Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) Read Online Free PDF

light brown to dark.  
    To the mirror, I say, “You’re not selling out by going, bitch. You’re taking what you’re owed.”  
    Someone must have been watching us in that alley. Playing a game. So I can either be played, or I can be the player. I can sit back and let someone screw with me, or get my due and walk away.  
    I can’t get my mind off last night? Fine. The solution is balls-grabbing action. To stop being steered and do some steering myself.
    I don’t know why some rich person wants to give me $1,000, but after talking to and researching Mr. Germain, I believe the offer and won’t turn from it on abstract fear. Fuck fear. Fuck fear and timidity right up their tight little asses.  
    I don’t like to admit it, but I really, really need that money.  
    And what the hell; all it seems likely to cost me is twenty minutes behind the wheel.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bridget

    The Castleview Hotel is an enormous white-brick monstrosity, like a less-shiny and less-ornate version of something you might see in the middle of Washington, DC. There’s a circular driveway near the front door, running under an enormous crimson awning, with a pair of bellmen in red uniforms and matching pillbox hats waiting beneath it. There’s a white-gloved valet behind a small wooden station that looks like a lectern, and as I watch, a black sedan pulls up. A man emerges, followed by a woman. The attendant approaches and hands are shook. If rich-person movies haven’t deceived me, a tip is slipped.
    I’ve paused on the street, in a no-parking zone. I have no idea where the parking lot is. When I came before to meet James, he sent me a car. Is everyone required to valet? The idea of handing off my shitbox Toyota with the crack in the windshield and the fast food wrappers in the footwell is laughable. Worse, it’s embarrassing. I’ve a hole in my muffler that I can’t afford to fix. Even now, the bellmen are staring as I idle loudly.  
    Well. At least if this is a scam, it’s a classy one.  
    I pull ahead when a suited man emerges and one of the bellmen points at me like a tattletale. That’s when I see the signs, and a few minutes later I’ve found the self-park lot and have abandoned my car.  
    I’m not wearing anything fancy. Or even remotely nice. Baggy cargo pants with an oversized tee and a three-year-old pair of Converse. If I tucked my hair under a hat, I’d probably look like a teen boy from afar. A troublesome one, who might be at the Castleview to skateboard and paint graffiti.  
    I’ve spent the entire drive preparing. By now, the chip on my shoulder is a miniature iceberg. I’ve covered every contingency, intent on grabbing the money I’m owed for some reason and then backing the fuck out. I’ll stay near the room’s door. I’ll make sure the walls are glass like I remember, then wait to enter until the hallway is sufficiently busy. I have pepper spray on my keychain, and I’ll hold it discreetly in my fist the whole time. I seriously doubt it’ll come to that, but I’m ready if it does. I grew up in foster homes, where friends and family didn’t always play nice. I can fight. I’m not especially strong, but I’m tall. After a while, I had Brandon to defend me, but I’d already learned to never count on permanence because people abandon you all the time. Besides, if you have a big mouth like I do, it’s amazing the number of fights you can avoid, how often you can talk your way into getting just what you want.  
    I know what I’ll say.  
    I know how I’ll hold myself.  
    I won’t sit. I’ll barely meet eyes. Where’s my money? I was promised one thousand dollars. I feel stupid even being here because nobody just tosses cash around without any reason. Someone wants something , even if I’m supposed to have an out. But I have that mouth , I keep telling myself. I don’t know who I’m meeting, but I know Mr. Germain, and I know he wouldn’t take kindly to some loud bitch spreading stories about