Mostrando resultados por autor "Whitney G." en Todas las categorías

Sirvan estas líneas para anunciar formalmente mi renuncia en Parker International (y a su arrogante y condescendiente director), efectiva a partir de hoy en dos semanas. Ha sido una decisión MUY FÁCIL de tomar, dado que los dos últimos años han sido un horror total. Espero que su nueva asistente ejecutiva tenga toda la suerte del mundo (la necesitará), y si mi jefe me necesita para cualquier cosa en estas dos semanas, que alguien le diga que puede apañárselas solo. Este es el aviso de dimisión que debí haber mandado con dos semanas de antelación a mi jefe.

I can’t believe that I pulled my boss’ name for our company’s annual Secret Santa tradition.... As the devil incarnate, this infuriating, cocky bastard never gives us the holidays off, and he honestly expects us to be grateful for his generous alternative: The Office Party. It’s a mandatory, all-expenses paid trip for two weeks at a surprise luxury resort - where we still have to work 12 to 15 hours a day.

Being a doctor in New York City has never been easy. Especially for someone like me, who has a private practice and an incompetent staff who insists on leaving me to fill in for them. When my team finally came to their senses and decided to bring someone more competent into the practice last month, I was actually elated. Until I realized that our new "doctor" was none other than the woman I was supposed to meet for dinner two weeks ago. The same woman who stood me up...

El hombre del que me he enamorado es un mentiroso. No tengo mucho tiempo para revelar todos los detalles, pero esos titulares de «Una mujer desaparece después de su boda» no son más que mentiras. No he desaparecido. No he huido después de mi boda. Nunca habría huido después de mi increíble luna de miel. Mi marido me ha raptado. No, me ha secuestrado. Debo aceptar que ya no es el hombre del que me enamoré. Es el rey de las mentiras.

Well, I was failing to write a sex scene. As an author of more than 50 smut books, I was struggling to do what I did best. So, for fun, I asked one of my best online friends for some help.

Por favor, deje su mensaje después de la señal…. Penelope, sé que son las tres de la mañana, pero necesito quitarme este peso de encima. No puedo seguir dándote consejos sobre cómo conseguir a ese otro tipo, contarte más «cosas sexis» que podrías hacer ni sugerirte más frases subidas de tono para enviarle por mensaje por la noche. Como tu mejor amigo, he alcanzado mi límite, y, sinceramente, debo decir que no te merece.

My resignation letter was rejected by my boss with his sexy, trademark smirk and an "I highly suggest you read the fine print of your contract...." So, I did. And now I've realized that unless I fake my death, poison him, or find a way to renegotiate my impossible contract, I'm stuck working under one of the cockiest and most ruthless bosses in New York. Then again, I thought that was the case until he called me late last night with an emergency proposition....

My cock has an appetite. A huge and very particular appetite: blond, curvy, and preferably not a f--king liar... (Although that's a story for another day.) As a high-profile lawyer, I don't have time to waste on relationships, so I fulfill my needs by anonymously chatting and sleeping with women I meet online. My rules are simple: one dinner. One night. No repeats. This is only casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. At least it was until Alyssa...

I woke up five hours late after a reckless one-night stand with the sexiest, cockiest, and most arrogant man I’ve ever met. My top two clients for my PR company left to my number one competitor, my roommate "accidentally" bleached my favorite suit, and my favorite coffee shop was shut down for "health concerns". Still, none of those things dimmed my excitement for what was supposed to be the best four o’clock signing session of my career. Then that sexy, arrogant one-night stand stepped into my office with a familiar smirk and introduced himself as my new, cocky client....

Para Claire, Jonathan es el prometido perfecto, ¿pero será un marido perfecto? Para Jonathan, algunas conductas de Claire en la recta final hacia su enlace hacen que se llene de preguntas: ¿Claire está poniendo a prueba su amor… o en realidad es ella quien debería estar bajo esa sospecha? Las dudas empiezan a poblar cada vez más el sendero hacia el altar de Claire y Jonathan, y los problemas parecen crecer a cada día que pasa.

La carrera de Claire Gracen como directora de marketing no podía ser más meteórica, y, además, estaba felizmente casada con el hombre del que había estado enamorada desde la adolescencia; su vida era perfecta. Un día se dio cuenta de que todo era mentira, una mentira en la que su mejor amiga y su marido la habían engañado de la peor forma posible. Claire se obliga a hacer un cambio de aires. Es entonces cuando capta el interés del hombre más sexy que haya conocido nunca, Jonathan Statham. Es dominante, y no está dispuesto a aceptar un no por respuesta.

Claire Gracen finally has the life she's always wanted: a career she loves, a man who's willing to do any and everything for her, and friends that show her the true meaning of the word friendship. As she and Jonathan prepare to make the ultimate commitment to one another and plan the wedding of her dreams, she quickly realizes that the hurtful past she left behind in Pittsburgh is a lot closer than she thought.

Claire Gracen's life is picture perfect. Her career as a marketing director is on the brink of being legendary, and her marriage to her high school sweetheart has never been stronger. No, wait. It has. It used to be amazing and fulfilling, but one day Claire realizes that she's been living a lie and her best friend and husband have committed the ultimate betrayal. Broken and depressed, Claire is in need of something new - new city, new job, new friends.

Charlotte Taylor has three automatic strikes in my book: 1) She hates me. She also claims that I'm a "domineering jerk with a huge, overbearing ego". (I do have something huge. It's not my ego, though.) 2) She takes our mandatory tutoring sessions way too seriously. 3) She's sexy as hell...and a virgin. At least those were her strikes before our study sessions started lasting longer than they were supposed to. Until one innocent kiss became a hundred dirty ones, and until she became the first woman I ever fell hard for.

Dear Hayley, I'm assuming you're still hungover, so I'll make this brief. Last night, you slipped under my sheets (without my permission), and we almost had sex. I got the hell out of the bed once I realized it was you, and I took you home. That's the story. The end. Period. Just in case you've forgotten, you're my best friend's little sister. We will never be anything more. (We can't be anything more.) Our previous friendship is still unresolved - or "over", in your terms, so I'd prefer if we worked on becoming just friends again since you're in town.

I've hated Rachel Dawson since I was seven years old. My next-door neighbor and number-one sworn enemy - she's the reason why almost all of our childhood fights ended with me setting something of hers on fire. (Or, vice versa.) She snitched on me when I broke curfew. I snitched on her when she lied about having a boyfriend. We went back and forth like this throughout high school, both vowing to never talk to each other again when we went off to college. But that was until she showed up at my apartment during my senior year and asked me for a temporary place to stay.

Arizona Turner has been my best friend since fourth grade, even when we hated each other. We've been there for one another through first kisses and first times, and we've been each other's constant when good relationships turned bad. (We even went to colleges that were minutes away from each other.) Throughout the years, and despite what anyone says, we've never crossed the line. Never thought about it. Never wanted to...until one night changed everything. At least, it should've....

The first night I met Gillian Taylor, she claimed she was a pilot. Then she claimed she worked for a "private airline." I knew right then and there that she was lying to me, and that sexy as hell or not, she was the type of woman I needed to avoid. Still, after a pleasurable one-night stand, I was certain we'd never see each other again. Until I saw her in an airport a few weeks later.... Until I realized that we were both assigned to work the same flight. She was the flight attendant. I was the pilot.

Please leave your message at the sound of the beep.... Penelope, I know that it’s three o’clock in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest. I can’t give you any more advice on landing this other guy, can’t tell you another “sexy” thing that you should do, or suggest a new set of filthy words that you should text him late at night. As your best friend, I’ve reached my limit, and I can honestly say that he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying all of this because I’m f--king jealous, or because he had the audacity to say that he makes more money than me.

Thirty days ago, my boss, Mr. Wolf of Wall Street, came to me with an offer I couldn't refuse: Sign my name on the dotted line and pretend to be his fiancée for one month. If I agreed, he would let me out of my employment contract with a "very generous" severance package. The rules were pretty simple: No intimate kissing, no actual sex. Just pretend to love each other for the press, even though I've secretly wanted to knock that sexy smirk off his face since the first day we met.