Impossible job -- yes. But if she succeeds, her student debts are history. Unfortunately for Megan, the Baker twins aren't about to curtail their busy social schedules for basic algebra. And they certainly aren't thrilled to have to sit down for a study session with dowdy Megan.
Megan quickly discovers that if she's going to get her money, she'll have to learn her Pucci from her Prada. And if she can look the part, maybe, just maybe, she can teach the girls something along the way.
But as the mansion crumbles, passion wanes along with the heating. Banker's wife Beth swaps Notting Hill for weekends at a bijou cottage. They only offered a smidgeon over the asking price.
So why don't the locals like them? Eco-harridan Morag is the terror of the village, with her objections to everyone and everything. There must be a Hello! Ambitions clash when the village launches an allotment project and no one escapes the bitter struggle over sex, power and money which threatens to blight more than everyone's carrots. Popular Books.
Fear No Evil by James Patterson. Mercy by David Baldacci. From This Moment by Melody Grace. The Dark Hours by Michael Connelly. Have you been missing obsessive and possessive billionaires? Find out why over a million readers love Creighton Karas!
He answers to no one and is denied nothing. He leads his company like a marauder, rampaging through financial markets and scores of women worldwide until the unthinkable sets in At least, until he meets a southern spitfire who disappears after an explosive one-night stand. He will stop at nothing to find her, and when he does, he plans on making her the next Mrs.
Creighton Karas. A hero who remembers. And a hero with a holiday declaration. Will her boyfriend ignore them like she wants him to? Or will he force her to enjoy the day in ways she never knew she could? Then a surprise shows up on her doorstep, and her evening takes a sudden turn.
When I met Donovan Kincaid, I knew he was rich. I didn't know he was filthy. Truth be told, I was only trying to get his best friend to notice me. I knew poor scholarship girls like me didn't stand a chance against guys like Weston King and Donovan Kincaid, but I was in love with his world, their world, of parties and sex and power. I knew what I wanted--I knew who I wanted--until one night, their world tried to bite me back and Donovan saved me.
He saved me, and then Weston finally noticed me, and I finally learned what it was to be in their world.
I open the locket, slowly climbing the stairwell, the people jogging and laughing around me a distant echo. But as soon as I pop it open, I dig in my eyebrows, seeing, not pictures as I expected, but a tiny, folded-up piece of paper.
Taking it out, I unwrap it and turn it over, reading the words. Close your eyes. I slow to a stop, staring at the note and saying the words to myself again. Or said them or something… The second bell rings, our one-minute warning, and I fold the paper back up, stuffing it into the locket and closing it.
Everyone around me hustles up and down the stairs, and I jog to my class, slipping the necklace back into my jean shorts. Who does the locket belong to? A family member? A girlfriend? Maybe he stole it.
Perhaps he got out of the class. Agitation boils under my skin. But as soon as I step into the room, I spot him sitting in the row to the left of mine, one desk back.
Relief and a touch of annoyance both hit me. Is he going to be in any more of my classes? Just like yesterday in Art, the guy simply sits there, staring ahead with a slight scowl on his face as if this is all such an inconvenience to him.
I take my seat, noticing his jeans and black T-shirt are actually clean today. Foster fires up his projector, the screen of his laptop appearing on the big white board in front of the class, and he begins making the rounds, handing back our latest essays.
The final bell rings, and the class lowers their voices, quietly chattering as the teacher walks up and down the aisles. Foster and I constantly go head to head, and while Art may be the class I enjoy the most, Foster is my favorite teacher.
He encourages us to use our voice and is one of the only adults to talk to his students like adults. But it was depressing and in a pointless way. What was I supposed to learn? But Foster lowers his voice, looking me deep in the eyes. I stare at him for a moment, seeing the plea in his eyes. He backs away, moving onto the next student but still speaking to me.
Something you want to tell us, Mr. I end my taunting, satisfied that I won that argument. In their eyes, anyway. The air is cool and fresh as it fills my lungs. I pause at the deep voice behind me. Foster stands in front of his desk and looks up, focusing over my head. What is he doing?
But I turn my head to the side, fixing him with a bored expression. When I was twelve. Did you have an Edward T-shirt, too? How could he have known that? I picked up a Twilight paperback when I was younger, because Robert Pattinson was on the cover, and hey, I was twelve, so… But immediately after reading it, I asked my mom to go buy me all the books, and I spent the next two weeks reading them with every free moment I got.
I arch an eyebrow, looking at the teacher. As society dictated. And yet, your precious Edward Cullen was over a hundred years old, still in high school, living with his parents, and trying to get in the pants of a minor in the twenty-first century. Sure, Edward was decades older than Bella. But the fact that he was good looking had nothing to do with her loving him anyway.
Masen continues his attack. There would be no Bella and Edward. Masen leans down, and I refuse to look as he types something into the search engine. I glance up at the screen and instantly feel anger curl my fingers into a fist.
A huge image of an old man, withered with wrinkles, missing teeth, and bald but with wiry, silver hairs sprouting from the top of his nose smiles back at us, and I glare at Masen, who grins back. Students double over laughing, and their amusement surrounds me like a wall closing in.
Everything is getting smaller, and I start to feel the space in my lungs shrink as I pull harder to take in air. I clench my teeth together. The weight on my chest gets heavier, and I pass girls undressing for P.
The white noise of the water shields me from listening ears, and I grab my inhaler from my pocket, taking two quick pumps and leaning back against the shower wall, closing my eyes. Four years. My lungs start to open up, and I slowly breathe in and out, forcing myself to calm down. What the hell is wrong with me? I can handle this. So he was challenging me.
So what? Am I going to flip out every time that happens? But for a moment, everything went dark. Slowly the world in my vision got smaller and smaller like I was in a tunnel going backward. The light ahead of me—Masen, Mr. Foster, the other students— became tiny as the darkness ate up the room, and I felt completely alone.
Just like before. Wilkens, my fourth grade teacher, calls as we line up at the door inside the classroom. Some students dash for the tetherballs, others for the bars, and some stroll around the blacktop, figuring out what they want to do.
Everyone passes me by, and I slow to a walk, fidgeting and watching them as they find their groups and begin playing. The sun is hot, and I slowly step into the chaos, looking around and not sure where to go or who to talk to.
This happens every day. Girls run up to other girls, smiling and talking. Boys play with other boys, tossing balls back and forth and climbing the equipment. Some of my classmates sit on the grass and play with little things they snuck into school, and everyone has found each other, pairing off.
I shuffle my feet, feeling my stomach twist into knots. I hate recess. I want them to see me. I look over at Shannon Bell and a few other girls from class, their hair and clothes always so cool and pretty.
I run my hands down my knee-length skirt and Polo shirt, looking like such a good girl. My mom always pulls my hair back in a ponytail, but I want to curl it like them. I lick my lips, swallow the big lump in my throat, and walk over to them.
They stop talking and look at me, not smiling. Yellow grosses me out, but my mom said complimenting people is a good way to make friends, so… Shannon lets out a little scoff, looking embarrassed that her friends see me talking to her.
She shoots a look to them. I feel an invisible hand pushing me away from them. But I force a smile and try harder. She laughs, rolling her eyes. My heart sinks a little. No one else in my class has an inhaler, and now it makes me even more different.
I twist my lips to the side, feeling tears creep up. I blink, my guard going up. You got a problem with him? My heart starts racing. She walks up to Cory and whispers something in his ear, and he turns to look at me, scrunching up his face in disgust.
Ryen likes Cory. I run behind the wall of the building and hide myself as I break down. I dry my tears and walk to my classroom. I quietly step into the classroom, seeing a few students sitting at their desks who wanted to get work on their projects done, while Ms. Wilkens sits at her computer with her back to me. I slide into my desk and take out two folders, standing them up to make a fence around me. I put my head down and hide. I look to my right and see Delilah working on a piece of butcher paper on the floor.
She holds out a marker, her fingernails dirty and her blonde bangs hanging in her eyes. She always stays in for recess. Unlike me, she stopped trying to fit in a long time ago. I take the marker, coming down to the floor with her. She smiles, and we begin working, coloring it in as the weight starts to lift from my chest.
Why do I care so much what the other girls think? Why do I want to be friends with them? Why is that? I bend over in the shower stall, resting my hands on my knees and pushing the memory away. He pushed, they laughed, and I choked. I got complacent. I just have to push back next time.
Or just ignore him. This was no big deal anyway. None of these people will be a big deal in a couple months. Damn Twilight. How could he possibly have guessed that? I breathe in and out, my muscles finally relaxing. Masen Laurent is consistently a step ahead. I slip the inhaler back into my pocket, shut off the water, and exit the stall, leaving the locker room.
Absolutely no one. The rest of the school day passes mercilessly slow as I brave lunch and every single class, feeling like another shoe is going to drop at any second.
But as soon as the final bell rings, I drop off my books at my locker and grab my duffel for cheer and swim, hurrying out of the school and to the side parking lot.
But I just keep going. Making my way through the parking lot, seeing students piling into cars and hearing engines fire up, I scan the crowd for the new guy.
I finally see him, stepping up to a black truck and not carrying a single thing. No books, no folders, nothing. As I walk toward him, I notice a couple of guys greeting him while my friend Katelyn approaches him, coyly grazing her hand along the side of his truck and acting all shy and shit. My hopes are dashed. I hesitate, watching her hug her books and talk, giggling at something she said, while he stares down at her, calm and cool, looking no friendlier than he did with me. Why does that please me?
I walk over to them, tipping my chin up and nodding once at Katelyn. I hold the strap of my duffel hanging on my shoulder and stare at her, waiting for her to leave. She eventually gives a little eye roll and walks off, leaving us alone. No doubt to tattle to Lyla. I dig in the pocket of my bag, pulling out the locket and handing it to him. He takes the necklace, almost gently, and stares at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket.
He raises his eyes to me, and something gives. For a split-second I see something different. But before he can close the door, I reach out and grab it. Starting it up, he steps on the gas, and I run my hand through my hair, despair curling its way through me. But I hesitate only a moment before I drop my bag and race up to him, jumping up on the cab step.
How am I going to explain this? I stroll up to his window, feeling a bit of my power return as I give him a small smile. You definitely want to stay invisible.
Maybe his parents are looking for him. Maybe a foster family. Maybe the police. Not many kids transfer schools six weeks before the end of their senior year, after all. He shifts the gears again and finally speaks.
What did she always tell me? Just start. Just start, and everything will open up. I stare out into the empty warehouse, black soot from past bonfires coating the walls and the warm breeze whipping through the broken windows and hitting my back.
A chain hanging somewhere in the vast space above me blows in the gust and bangs against a rafter while a shiver creeps up my spine. It feels different here. My favorite place to come when I need just that. I stare down at her name, trying to remember how easy it was to always open up to her. I hate this, I tell her. Everything fucking hurts. She saw a movie when she was a kid, about a woman buried alive, and it scared the shit out of her.
I close my eyes, wetness coating the rims of my lids. Anger churns inside me, and it flows down my arms as I carve the words into the paper. I want to hurt you. You want the truth?
It feels good to play with you like this. I never do. All your letters, over all the years, immediately went into the garbage after I read them. Sending five letters for every one of mine? Did you fantasize I kept them? Maybe with a little red bow tied neatly around the stack as I jerk off to them, because I love your pretty words so much?
I draw in air through my nose, locking my jaw together as I press the pen into the paper. Guilt creeps in. The liar. The poser. But then I drop my eyes, remembering The kid who slipped five bucks in a letter in fifth grade when I told her my dad took away my allowance. The girl who makes me smile when she argues about how sausage overpowers the taste of pizza and sent me a Veggie Lovers Pie for my birthday to prove me wrong.
Meat Lovers is way better. I run my hand over my forehead and through my hair, my throat tightening into a knot and my eyes burning.
I put the pen to the paper and scrawl what my goddamn heart can only whisper. I miss you every day, I write. And then I drop the pen and tear the paper out of my notebook. I dig a matchbook out of my jeans, the one I use for lighting my lamp in my room at the Cove, and strike a match, watching as the tip glows orange and yellow.
I bring it up to the letter, setting the corner on fire. Quickly the edges burn black as the flame spreads across the paper, eating every single word as the blue lines slowly disappear. I let out a sigh, pulling my lip ring in between my teeth.
The girl I saw yesterday in the classroom —she disappointed me. My Ryen, the one I thought I knew, would never treat someone the way she treated that kid, Cortez. The way she just stood by and let that cocksucker mess with him. I waited for her. I sat there and waited for her to stand her ass up and speak up for him, to say something, to do anything, but… Nothing.
Everything makes sense now. The cheerleader she talked about in her letters and everything she hated—she was talking about herself. I drop the small fire in my hand to the cement floor and stand up, grinding my shoe into the dust, stamping it out. And she and I will never have to cross paths again. I walk out of the warehouse to my truck and climb in the cab, slamming the door. But then I see the passenger side door swing open, and I jerk, startled.
The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Kindle Edition format. The main characters of this polyamorous, reverse harem story are ,. The book has been awarded with , and many others. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you.
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