Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
So, my gambling-addict father sells me to high-roller Dietrich Belotti to act as his daughter for the weekend. But when my pretend daddy with the sexy, salt and pepper hair hits me with those ice blue eyes and calls me baby? I ignore the red flags flying over his head and dive headfirst into my starring role.
When we are forced to share a room for the night, Dietrich wants to play pretend in a lot of other ways. I nail my loving, obedient daughter character and my new Daddy quickly becomes hell-bent on claiming me as his own.
I become his most valuable asset, but with a billion dollars on the line, things get dicey fast . Especially when he disappears and the little stick I just peed on comes up with two pink lines.
Author’s This standalone treat has Vegas-level heat with a rich, damaged anti-hero with zero morals but very well-made suits. He has bad intentions for this fake relationship but, in the end, he’s a cream puff for his one and only. Safe, no cheating ever, with an over-the-top obsessed hero and a happily ever after in a little white chapel.
The Palate Teaser Series…want a quicky? For 99 pennies? Then grab a treat...
I got you with these standalone Palate Teaser novellas!
They are designed for those who love a low angst, extremely high heat, no cheating, palate-cleansing treat. The heroes are over the top and obsessed with their one and only. These are trope-heavy, taboo-friendly, and are designed to make you squirm .
So, suspend reality for a bit and get ready for some twisted fun, a happily ever after, and a smile.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
chapter one
Hannah
There is no triumph in my return home.
“Five years this freakin’ door has been half off the hinges!” I throw my hip into the crooked back door on a grunt, then my sister and I add in unison, “Stupid door.”
It’s a twin thing that is equal parts fun and annoying.
The faint scent of cigarette smoke fans the flames of my irritation as we step inside. A year ago, our father promised he would quit smoking in the house. To celebrate his commitment, Brigid and I spent a whole weekend scrubbing the nicotine stains from the kitchen walls, then re-painted in a cheerful lime green with white stripes.
I note the window above the sink standing open, allowing the hundred and five-degree heat in and there’s a cigarette shaped burn mark on the crisp white paint of the windowsill.
With gritted teeth, I toss my messenger bag on the counter, scaring Puddles, my three-legged Calico, from her sleeping spot on the chair.
“Sorry, Puds,” I murmur, offering an apologetic ear scratch, then proceed to brush the errant ashes from the sill with one of our custom tie-dyed magenta-colored dishrags.
“The director didn’t even give you a chance,” Brigid says.
“Right? I took like one step inside the audition room. Sorry, you’re not what we’re looking for. Next.”
“That whole set up was super sketch. Girl Laying Down makes it sound like porn. And I wouldn’t want you laying on any of Larry’s Discount Mattresses anyway, even for a commercial. Did you see them piled up? They probably all come pre-infested with bed bugs.”
“Maybe it’s a sign. I’m not going to be the next Margot Robbie.”
Brigid bends over, pressing her palms to the floor; knees locked. Her raw linen tank top slips up her back as she presses her nose to her calves. A moment later she releases her stretch, moving into an effortless Dancer Asana.
The closest I get to yoga—or working out at all—is watching MMA rounds on YouTube.
What can I say? The brutality relaxes me. I can’t explain it and I don’t want to. It’s my guilty pleasure and if watching bloody, sweaty men beat each other until they look like raw hamburger gives me a moment of peace, everyone just mind ya business.
Brigid meets my eye, holding the pose with annoying ease. “If it’s a sign of anything, it’s that Larry doesn’t know a good actress when he sees one. Next time, you’ll kill it. You know Dino DeLaurentis called Meryl Streep an ‘ugly thing’ in Italian at the audition for King Kong? Did she quit?”
I shake my head. “No, she didn’t.”
“Damn right she didn’t,” Brigid says with an encouraging smile.
She’s mothering me. I do the same for her when it’s called for. Our twin-ness is strange. We are opposites in looks. She’s lithe and sophisticated with her thick auburn hair and show-stopping emerald eyes. Totally worthy of a cover shot on Town & Country.
She tops my five feet two inches with another seven and her body is runway ready.
I’m this odd mixture of nearly white-blonde hair and black-coffee eyes with dark brows. I’ve got double D’s and a Kardashian trunk, but my arms and legs lack any real substance and the freckles I inherited from God knows where seem to double in number every year.