by Tessa Bailey
Bestselling author Tessa Bailey launches the Broke and Beautiful trilogy, a fun and sexy New Adult series set in New York City!
Roxy Cumberland’s footsteps echoed off the smooth, cream-colored walls of the hallway, high heels clicking along the polished marble. When she caught her reflection in the pristine window overlooking Stanton Street, she winced. This pink bunny costume wasn’t doing shit for her skin tone. A withering sigh escaped her as she tugged the plastic mask back into place.
Singing telegrams still existed. Who knew? She’d actually laughed upon seeing the tiny advertisement in the Village Voice’s Help Wanted section, but curiosity had led her to dial the number. So here she was, one day later, preparing to sing in front of a perfect stranger for a cut of sixty bucks.
Sixty bucks might not sound like much, but when your roommate has just booted you onto your ass for failure to come through on rent—again—leaving you no place to live, and your checking account is gasping for oxygen, pink bunnies do what pink bunnies must. At least her round, fluffy tail would cushion her fall when her ass hit the sidewalk.
See? She’d already found a silver lining.
Through the eyeholes of the bunny mask, Roxy glanced down at the piece of paper in her hand. Apartment 4D. Based on the song she’d memorized on the way here and the swank interior of the building, she knew the type who would answer the door. Some too-rich, middle-aged douchebag who was so bored with his life that he needed to be entertained with novelties like singing bunny rabbits.
Roxy’s gaze tracked down lower on the note in her hand, and she felt an uncomfortable kick of unease in her belly. She’d met her new boss at a tiny office in Alphabet City, surprised to find a dude only slightly older than herself running the operation. Always suspicious, she’d asked him how he kept the place afloat. There couldn’t be that high a demand for singing telegrams, right? He’d laughed, explaining that singing bunnies only accounted for a tenth of their income. The rest came in the form of strip-o-grams. She’d done her best to appear flattered when he’d told her she’d be perfect for it.
She ran a thumb over the rates young-dude-boss had jotted down on the slip of paper. Two hundred dollars for each ten-minute performance. God, the security she would feel with that kind of money. And yet, something told her that once she took that step, once she started taking off her clothes, she would never stop. It would become a necessity instead of a temporary patch-up of her shitstorm cloud.
Think about it later. When you’re not dressed like the fucking Trix Rabbit. Roxy took a deep, fortifying breath. She wrapped her steady fingers around the brass door knocker and rapped it against the wood twice. A frown marred her forehead when she heard a miserable groan come from inside the apartment. It sounded like a young groan. Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh, cool. She definitely wanted to do this in front of someone in her age group. Perfect.
Her sarcastic thought bubble burst over her head when the door swung open, revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans guy. Being the shameless hussy she was, her gaze immediately dipped to his happy trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture path. It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from hours in the gym. No, they were natural, I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.
Roxy lassoed her rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it higher until she met his eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared to the face. Stubbled jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-colored eyes outlined by dark, black lashes. His fists were planted on either side of the door frame, giving her a front-row seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser woman would have applauded. As it was, Roxy was painfully aware of her bunny-costumed status, and even that came in second place to the fact that Approachable Abs was so stinking rich that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at eleven in the morning. On a Thursday.
He dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I still drunk, or are you dressed like a rabbit?”
An Excerpt from
YOURS TO HOLD
Ribbon Ridge Book Two
by Darcy Burke
In the second installment of Darcy Burke’s contemporary small-town saga, the black sheep of the Archer family is finally home, and he’s not looking for love . . . but he’s about to find it in the last place he ever expected.
Kyle Archer pulled into the large dirt lot that served as the parking area of The Alex. He still smiled when he thought of Sara coming up with the idea to name their brother’s dying wish after him. It only made sense.
The hundred-plus-years-old monastery rose in front of him, its spire stretching two hundred feet into the vivid blue summer sky. The sounds of construction came from the west end of the property, down a dirt lane to what had once been a small house occupied by the head monk or whoever had been in charge at the monastery before it had been abandoned twenty-odd years ago. It was phase one of the project Alex had conceived—renovating the property into a premier hotel and event space under the Archer name, which included nine brewpubs throughout the northern valley and into Portland.
Alex had purchased the property using the trust fund left to each of them by their grandfather, then set up a trust for each sibling to inherit an equal share of the project. He’d planned for everyone to participate in the renovation, assigning key roles to all his siblings. And he’d made his attorney, Aubrey Tallinger, the trustee.
She’d endured copious amounts of anger and blame immediately following Alex’s suicide because to all of them it had seemed unlikely that she’d established the trust without knowing what Alex had planned. But she insisted she hadn’t known, that Alex had told her he was simply preparing in the event that he died young, something he’d convinced her was likely with his chronic lung disease.
However, things hadn’t quite worked out the way Alex had envisioned. Not everyone had been eager to return to Ribbon Ridge, least of all Kyle. He shook the discomfort away. He’d fucked up. A lot. And he was trying to fix it. He owed it to Alex.
While Alex had been tethered at home with his oxygen tank and debilitating illness, the rest of them had gone off and pursued their dreams. Well, all but Hayden. As the youngest, he’d sort of gotten stuck staying in Ribbon Ridge and working for the family company. His participation in the project should’ve been a given, but then his dream had finally knocked down his door, and he was currently in France for a year-long internship at a winery.
Kyle stepped out of Hayden’s black Honda Pilot. He’d completely taken over his brother’s life while Hayden was off making wine—his car, his job, his house. Too bad Kyle couldn’t also borrow the respect and appreciation Hayden received.
He slammed the car door. It wasn’t going to be that easy, and he didn’t deserve it to be. He should have been driving his own goddamned car, but he’d had to sell it before leaving Florida so the same shit that had driven him from Ribbon Ridge wouldn’t also drive him from Miami.
But hadn’t it? No. Things hadn’t gotten as bad as they had four years ago. No one had bailed his ass out this time. He’d learned. He wasn’t the same man.
An Excerpt from
THE ELUSIVE LORD EVERHART
The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series