Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
You win Ms. Asher. As intriguing as Easy Virtue is, at 85% I had pretty much
decided that I wouldn’t be reading book two. Not because it’s not a good book –
it is. Not because the book is badly written – it’s not and I really enjoyed
the author’s writing style. Not because the story didn’t hold my interest – I
was glued to my Kindle from the first page and devoured the book in four hours.
The reason I wasn’t going to continue the series is because in my line of work
past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior and based on Blaire’s
behavior I could only see her continuing to choose money over the chance of
love and I just didn’t want to read that story. It is not because I’m judging
Blaire’s character and find it lacking. On the contrary, she’s up front and
honest about what she’s doing and I don’t fault her for that; too many people
play games in life and her honesty is refreshing. But when Ms. Asher gives us
the single chapter written from Lawrence’s point of view, I knew I would be
back for book two because I have to know who SHE is. And any lingering doubt about continuing the series was
obliterated when Ronan was thrust back into Blaire’s life after she so
precisely excised him from it. I now have hope that there may be a chance for
Blaire to find love – whether she wants it or not. WHO she may find love with
remains to be seen – Ronan, Lawrence, or some yet unmet man. Regardless, I now
have hope for love for Blaire, Lawrence’s secret that I must uncover, and add
to that some incredibly erotic sex scenes … there is no doubt that I will be back
for book two. Well played Ms. Asher, well played.
Mia Asher had my attention with this book. She did a
fabulous job at not only developing the characters, she made them come to
life. I was feeling their emotions and vocally expressing my opinions
while reading. Blaire deserves so much more in life than what she allows
herself. I am not sure I would have even liked Blaire if she had appeared
in a different book, under a different authors development but Mia had me
invested in her, to the point of even understanding why Blaire thinks like she
does.
Blaire grew up in a life where she wasn’t valued. Her
parents never helped her build her self confidence in a healthy way.
Being picked on in school, she learned early on that sex would bring her the
attention she so deeply craved. Her idea of intimacy was warped and soon
became nothing more than a dollar sign. As she got older her body changed
as well as her habits. She went from the chubby ugly duckling to the hot
sultry body that would make men fall to their feet at first glance.
In my opinion, happiness was only achieved by her through
gifts and money and the only way she knew how to gain those things was to have
sex with wealthy men who would be willing to give it. Now I am used to
women such as Blaire coming out of the situation acting like a victim but not
her. I never really felt she saw herself as one. She is bad ass,
she is what she is, no bones about it. What God gave her she is going to
use and gain what she can. I just hope that one day she gains real
self-worth which is where Ronan comes in.
He was my dream guy and I think he is going to do wonders
for Blaire if she allows him too. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the
money that is worth her time but he has so much more of what she needs.
Should be easy right just get her to love him, but that will be hard to do
while Lawrence is in the picture. Now he has the money and an air of
mystery surrounding him. There will be no need for her to expose any more
of herself than she is willing to with Lawrence, while I believe Ronan will
want it all.
The ending is a cliff hanger and left me with great hope
that maybe Blaire will finally discover she wants more from life than what she
has now. I can hardly wait to get my hands on book two now. The
author did a great job with making this story come to life and showing each
character in a way that made me sit back and wonder if I wouldn’t do the same
thing if I were in their shoes. I am not saying I condone their actions
but she did make me think because all three became real as I read the book.
I would highly recommend this one to readers.
Amazon US || Amazon UK || iTunes || Barnes & Noble
With champagne and caviar inundating my
every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend
to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer
whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my
left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows
of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space
between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets
gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the รผber rich
mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit
and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I
love it.
Standing across the room, where
the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the
corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He
looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black
tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair
parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to
picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he
fucks me while hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and
so cool, but his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s
wondering where I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after
we arrived at the party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do
his thing while I did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one.
I grab a third flute of champagne
from a passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to
check out first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed
of black silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of
diamonds and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford
the price.
I bridge the space between the
glass protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the
urge to touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of
diamonds embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose
made out of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.
I feel someone walk up and stand
next to me, but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to
admire the way the light hits the gems, making them shine.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His voice is smooth and
commanding, dripping absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call
it sixth sense, but somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye
contact with the stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“I wonder how much it is?” the
man asks.
“I don’t think it matters … I
highly doubt anyone can afford it.”
He chuckles, and the sound is
more delicious than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”
I smile at his self-assurance. I
love cocky assholes. “I still doubt it.”
“You shouldn’t. I only speak the
truth,” he retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room
for disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.
Suddenly, the noises of the room
become distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra
playing all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.
And at this moment, that is all
that matters.
“The truth is very subjective,
sir.”
“The truth may be subjective but
money isn’t. Money can buy anything.”
His answer is like an
electroshock, jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse
begins to accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t
look at him … don’t.
“Oh really,” I say, my voice
dripping with sarcasm. He’s right, though.
“Of course. I believe
everything,” he pauses, “and everyone has a price.”
Curiosity winning the battle
against curiosity, I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is.
When our eyes meet, I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight
of him takes my breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a
whole new meaning.
In my short twenty-three years, I’ve been with
extremely handsome men, perfect even, but to classify the man standing next to
me in any kind of category would be a disservice to him, and not really fair to
the others. Longish, light brown hair wildly framing his face, vacant eyes the
color of dollar bills, a slightly crooked nose, and a mouth that begs to be
buried deep within your thighs. His beauty is as harsh as it is stunningly
perfect. Dressed in a simple black tuxedo and unbuttoned white shirt, the man exudes
innate virility and grace, reminding me of a black panther stalking his prey.
And just like a panther, it’s the pure raw and powerful energy emanating from
within him that I find most attractive. Because just by standing next to him, I
get the sense that his word is always the last spoken and his wishes the first
ones to be fulfilled. He doesn’t ask, he demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.
He’s quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes hold
me captive as though they are baring my soul to him and I hate it. I tighten my
hold on the crystal flute. I want to look away, but I can’t. The way he’s
staring at me makes me want to squirm.
“I wonder … do you have one?” he
asks softly before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.
“A
what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.
He smiles. “A price.”
“For the right amount … I just
might,” I say quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out
of my chest. As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing
down my body, no rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to
a complete stranger—nothing.
And why should there be? I am who
I am.
I’m staring at his profile,
waiting for him to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past
us, making me shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I
watch as he slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands
still as I watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder,
his fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he
smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and
looks away.
“I thought so.”
We remain standing next to each
other for another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It
would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call
breaks the silence, bringing us back to reality.
He takes his cell phone out of
the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the
name of the caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I should go … I’m
here with someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.
“Yes, that’s probably a good
idea.”
I frown. He didn’t have to be
quite so blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his
fingers.
“Here … ”
I open my hand as I feel the
edges of what I assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s
this?” I ask stupidly.
“My business card, of course.”
“Obviously … but why?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach
his eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”
And then he’s gone.
He turns and walks away from me,
disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the
party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple
cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws
attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.
Lawrence Rothschild.
I smile and let my fingertips
trail his name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.
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