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Hot Man Wanted
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The backseat of my limo is about to get filthy.
This Billionaire Opposites Attract Romance is a full stand-alone novel, guaranteed to make your heart skip a beat and your kindle steam up. I’ve also included a brand new naughty romance titled, Blind Date with a Billionaire.
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“You need to get out, Mase,” Winston said. “Loosen up. Get some strange. You know, live a little!”
The lavish wedding reception was in full swing around us, but for some reason, Winston felt like now was a good time to break my balls. It didn’t bother me. Winston had been my best friend for years, so I was used to his random criticisms about my life.
“I am out, Winston,” I said. “We’re here at a perfectly nice party in a tent bigger than most people’s homes, and we’ve got a great view of the L.A. skyline. Just have a drink and stop fucking with me already.”
Winston laughed. “I’m not fucking with you. I’m just trying to help. And this isn’t getting out, my man. You’re still surrounded by the wealthy elite.”
“You’re one of these wealthy, elite, too,” I reminded him.
He waved my comment away. “Not in spirit. I go out into the world and hang out with real people. You should try it. It’ll change your life.”
“I’m not trading my tailored suits for your ratty jeans just to go into town and slum it,” I said. “That’s not what I call living.”
“I’m not slumming it. I’m just doing research on how the others live.”
I loved Winston like a brother, but man was he an idiot. We came from billions of dollars’ worth of money, and he spent his time running around the streets of L.A. in a T-shirt and worn-out jeans, rubbing shoulders with people who gawked over others carrying more than fifty bucks in their pocket. It was insane.
“You’re too fucking uptight, Mase,” Winston said.
“Yes, you keep saying that, but repeating it isn’t going to help loosen me up.”
“You have your whole life mapped out already,” Winston said, “almost to the day.”
I snorted. “No, I don’t.”
Winston laughed. “How’s this? Later, you’re gonna take that hot little thing you brought to the wedding back to your hotel. You’ll probably fuck her, but you’ll leave her there and never talk to her again.”
I grinned. “Probably, but that’s not having my life mapped out. I just call that a fun evening.”
“Okay,” Winston said. “In about two weeks, you’ll jettison off to St. Barts, spend your winter in Aspen pretending to like skiing, but you’ll part ways around Christmastime to spend it in New York. But between Barts and skiing, you’ll travel to Milan to get some shopping done for the next chick you’ll have on your arm, because this nameless model you brought to this wedding will be long gone by then.”
My hand clenched around my scotch glass while Winston continued to rattle off my life. Sure, it was planned, and sure, I did some of the same things every year, but why the fuck did that matter?
My dick sank itself into countless beautiful women from all walks of life: models, heiresses, Hollywood up-and-coming sweethearts. I loved spoiling them, and then I loved burying myself between their legs when they wanted to show their gratitude for that spoiling.
“You’re predictable, Mase.”
“And you’re an asshole, Dub.”
I sipped my scotch and looked out at all the people gathered at this wedding reception. I pinpointed celebrities with movies coming out this year and politicians who’d just shown up in the news for fucking prostitutes in coke houses. I saw people with old money rolling their shoulders back and silently making predictions about how long the couple would stay together. I saw people with new money glittering in the evening sunset.
I could always tell when people came from old money versus new money. People with old money walked with sticks up their asses and had perpetual divots in their lips from the silver spoon constantly hanging out of them, and people from new money were hard to look at because all they did was glitter and shine from the new shit they’d bought on a whim.
Both were pathetic in my opinion, just for different reasons.
The newly-wedded couple looked happy, but their smiles didn’t quite match their eyes. That was the thing about wealthy families: They kept arranged marriages alive. Talk about having your whole life planned out.
My life would end up just like that of these two unhappy people. My dick throbbed for any tight piece of ass that came into my vision because, eventually, I’d be forced to settle down with someone my age who also had money just so we could keep that money between the families. No marrying someone beneath us so they could spend it all, and no staying single so we could destroy the family reputation.
I wondered if the bride knew her husband had been fucking her maid of honor just before he’d walked down the aisle today.
“So, how long do you think it’ll last?” Winston asked.
“Depends on how much of his money she gets to spend,” I murmured.
“You think there’s a prenup?”