Pretty and Reckless Read Online Charity Ferrell

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
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I’m off limits to him. We’re not supposed to even know each other.

Elise Parks is the girl who can’t keep her legs closed or her hand absent of a drink. She’s spent her life being in the public eye as the heir of the Parks empire, and she’ll do anything to get away from it.
Weston Snyder has always followed the rules. He’s the good guy, the guy who likes to help people. But he’s finding himself breaking all of the rules for this woman – the woman he hasn’t been able to get out of his mind after three years.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

one

ELISE

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the cup from the barista in my glove-covered hand and taking a seat in the back of the coffee shop. The Chicago winter draft spilled over me each time the frosted door opened and another customer piled in.

Settling in my seat, I draped my coat along the back of the chair next to me and brought the cup to my lips. The sweet liquid scorched the tip of my tongue before I quickly swallowed it down.

Peppermint, yum.

The table was sticky under my elbows, and I tucked my chin into the palm of my hand. Customers scurried around the shop, spilling creamer and sprinkling sugar into their cups hurriedly. They bumped into each other with no apologies as they struggled to make it to work on time. A few sat at tables, positioned in front of their laptops, oblivious to the chaos surrounding them with the help of their headphones. Two middle-aged men transferred documents back and forth with heated faces and firm voices.

Then, there was me—the loner with no headphones, no computer, and nobody.

These people—the ones scurrying, studying, arguing—they were all living.

Me? I was just there. Just surviving.

I looked away from the men when they caught me staring, and that was when I saw him. I jerked my head back, scanned the shop, and then glanced back in his direction.

He was still there.

Why would he be here?

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, and he became the new focus of my attention. He brushed melted snowflakes from his disarrayed amaretto curls before shaking them out while waiting in line. Taking off his glasses, he cleaned them and shoved them back up his nose. He wore a faded, dark green flannel shirt that peeked out from underneath his bulky coat and a thick neck scarf.

His actions weren’t entertaining in the least, but for some reason, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Even though we’d only met once, I never forgot a face—especially one I wanted to smack. Three years ago, he’d studied me like a project he’d be graded on.

I was not a project.

I was not here for people’s amusement.

In anger, I did what I did best—figured out a way to get him to leave me alone … and screwed him over in the process. I’d destroyed his career, and he knew it was my fault. He had to hate me, and I didn’t blame him.

The barista received a friendly grin when it was his turn to order, and he slipped a few bills in the tip jar. She handed him his coffee, an extra smile on the side, and he thanked her. The guy was too friendly—another reason I didn’t like him. I didn’t trust friendly. People weren’t friendly for no reason. There was always an ulterior motive.

I took another sip of my latte.

Should I say something?

Hell no, absolutely not.

I needed to glance down and study the table until he left. It’d be too weird if he noticed me. The man knew too much—where I’d been and what I’d gone through. Whether he believed that information was a different story, but he knew.

“Elise.”

My eyes flew up at the sound of my name. He stood in front of me with a matching smile of what he’d given the barista. I stared at him, our eyes locking, and waited to see where he was going with this, silently praying it would not be his drink in my face.

Scorch my face for scorching his career.

Fair trade.

“I thought it was you,” he finally said, breaking our uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied awkwardly, setting my cup down.

I’d never run into someone from there. I had been sent five hours away for that very reason. My father wanted me far enough so that people wouldn’t recognize me, but close enough that he could still choke me with his leash if I made a run for it.

My father also lied about where I was to other people. I was away, visiting my grandmother—who was actually living six feet under—or I was studying abroad. Given my reputation, I doubted people had believed him. He tried his hardest to keep our family name clean while I fought my hardest to trash it.


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