Texting Mr. Hollywood Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
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Kennedy looks as if a lab somewhere designed my exact opposite.

If she’s glamorous, what am I?

I feel Aurora staring at me, but I look at Weston for a moment longer, the silver in his hair speaking of his maturity, his experience.

“I’ve got the paperwork you asked for,” I say after a pause, reaching into my pocket and taking out the USB drive.

Aurora wants her company to be as paperless as possible.

I could’ve emailed it, but Aurora is paranoid about people leaking things to the press.

She takes it, offers me a tight smile, then gestures with her eyes for me to get the heck out of there.

“Nice to meet you,” Weston says as I turn, his tone gruff, as though he’s saying the words because it’s what people do….

Not because he means it.

“Alice, you should sit with us,” Aurora yells from the table in the corner.

I smile tightly across at her.

It’s hours later, and my body is telling me to find a place to shut down, but I can’t if I want to make rent.

I’m at my second job, as a waitress at a trendy restaurant half a mile from Aurora’s office. This is where I met her and how I got the internship at her company… the paid internship.

Sure, I’ve got aspirations to work in Aurora’s field one day, helping to manage the public image of celebrities and companies. I prefer to use my skills for charitable organizations, but that doesn’t mean I can afford to work for free.

Aurora laughs, swilling another drink, then turns to her friends and keeps talking.

As I place the food down on the table, warmly telling the customers to enjoy their meal, I reflect on the first time this happened.

I thought my boss would freak out when Aurora dragged me into the chair next to her. I was sure he’d be pissed because she was eating into my work time.

But it was the opposite.

He was happy I had a connection with her since that’s what this town runs on… connections.

I remember the first time I met her, lingering near her table as she and her team discussed a PR strategy.

She looked up and spotted me, a warm smile touching her features. She wasn’t drunk that night, so she was more civilized, and I almost wept when she offered me the job.

As I take another customer’s order, I think about earlier, standing in the office with Weston’s eyes on me.

I wouldn’t say I had a crush on him since that’s pretty weird for a twenty-one-year-old to think….

But what else would I call it?

Ever since I started working with Aurora three weeks ago, I’ve wondered if I’ll run into him… and sure, this wondering has led me to look him up online, to watch all his movies, to stare into his intense eyes and imagine them aimed at me, consuming me.

After the office, my mind went to insane places. I had an insane urge to drag my hands from Weston’s shoulders and down his arms, squeezing and feeling the strength, the security.

‘You’re all I want,’ I imagined him saying with his rough voice and warm breath. ‘You’re all I’ll ever need. Come here….’

And then, in my totally impossible fantasy, he was smoothing his hands up my legs, touching my center as we pressed our bodies together.

I could feel his heart hammering with heat and desire through his powerful chest, his hunger in his touch as he squeezed me like he owned me.

I should be thinking about Kennedy, the woman Weston defended, the one he was caught on camera defending.

With his rage-flooded eyes, teeth bared, and wild eyes.

Later, Aurora comes stumbling over with a drunken smile on her face. “How long until you’re free, my dear?”

I glance at the clock, my eyes threatening to fall closed, my body weary from almost fifteen hours of work.

“Fifteen minutes,” I tell her.

She claps her hands together loudly. “Excellent. Let me give you a ride. I hate the thought of you on the bus.”

I almost tear up when Aurora makes comments like this. It makes me think of Mom, a maternal figure who doesn’t want me to suffer.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

She throws her arm around me. “Positive.”

Once my shift is done, I go outside to find Aurora leaning against her chauffeured car. It’s like I exist in two worlds, the glamor on one side and the dirt on the other.

We sit in the back of the car together, Aurora weaving in her seat.

“You should probably put on your seatbelt,” I tell her.

When she only laughs – she really is drunk – I reach over and do it for her.

She smiles at me, sitting back, closing her eyes gently.

“You must find it unbecoming, a woman of my age getting so shamelessly sozzled.”

I can hear the British coming through in her voice, but only a little. She was born there but has lived in America since she was fifteen.



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