Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
When I took this internship in London, I never could’ve dreamed of who was behind it. However, when I see the man of my dreams standing in the rain outside my rental, my heart yearns for him. Okay, not just my heart.
He’s over six feet and ripped. He sends my mind to steamy places, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I’ve got no experience. Zilch. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.
“That’s how I want you. No experience except for me. You belong to me.”
Thomas Tithing is forty-two and worth billions. He’s obsessed one second and pushing me away the next with heat in his eyes.
Throughout the craziness—the hot and cold treatment—I know he’s the man for me. I feel it in my soul, in his touch and his kiss.
Can Thomas outrun his past? Can he learn to trust, or is the obsession going to fade?
* The English Billionaire’s Obsession is an insta-everything standalone romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Amelia
I’m almost glad when the plane lands and it’s raining. Whenever I dreamed about my internship in England at one of the world’s biggest advertising agencies, I always pictured rain. Mom said it was my artistic side coming out each time I talked about dark clouds opening to lash down to drench me on my way to the next meeting.
As I wait for the flight attendants to tell us it’s time to disembark, I take out my phone—flight mode still on—and watch the video I submitted to earn this internship. Instead of a resume, Realization Global asked for a custom video.
I cringe as I watch myself standing in the kitchen’s light, the least cluttered place for the video. The wall is clear of debris, photos, or other distractions behind me.
I’m wearing a form-fitting skirt and a shirt. After I sent the video off, I wondered if the outfit was too much. I happen to like my figure, which isn’t something I go around advertising since the rest of the world doesn’t seem to agree, and it’s an invitation for negative comments.
Cringe or not, the video got me the internship, so I can’t be too self-pitying about it. I will work as a graphic designer for a huge advertising agency, or maybe I’ll mostly make the coffee or tea run with milk and lots of sugar. That’s what Mom said since she’s visited England a few times for her work as a stylist.
Walking through the airport, I feel like I’m in a different world as I listen to the accents around me. I keep wanting to stop people and say, “Oh, wow, you’ve got the best voice ever.” I don’t think that’s the best way to start my England journey.
Realization Global arranged a car service to take me to the small room I’m renting on the outskirts of London. They paid for travel, but the accommodations were up to me, and I didn’t want to borrow a lot of money from Mom and Dad.
I record a video message for Mom in the back of the car. “Hey, I’m here, in not-so-sunny England.”
I turn on the camera and aim it out the window. Rain lashes down in such thick sheets I can hardly see the tall buildings and, just about visible, the London Eye. It’s so loud I have to yell to be heard.
“The flight was great. No cranky guy sitting next to me demanding all the leg room, so that’s a plus. Now I’ve just got to settle in my room, and tomorrow…”
I grin for the video, but I can’t hide the nerves from myself, the bitter notion that somehow I’ll ruin this. Somehow, I’ll revert to the awkward kid I was in high school, hardly able to meet people’s eyes and reluctant to raise my voice because that brings attention.
No! This is a chance to reinvent myself—owning my personality and appearance. Now, here…
“And please, Mom, in your reply, no more talk about finding a nice British boy, okay?”
I can already see her rolling her eyes at that. She mentioned it countless times, the idea that I’ll find the man of my dreams over here. He’ll thoroughly sweep me off my feet, and then we’ll give Mom and Dad a bunch of grandkids.
“Speak soon. Love you.”
The speak soon part isn’t exactly true. Well, it is. I’m not going to ghost my parents, but what I mean is I’m going to limit contact with home as much as possible. Being over here, I want to pretend it’s a new world where the rules of the old reality don’t have to apply.
“Doing anything exciting here, miss?” the driver asks as we stop in traffic.
Again, I have to stop myself from beaming at his accent. Mom says there are more accents in a ten-mile span in England than in some entire states back home.
“I’m here for work,” I tell him. “I’m going to be a graphic designer. Well, I’m an intern.”
“What exactly is one of those, then? Sounds fancy.”
“I’ll be making logos and things like that for businesses, but really… Sorry, what’s your name?”
He’s an older man with a shock of white hair. When he smiles at me in the rearview, I can tell he’s touched by me asking for his name.
“Roger, miss.”
“In reality, Roger, I’ll be making hundreds of cups of tea, I expect.”
“Do you Americans know how to make tea?”
I chuckle. “I hope the learning curve isn’t too steep.”
He winks. “You’ll learn.”
I try to keep my good spirits up when we reach the house. It’s on a residential street, the road in a terrible state with potholes and cracked pavement. Several of the homes have intimidating fronts, one with boarded-up windows.
“Let me help you with the bags,” Roger says.
A few minutes later, I’m standing outside the front door under a small porch cover that protects me from the rain. I take a slow, deep breath, reminding myself that I’ve already spoken with the landlord, a woman called Janine. She was friendly and upbeat on the phone—no need to freak out.