TEN REASONS TO HATE OLIVER STANFORD (COMPLETE)

TEN REASONS TO HATE OLIVER STANFORD

Killer smile? Check.

Six pack abs? Double check.

His eyes? Apology? Wait? There was an apology? And a dinner invite? That was impossible.

His stare? Oh, okay. That was making my knees wobble.

Damn, don't make me help him shave his face. I can't be with him face to face.
His proposition? I should think about it hundreds of times.

Now he would become my fan? Definitely, that won't happen in this lifetime. Oliver Stanford was impossible to become my fan.

Why? The guy was an award-winning actor and a model. Rich as hell and the most gorgeous male specimen created by God.

Did I say that he was also a hot single dad? At forty? Hmm... chef's kiss.

Yeah. I know. Forty, single-dad with a hot bod. Perfect male lead for my novels. He was the perfect epitome of the male leads that my readers would be blushing while reading an SPG scene.

But the truth?

Oliver Stanford was an asshole.

The fantasy that I created about him was crushed when I met him in person. The guy was a total douche. A dickhead. Unlike his son Jack who was the nicest person I met in my life. I was expecting a thank you. A never-ending gratitude. But instead, the douchebag put me in handcuffs and sent me to jail. Just because he thought that I am his stalker.

See? Douchebag and an asshole.

The crush that I had for him turned into hate. So what if he could make my knees wobble when he was looking at me? So what if my body was trembling every time I was watching his sexy acting in his movies? So what if my damn mind would play tricks on me thinking of making love with him every day? Still, I hate him.

Even if his son Jack was treating me nicely, I still hate Oliver Stanford. Even his son told me that he once found his father whispering my name while he was sleeping and his hand was inside his shorts, I won't fall for that. Ever.

Oliver Stanford was a total dick, but deep inside...

...my heart was telling a different tune.