by Avery Aster
Drew frowned. “I guess it never dawned on me before but I always thought it was strange that nobody in senior management ever gets divorced.”
“It’s not that they don’t want to,” Genevieve said grimly. “I know a few people who would just about kill for even a trial separation but they stay together for the sake of their careers and the excellent salaries Stewart pays them.”
“Wow.” Drew shook his head, thinking of the murderous glares he’d seen Dan and Nancy Clarksburg shooting each other over the buffet line at the party downstairs. “I guess the media would have a field day if the Spiritual Soul Mates staff started calling it quits.”
“Exactly.” Genevieve sighed. “Unfortunately for me, my husband—ex-husband I should say—didn’t give a damn about my career. He has an extremely lucrative law practice of his own so he didn’t need my income to get by.”
She shook her head and started pacing, her heels making no sound on the plush carpeting.
“We were headed downhill for a long time but I didn’t feel I had time for counseling and assumed that I could fix my problems on my own. Unfortunately, my husband decided that…”
She cleared her throat and looked away. For a moment Drew thought he saw tears in her eyes again but when she spoke her voice was dry and professional.
“He left me six months ago. So now I’m in breach of contract and have been for the last half a year since I’ve been concealing it.”
Drew still couldn’t believe it. “And that’s why you’re going to lose your job? How did Stewart find out you got divorced?”
Genevieve ran a hand through her hair which was coming down from the elegant chignon she’d had it up in. Honey blonde wisps and tendrils framed her flushed face making her look much more alluring than she did by day when she wore her hair in a severe bun at the back of her head.
“He hasn’t—yet. But I’ll have no choice but to tell him tomorrow because I won that damn grand prize raffle at the stupid Christmas party tonight.”
“The Intensely Intimate Couple’s Retreat?”
Drew had always thought it was kind of cheesy for Spiritual Soul Mates to give away free trips to its own resorts as grand prizes and gifts for company wide promotions and contests. Still, the Spiritual Soul Mates facilities were supposed to be among the most luxurious in the world and he’d never heard employees that won complaining.
“Exactly.” Genevieve looked down. “And now that I don’t have a spouse to be, um, 'intensely intimate' with, the house of cards I built is about to come crashing down.”
“Make an excuse,” Drew suggested. “Tell Stewart you can’t go because your grandmother is sick or something like that.”
“I tried.” Genevieve went back around the desk and sank back down in her chair. “I went over to Stewart’s table and tried to reason with him for half an hour after the drawing tonight. But apparently he’s noticed Charles’—my ex-husband’s—absences from company functions lately. Little things like missing the Halloween party and the Christmas party—they really add up. Stewart informed me that he was very worried about my marriage and felt like Charles and I needed remedial attention. He said, and I quote, “I’ll be calling the resort personally to make sure you and Charles both sign in and are attending the sessions I recommended. And if you’re not…””
“If you’re not, what?” Drew asked, leaning forward.
Genevieve shook her head and put her head down on the desk on her clasped arms.
“He didn’t say but then, he didn’t have to,” she said, her voice muffled but understandable. “I knew what he meant—I’m as good as gone as soon as I walk through the resort doors tomorrow morning without Charles in tow.”
Despite his dislike of her, Drew hated to see her looking so down. This was the most personal information Genevieve, his cold bitch of a boss, had ever volunteered to him in all the time they’d been working together, but somehow he didn’t take joy in her pain. And he didn’t like the way she was sitting with her head down on the desk, as though she was already beaten. It was a gesture of defeat from a woman he’d thought was too tough to be hurt by anything. Why, he’d expected to have to fight her tooth and nail for that promotion and now…
Suddenly he had an idea.
“Does anyone at the resort where you won the retreat know what your ex looked like?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Genevieve looked up, rubbing her temples as though she had a headache. “No, not to my knowledge. It’s a new one we just opened up—Whispering Pines in the Blue Ridge—and the head councilor is new too. Doctor Phillips or something. Stewart is very enthusiastic about his ‘hands on’ approach to couples’ therapy but I’ve never actually met him.”
“Perfect.” Drew rubbed his hands together as the plan began to take shape. “So if nobody knows what you or your ex looks like, what’s to prevent you from taking someone else and passing them off as your husband?”
“What?” Genevieve stared at him blankly. “Are you serious? But why…who would I take?”
“Me.” Drew grinned at her.
“You?” Genevieve let out an incredulous laugh. “Absolutely not—it would never work.”
Drew was stung.
“Why not? I assume I’m not too hideously repulsive to pass as your other half?” He stood up and spread his arms, indicating his rangy but muscular six foot four frame. His inky black hair and dark blue eyes gave him a distinctive look that put him at a definite advantage with the opposite sex. Not that he thought he was God’s gift or anything but he didn’t lack for female company either.
“No, of course you’re not hideous. You’re actually quite—” Genevieve broke off abruptly and Drew could have sworn she was blushing again. But when she spoke her voice was all business. “It’s because of our age difference, Drew. I mean you’re young enough to be my…well, not my son but at least my younger brother. Who would believe we were married?”
“I would if I saw us on the street.” Drew settled himself back on the edge of her desk and grinned at her. “I’d think you were an enterprising career woman who had snapped up a slightly younger trophy husband in order to train him right from the start. Men are like dogs, you know.”
Genevieve gave him the barest hint of a grin.
“Why? Because you have to smack them with a rolled up newspaper to make them mind?”
“I was going to say because we liked to have our tummies scratched.” Drew gave her an innocent, wide-eyed look and then lowered his voice. “Among other things, of course.”
She looked down again, her cheeks getting considerably pinker. “All right—say people did buy us as a couple. What’s in it for you?”
Besides the right to touch my gorgeous and unobtainable boss without repercussions? Drew thought but didn’t say. He’d had plenty of fantasies about Genevieve in the time he worked for her and not all of them involved her being hit by a bus. But now obviously wasn’t the time to admit that. Instead he arched an eyebrow at her. “There’s a senior marketing position open and I want it.”
Genevieve frowned. “I don’t know, Drew. You think you’re ready for that?”
“I know I am—it’s what I’ve been aiming at all along. It’s one reason I’ve put up with working under you these past few years,” Drew said frankly. “You have to know you’re not the easiest boss, Genevieve.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not the easiest wife either, Drew. You might be sorry we made this deal once you realize that. But by the time we get to the resort it’ll be too late to back out.”
Drew made a beckoning motion with his hand.
“Bring it on, baby. I’ll consider it a challenge—like the Perth account you dumped on me the other day after Jared mangled it.”
Genevieve looked thoughtful.
“I supposed you did do a good job on that.”
“I made a point of it. So what do you say, are we on?”
She looked troubled. “I don’t know…I don’t like lying to Stewart.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but who gave him the right to poke his nose in your personal business? Just because you work under him doesn’t make him qualified to judge what’s best for you and your relationships.” Drew crossed his arms and frowned at her. “I put up with a lot from you, Genevieve but do you think for one minute I’d stay here if you started trying to dictate my love life?”
She frowned.
“I guess I can see your point. God, I can’t believe I’m considering this.” She looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re up for this? This retreat goes right through Christmas, you know. Don’t you want to spend it with your family?”
Drew shook his head.
“Nah—my folks have my three older sisters and all their kids to keep them busy. They won’t miss me this once.”
Genevieve still looked indecisive.
“The counseling sessions at these retreats can get pretty intense from what I’ve heard.”
Drew shrugged.
“It’s one long weekend of holding hands and looking soulfully into each other’s eyes—how bad can it be?”
Personally he probably would have pretended to be married to der Furer for a few days to get the promotion and it would be considerably easier with Genevieve. Despite being a cold bitch she was beautiful and it might be fun to see how much he could melt that icy exterior of hers before their three days and nights together were over.
Genevieve sighed and put out her hand.
“All right—deal. You pretend to be my husband at the Intimate Couples Retreat and I’ll promote you. But only because I feel you’re ready for it. Okay?”
Drew clasped her slim, cool hand in his larger one. “Deal.”
Genevieve looked into his eyes.
“I’m trusting you on this, Drew. Don’t make me sorry.”
He wasn’t sure if she was talking about the impending promotion or the fact that they were about to spend a weekend pretending to be man and wife but either way he didn’t intend to disappoint her.
“I won’t.” He squeezed her hand slightly for emphasis, holding her gaze with his own. “I promise you, Genevieve, you won’t be sorry.”
Avery Aster
(Content Warning: The abduction of a Utah virgin by two British thieves who just happen to be identical twins leads to forced submission, D/s, spanking, ménage, voyeurism, and major cray cray!)
Dumped by Europe’s hottest disc jockey, Kiki Izatt jumps into her career, taking New York society by storm. In charge of Brill Inc.’s jewelry client, Paloma Gems, she’s ready to show the industry who sparkles.
Superstar DJ Dejon had no choice but to cut ties. If Kiki blew his techno-spin cover by discovering his real intentions to hijack The Style Gala, she’d ruin his crusade to return the blood diamonds to his West African people. Dejon couldn’t go back on his word to his brother Dash, even if it meant not marrying Kiki.
When Dash Turay accidently shoots and injures Kiki while stealing Paloma’s most valuable stone, he’s taken with her. Dash wants her. He must have her! So what if Kiki is from Utah and promised her virginity to Dejon? Dash will find a way to get her in his bed, with or without Dejon’s approval.
Familiar with Sister Wives, Kiki wonders if it’s time to try her hand at Brother Husbands!
Hello, Gorgeous Reader,
OMFG! I have a free ebook for you when you join my newsletter http://www.eepurl.com/CQ665
While all of The Manhattanites novels may be read as stand-alone and an HEA for every couple, there is a returning cast of characters, such as Taddy Brill. When I wrote her virgin assistant from Utah in Unscrupulous, I shit you not, I received a gazillion emails.
Readers adored Kiki’s innocence. She brought sweetness against the ruthless divas strutting Park Avenue. My own response was something along the lines of, “WTF!?!” I never intended to pen Kiki’s romance.
Similar to many young women, who leave their hometown in pursuit of self-discovery, Kiki yearns to make her mark on the world. Indeed relatable, I had no effin’ clue how Kiki’s innocence fit into this erotic soap opera. Did you? Yet, her voice kept begging to be told, saying, “Pop my cherry, Avery Aster.”
My creative juices jonesed for a smut-tastic novel for Kiki with her current boyfriend Dejon and his hawt twin brother Dash. A ménage! While plotting this story, I’d become fascinated by Europe’s elite jewelry thieves, The Pink Panthers, known for the $105 million diamond heist in Paris at Harry Winston. Thus…Kiki’s drama began.
Just as you found Kiki in Unscrupulous, she’s at the center of another scandal, causing her to question herself and everyone around her, all in the name of love. After reading her story, be sure to add Uncensored, Vive’s romance, to your reading list. Miss Farnworth, the liquor heiress, is drying out at a tomato farm in The Hamptons.
Feels Like Forever,
Avery
[email protected]
I Love Kiki Izatt
“We sure didn’t have ‘Keep Sweet’ girls like her back home in London. I’d met Kiki Izatt online and knew in a second, she was unique. Capturing my interest with her butterscotch-blonde hair and electric blue eyes, I lost count of the number of times I…uhhh…got off staring at the tasty photos she’d sent me.
“Totally fetch!
“As she began to tell me more about herself, my suspicions grew. Perhaps this girl had been a prank, set up by my wanker of a brother, Dash. Who’d ever heard of a twenty-something, virgin Manhattanite, looking as beautiful as she did, who didn’t drink or party? Not me!
“Blimy. After we’d met and spent that weekend together at the Cannes Film Festival, the one where she’d refused to even let me see her in her knickers…I had to be with her. Two years later, I got up enough courage (and her father’s blessing) and asked her to marry me. Kiki said YES! I love you, babe.” —Dejon Turay, globetrotting disc jockey to the stars.
Perverted Fucktards
Time: Present Day
Location: Held Hostage Somewhere Stinky
Oh, my gosh. I died. I must have.
Dang that Style Gala. Who knew that job promotion was gonna be the death of me? This has to be Heaven. It sure don’t smell like a jar of Marshmallow Fluff as I’d imagined. It reeks in here. God doesn’t send virgins to Hell. Does he?
Well, God, if you’re tapping my thoughts, you cannot punish me by counting anal play, cunnilingus and a blow job as full-blown premarital sex—can you? And I only did it once.
Kiki tried to open her eyes. Wait. They were taped shut. A momentary flush of panic caught up with her brain. She attempted to call out for help. Hardly able to move her tongue, something tasting cottony stuffed her mouth.
What the…?
She went to yank out whatever was wedged between her teeth and peel the tape off her eyes, but her arms, they wouldn’t budge. No! They were tied behind her back. This isn’t real. Wake up. Her ankles felt fastened to the legs of whatever she sat on.
Awake. Kiki wasn’t dreaming. A horrific realization rocketed through every fiber of her body. She’d worked the jewelry industry’s most prestigious event, the Style Gala in Manhattan, and gotten herself abducted. Rich, black fear greeted her consciousness. As she tried to take it all in, a freakish sound stole her attention, just as someone had taken her freedom.
The metal humming sound of something being cut came from a nearby room.
Uh-oh. She’d heard that dreaded noise before, when Kiki’s older sisters had made her watch her first and last horror flick, Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Growing up conservative, her mother, Hannahette, hadn’t allowed them to see anything other than G-rated movies. At that moment, she knew why. I am not sticking around to see if that’s Leatherface making this racket.
Pressing her heels to the floor, she pushed up with her legs to hop in whatever she was attached to. Perhaps a wooden chair—that’s what it felt like under her butt.
It squeaked then slid an inch or so.
Unfamiliar with wearing platform stilettos, she had barely been able to
walk in them earlier that night from the limo to the party, let alone leap in them. Mad at herself for taking them from the Easton Essentials showroom, she’d only worn them at the request of her client, Lex Easton. Her job at Brill, Inc. was to get glam, although that day, the close-to-six-inch heel might’ve cost Kiki her life.
“Gurl, dig those Easton pumps into the linoleum, keep it movin’.” In her head, she heard her roommate, co-worker and best friend, Duckie Capri, telling her what to do. “Kick it up. Go!” Exactly what Duckie would’ve said if he’d been beside her right then.
Breasts bouncing, she scooted but came to an abrupt stop from the pain. Why did her head hurt so badly? I fell when the bullet hit me. A man in a mask…picked me up…after he shot me. Throbbing jolts of fire tore through her left shoulder, making her whimper. That’s where she’d been struck. Her entire body ached.
“She’s awake,” someone behind her shouted.
The sawing halted.
Startled, Kiki straightened. She’d heard that voice before. A man, one she knew, but who?
He shushed her.
A hot, fed-up tear ran down her left cheek. Another streaked her right.
“Don’t cry.” He removed her hoop earrings. Rubbing her lobes, he told her not to get upset.
Sounds of running water, maybe from a faucet, not too far in front of her, reached her. It distracted her from figuring out who this was, and onto who else was in the room.
More apprehension waved through her. There must’ve been two people with her. Then the water seemed to quit. She tried to listen for others, but didn’t detect any.
“Here,” the second guy ordered. “Wash her.” A splash of something sprinkled her arms. Had he sat a bucket on the floor next to her?
A squeak, similar to what her chair had made moments before, came toward her. Sitting, the first guy caressed her face. “You’re all right.” Wet hands came up, dripping soapy-scented droplets on her face and neck.
The water ran down her blouse, past her navel, through her skirt and then stopped between her legs.