Dirty Secrets Read Online Free PDF

probably cost more than Zoey’s entire outfit, even with the pink streaks threaded through her blonde curls. She very studiously did not give Zoey a once over, which was somehow more embarrassing than actually being scrutinized from head to toe.
     
    Three years in the city had still not gotten her used to the way this worked. Back home, if some blonde haired blue eyed beauty thought she had more gorgeous points, she would straight up tell you to your face, usually with some nasty nice comment that drove home just how much better she was than you. Zoey had learned early on to give as good as she got, with no real guilt. It was all part of the game. But the way northern women just casually disregarded anything that didn’t line up with what they wanted to see—that still stung.
     
    She found that bright smile she’d relied on so much lately, and pasted it across her face, forcing it to glitter up into her eyes. She strode across the floor like she owned the place. “Hello,” she said. “I’m here to see Mr. Blankenship.”
     
    Zoey got that once-over then, and she fought the urge to flinch. She kept her smile in place as the receptionist tapped at her computer. “I’m sorry,” the woman said. Brianna , read the name plate on the desk. Seriously, the receptionist had a nameplate? Zoey didn’t have a nameplate. Of course, she shared her cubical with three other writers. “Mr. Blankenship has a meeting.”
     
    She resisted the urge to shift feet like a kid that needed to pee. “Yes, he does. I’m Zoey Gardener from the Downtown Voice .”
     
    Brianna took in Zoey’s uninspiring cleavage, the outfit that suddenly seemed like the least professional thing that she’d ever put on, and the leather messenger bag that contained her tablet. The receptionist’s eyes focused on the bag for a longer moment than necessary, her perfectly threaded eyebrows sketching pale shadows across her artfully even skin. “Yes,” Brianna said, her tone as dry as west Texas. “Yes, I can see that. I’ll let Mr. Blankenship know that you’ve arrived. Have a seat, please.” she replied as she gestured at a gorgeous upholstered sofa—something this gracious would never be referred to as a mere couch. Possibly, it was even a settee—was ‘don’t piddle on the rug.’ Zoey bit down on her sharp irritation, and went and sat on the furniture. Whatever it was. At least this skirt kept her knees together without her having to worry about it. She daydreamed of spending a day in her pajamas. Or jeans. Jeans would be amazing. She missed jeans.
     
    A phone buzzed on Brianna’s desk, and the woman glanced down, then stood. “Mr. Blankenship will see you now,” she said, and Zoey stood herself, following the other woman to a frosted glass door framed in steel. She opened the door, and Zoey thanked her, walking into the office. Brianna closed the door, and Zoey turned to meet the businessman who was walking across the floor with his hand extended.
     
    And then her heart stopped.
     
    She’d seen pictures of Alexander Blankenship before. Living in the city, writing yellow news for a trashy gossip paper, it was impossible to avoid. He was damned good looking in photos,  but in person, his eyes were stellar, sparkling and deep, and his smile seemed both broad and sincere, as if he wasn’t just greeting a journalist who was here to write some nasty article about him. He appeared to be genuinely happy to see her.
     
    But that was not why her heart was currently frozen in place.
     
    The domino mask last night had hidden just enough of his features that she hadn’t realized who he was. After all, who expected a Wall Street playboy, who could have any woman—or man—that he might find interesting to frequent a kink club, no matter how exclusive the membership? But now, with the mask gone, she both recognized him for who he was—and who he’d been last night. “Oh holy Christ in heaven,” she muttered, falling back on the Christian