes, Emma held up her hand to seem polite, and asked:

“Where is he?”

No one asked who she meant; most people knew she never pronounced his name if she could help it. 

“Kane has a cold.”

That was a lie. No cold would have kept him from the office. He was dead, there was no other possibility.

“A
cold?
”

“Yes, Ms. Summers. It does happen this time of the year.”

Every single member of staff – her included – had caught a bug at least once a year, save for Kane; which was one of the reason she’d come to suspect he was some sort of android.

“And he’s taken some time off because of it?”

“I believe you’ll find that his mother made him.”

That did make her chuckle. Yeah, she could totally see that.

Gia Colburn was a goddess; fierce, still beautiful, and very protective of her brew. 

She’d been an actress in her youth – of all things – but after her marriage to Harry Colburn, she’d gone to school for business and became her husband’s partner in every sense.

Thirty years later, Harry had retired, leaving the running of his empire to his very efficient wife.

She was the one who had recruited Emma; she’d been present at the graduation and had offered her an interview after hearing her presentation.

Emma had tried to rationalize things, to tell herself that she’d completely deserved it – her hard work was bound to pay off. But all that bullshit asides, Gia Colburn was the one and only person who had looked at her and decided she wanted to take a chance on her. That mattered.

“Laugh while you can, Summers. Mrs Colburn has given another set of orders, and you might not like them.”

“Let me guess, he beat you by one contract?”

She’d met Lucy and Alice at their usual bar right after work and immediately downed a Gin Tonic.

She’d used to like a classic Hendrix with cucumber, but it had become everyone’s drink since Fifty Shades, and Emma was no follower; she’d changed to Plymouth, and had discovered that it was pointblank delicious with a zest of grapefruit. 

She shook her head.

“No. We tied.”

That would have meant champagne, in other circumstances.

“Seriously? That’s great, Ems!”

“We tied,” she repeated. “Although he stopped working Thursday morning, because he caught a
cold
.”

Which meant that he would have been one or two contract ahead, as per freaking usual. 

But it wasn’t the worst thing – oh no.

The worst was that bloody Kane Colburn had asked his mummy to give his eight pending contracts to her. Which meant that she’d be ahead for months, thanks to his
generosity.
Prick.

She couldn’t say no – there was no reasonable request coming from Gia that she could imagine turning down – but she knew what it meant for her career. Another year of being a junior seller.

She couldn’t present her sales and say “see how good I am, give me a payrise” if
eight
– what most people at the office made in a couple of months – had been the fruit of someone else’s work. Some people went ahead that way, but not her.

Double Prick.

Alice was a writer and Lucy, a photographer, so they didn’t always get the ins and outs of her job, but she explained the grand lines, emphasizing on how Kane had screwed her up while seeming ever so generous to everyone else.

“Fuck. That man is good. Why do you think he hates you so much?”

“Because he knows I can do his job.”

It was the most logical guess, but Emma had never got it. If she’d been
better
than him, she’d understood why he felt threatened, but she had to admit: she was a step under him.

“What are you going to do?”

She signaled the barman for another round and took the last sip of her drink before responding:

“I’m going to screw him. Hard.”

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You like other genres? Try out:

Cinderella

A little siren

Rise

The King needs an heir and that means finding some sort of woman to do the job;

“That’s all it’s about, ultimately: basic, carnal compatibility in order to satisfy this need. For that reason, the pictures I request of those who wish to apply are explicit. If you aren’t comfortable with these demands, don’t bother applying.”

Ella applies, seeing straight through the bullshit; she goes as far as derisively add a set of pictures fitting the requirements the letter demands:

A picture of her "pussy" - a fat, indolent Persian - and of her in her nightwear - yoga pants and a hoodie.

In lieu of an introduction, her message reads:

« Dear Daniel Franko Phillipe Del Luz,

I’ve applied to guarantee that I’m not summoned to your little orgy.

Fuck you. We aren’t all stupid.

Ella. »

She didn't expect anyone to read it...

Let alone the King.