Must Work Weekends
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- Parts 8
Ongoing42m
Last published Tue, Sep 23, 2014
To: Olivia Hawkins <ohawkins@nypost.com>
cc: Lindsey Reed <lreed@nypost.com>
From: Greg Turner <gturner@nypost.com>
Subject: LINDSEY, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?
Lindsey, honey, please tell me the rumors are false. For the love of God lie to me if you have to! I cannot believe half the crap the whole paper is buzzing about. It just seems like my little world is coming to an end. I mean, I was having dinner with Mark Solares from PR (and can I just say he looked divine!) and everything was right in the world and I get here today and everything is in total chaos! There are lawyers and paperwork flying all over the damn place and Trent Adams's wife is here demanding to speak with "the whore the screwed [her] husband". I don't know what's going on honey, none of us really do, just please please PLEASE tell me you did not have an affair with your (MARRIED) boss and CEO of The New York Post, Trent Adams. I'm begging you, tell me your high and mighty Stanford education paid off in your intelligence. God, I think I might faint. Scratch that, I need a damn cigarette.
***********
The New York Post is among the most prestigious and well-known paper. Anyone who is anyone works there and earns the big bucks. Lindsey Reed is a Stanford graduate and ready to take the world of writing by the horns with her sharp Manolo stilettos and her no-nonsense attitude. That is, until she meets her new boss, Trent Adams, CEO and heir to the New York Post. Trent is everything every mother has warned her daughter about: sexy, strong, witty, dark and undeniably married. He seems to have his sights set on Lindsey but are office relationships really the best? Especially when he has a fire-breathing model for a wife? Can she resist the magnetic pull to her (very married) boss or will she fall into a pit of passion, scandal, and hilarious situations that will keep any reader on their toes?
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"I want to defile you, destroy you, corrupt you in the most sinfully beautiful way. Break you until you're completely mine." "And then?" "Then I'll piece you back together, of course." He took another step in her direction, closing the distance between them. "Love can be holy." He said but the look in his eyes promised anything but. "It can be kind and gentle. It can be the flutter inside your chest when you feel someone touch you, the blush staining your cheeks when someone brushes his knuckles over them." To prove his point further, he took his knuckles and brushed them over her sharp jawline, all the way to her lightly dusted cheeks and sharp cheekbones. "However, love can also be vile. Dark and all-consuming. The kind of love that makes you want to fall to your knees and let it destroy you." He let his palm rest on her soft skin and felt the warmth she provided so carelessly travel to him. "That's all I can offer you." Nathaniel Russ is a man devoid of passion. Cold, stern, a tragedy with skin. A wreckage just seconds before the crash. A writer. He spends countless hours teaching philosophy at the local university, waiting for something to make the words crawl out of him with the same vigorous appetite they once did. And he finds it, at the most unexpected moment. Guinevere Westbrook is a woman haunted by the sins of her past. And she just happens to be the muse he had been waiting for, even though she refuses to accept it. So, he orchestrates a game meant for two. A game. That's all it was. Until it wasn't. Adult themes, proceed with caution. All images belong to their respective owners. Source: Pinterest.
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