She has what he needs ... in every sense of the word.
Evan Ross is desperate. If he fails to acquire a few specific properties for his boss, he'll lose everything he owns. Standing between him and his salvation? One rebellious, stubborn, and sexy-as...
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Evan opened the door to room eighteen of the Hampa Inn and was immediately hit in the face with a cold wet rag—at least that what it felt like. His nostrils squeezed together in protest as a thick smog of stinky, musty, mildewy air infested his nose.
You gotta be kidding me. Really Chad? Don't spare any expense on all these stupid clothes, but on a room, not jack shit? Unbelievable. So much for my health and comfort.
He entered tossing his briefcase on top of his would-be-desk. The cafe table for two wobbled toward the lone window. Silver duct tape was stretched across the back section of one of the black vinyl chairs.
Lovely. Rummage sale or going out of business bargain?
He plopped his suitcase down on the bed's comforter. The multiple dizzying brown swirls made it impossible for him to tell if the thing was clean.
Probably a cesspool of toxic waste and bodily fluids. Gross.
Removing his sunglasses from the top of his head, Evan folded them closed and put them on the nightstand as he glanced around the cramped room. His lip curled, certain the yellowish cast on the walls wasn't the paint color, but decades of accumulated tobacco smoke.
I'd be better off sleeping in the truck then in this roach motel. Speaking of—
He scanned the rust-colored carpet, the perfect camouflage for hordes of cockroaches.
Oh boy, can't wait to see the bathroom.
He walked around the bed, flipped on the light, and stuck his head into the bathroom. A gag poked at the base of his throat at the tiny space's green theme. The sink, toilet and ceramic tile going halfway up the walls were a hue of seafoam green. A dark hunter green tile covered the floor. The crowning touch to the bumpkin accommodations was the white toilet seat cover.
"Oh-kaaay. Well, at least it's not pepto-pink." Evan flipped the light switch off and retrieved a T-shirt from his suitcase.
Shit, if I only had a single property to snag, I could tough it out. But six? I still don't have a good feeling about this. All so Chad can impress his father by building a thousand-acre resort in the middle of nowhere.
He slapped the cotton shirt down on the briefcase—the only known clean spot in the room.
Rich people? Go figure. I'm going to need a miracle to pull this off and payoff all my credit cards.
He sat on the bed long enough to remove his boots, then stood to strip out of his clothes and put the T-shirt on. With two fingers, he pulled the comforter down. Grimacing, he made a painstaking inspection of the sheets for blood, pee, or other offensive stains. Not finding anything obvious, he propped up the pillows against the headboard and took a seat on the lumpy bed.
Now Dani. He stretched his legs out. She might not be the miracle I need for work, but she could be a blessing while I'm stuck down here. The best fun distraction this whole town has to offer.
