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Icy Shots on a Hot Billionaire - Racing Book 1

New York City gives the start of a romance. Or does it? Selena Duchmond is a single 31-year-old Marketing Manager at a humongous real estate company for the last month. She’s a curvy girl, with a professional attitude, and nothing intimidates her, not even the hottest and wealthiest guys out there. Personal problems? Three million dollars in debts for her side family business since the economic crisis, and a shitty health. Are these problems keeping her out of being an Alpha girl in her all? Not at all. Nobody in the office knows about her problems. She’s just considered the fatty, arrogant ass. Oh! And the Ice Queen. Ice Queen? She keeps all male population in a friendzone manner or strictly business. Why? She doesn’t believe in true love. All attempts on her from guys are considered as fake and unreliable promises. Her only wish is to restore peace and stability in her family. When the hot billionaire is waiting for the Marketing Manager at the meeting who is kind of late, and lays his eyes on her, though she’s not his type in general, a strong impression envelopes his being. Seeing she’s not having any reaction at the sight of him, his interest spikes so much that the burning fire of having her urges him to accept the challenge of making her his…. What will he do to make her his? Will he take advantage of her financial situation to turn things into his favor? Will he be the fire that will melt the ice that traps her heart? Will she make him a one woman’s man? Will she surrender to him? Will their story be a romance of true, pure love? One thing is for sure, she’s his Angel and he’s her Satan.

Andra-Cristiana Stan · Urban
Not enough ratings
75 Chs

Chapter 43 - Hot Night. In Her Terms...

Eric's POV:

I walk to the bar’s counter, with my eyes not escaping her sight, take a glass and put it on with a noise, slam ice cubes in it, pour fucking whisky in it, roll the content with the glass in my hand, me all fuming, not taking my eyes from her, and have some. Then, with my glass in my right hand, go at the table, on the chair in front of her, push some papers away, pushing them with calm, I don’t want to make her go crazy on me on this, to make room in front of me, and slam the glass on the table, not breaking it, but with a loud noise. I’m raging in body, all tensed up, on the fucking chair, in front of her, but she’s ignoring me. Like I’m not even here.

She’s out, in her work. There’s only laptop, papers, Pepsi, coffee, cigarette, and music in her world. That’s fucking all. You don’t understand maybe, but it’s like I’m the fucking wife right now, and her the fucking husband. That’s exactly how it looks and feels like.