Bennett Fox walked into my life on one hell of a crappy Monday morning.
I was late for the first day at my new job—a job I’d now have to compete for even though I’d already worked eight years to earn it, because of an unexpected merger.
While I lugged my belongings up to my new office, a meter maid wrote me a parking summons.
She’d ticketed a long line of cars—except for the Audi parked in front of me, which happened to be the same make and model as mine.
Annoyed, I decided to regift my ticket to the car that had evaded a fine. Chances were, the owner would pay it and be none the wiser.
Except, I accidentally broke the windshield wiper while slipping the ticket onto the car’s window.
Seriously, my day couldn’t get any worse.
Things started to perk up when I ran into a gorgeous man in the elevator. We had one of those brief moments that only happened in movies.
You know the deal…your body lights up, fireworks go off, and the air around you crackles with electricity.
His heated stare left me flush when I stepped off the elevator.
Maybe things here wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Or so I thought.
Until I walked into my new boss’s office and met my competition.
The gorgeous man from the elevator was now my nemesis. His heated stare wasn’t because of any mutual attraction. It was because he’d saw me vandalize his car. And now he couldn’t wait to annihilate his rival.
There’s a fine line between love and hate—and we shouldn’t cross it.
We shouldn’t—but straddling that line could be so much fun.
How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons:
Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check.
Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check.
How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons:
Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season.
Check. Check. Check.
I should add—especially when the guy is your sexy, tattooed God of a boss.
Especially when he not only owns your place of employment but inherited half of the town.
Especially when he’s mean to you.
Or so I thought.
Until one night when he demanded I get in his car so he could drive me home because he didn’t want me walking in the dark.
That was sort of how it all started with Rush.
And then little by little, some of the walls of this hardass man started to come down.
I never expected that the two of us, seemingly opposites from the outside, would grow so close.
I wasn't supposed to fall for the rebel heir, especially when he made it clear he didn’t want to cross the line with me.
As the temperature turned cooler, the nights became hotter. My summer became a lot more interesting—and complicated.
All good things must come to an end, right?
Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.
Rebel Heir is the first book in the Rush Series Duet. Book Two, Rebel Heart, will release six weeks later on May, 22, 2018.
My relationship with Hunter Delucia started backwards.
We met at a wedding—him sitting on the groom’s side, me sitting on the bride’s. Stealing glances at each other throughout the night, there was no denying an intense, mutual attraction.
I caught the bouquet; he caught the garter. Hunter held me tightly while we danced and suggested we explore the chemistry sparking between us. His blunt, dirty mouth should’ve turned me off. But for some crazy reason, it had the opposite effect on me.
We ended up back in my hotel room. The next morning, I headed home to New York leaving him behind in California with the wrong number.
I thought about him often, but after my last relationship, I’d sworn off of charming, cocky, gorgeous-as-sin men. A year later, Hunter and I met again at the birth of our friends’ baby. Our attraction hadn't dulled one bit. After a whirlwind trip, he demanded a real phone number this time. So I left him with my mother’s—she could scare away any man with her talks of babies and marriage—and flew back home.
I’d thought it was funny, until the following week when he rang the bell at Mom’s house for Sunday night dinner. The crazy, gorgeous man had won over my mother and taken an eight-week assignment in my city. He proposed we spend that time screwing each other out of our systems.
Eight weeks of mind-blowing sex with no strings attached? What did I have to lose?Nothing, I thought.
Except our ending was one I didn't see coming.
The first time I met Chase Parker, I didn’t exactly make a good impression.
I was hiding in the bathroom hallway of a restaurant, leaving a message for my best friend to save me from my awful date.
He overheard and told me I was a bitch, then proceeded to offer me some dating advice.
So I told him to mind his own damn business—his own tall, gorgeous, full-of-himself damn business—and went back to my miserable date.
When he walked by my table, he smirked, and I watched his arrogant, sexy ass walk back to his date.
I couldn’t help but sneak hidden glances at the condescending jerk on the other side of the room. Of course, he caught me on more than one occasion, and winked.
When the gorgeous stranger and his equally hot date suddenly appeared at our table, I thought he was going to rat me out.
But instead, he pretended we knew each other and joined us—telling elaborate, embarrassing stories about our fake childhood.
My date suddenly went from boring to bizarrely exciting.
When it was over and we parted ways, I thought about him more than I would ever admit, even though I knew I’d never see him again.
I mean, what were the chances I’d run into him again in a city with eight million people?
What were the chances a month later he’d wind up being my new sexy boss?
The first time I met Brody Easton was in the men’s locker room.
It was my first interview as a professional sportscaster.
The famed quarterback decided to bare all.
And by all, I don’t mean he told me any of his secrets.
No. The arrogant ass decided to drop his towel, just as I asked the first question. On camera.
The Super Bowl MVP quickly adopted a new hobby—screwing with me.
When I pushed back, he shifted from wanting to screw with me, to wanting to screw me.
But I don’t date players.
And it’s not because I’m one of the few women working in the world of professional football.
I’d date an athlete.
It’s the other kind of player I don’t date.
You know the type. Good looking, strong, cocky, always looking to get laid.
Brody Easton was the ultimate player.
Every woman wanted to be the one to change him.
But the truth was, all he needed was a girl worth changing for.
Turned out, I was that girl.
Let’s face it. It never is.
There’s a story between once upon a time and happily ever after…
And this one is ours.
Author's note - The Baller is a full-length standalone novel. Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18