God I Hate that Man Read online River Laurent

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
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God I Hate that Man

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

River Laurent

Language:
English
Book Information:

Ashley:
He’s everything I HATE in a man! He’s arrogant, he’s shallow, he’s rude… why, he’s a living, breathing, walking male chauvinist jerk. That annoying misogynist actually turns up at my office and brazenly proceeds to insult my dress sense, and tell me he finds me unattractive, then proceeds to ask me to marry him!
I smile sweetly and tell him to go to hell. But then I have a change of heart. Is it because he has piercing blue eyes, jet-black silky hair that a woman can grab onto when things get hot, and is basically a hunk that must be washed down twice a day with a woman’s tongue.
No, no, none of that. I’m immune to such obvious charms. I don’t like men who think they can order me around just because they’re rich, and successful, and gorgeous. But I do need a little money, actually a whole lot of it so…
Sensibly, we agree to a marriage in name only, and only for as long as it takes for him to get what he wants. After all, we both hate each other’s guts.
Until the incident in his study happens. Unexpected, that was. We both acknowledge it was a mistake and promise not to do it again. Until it happens again. And again.
Oh dear, how was I to know chauvinist jerks can grow on you. So fast it makes your head spin.
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River Laurent



1

Finn

I lean against the balcony wall and take a long pull from the cigarette I bummed off my Grandpa’s lawyer. The last time I smoked was when I was nineteen, but today is bad, crazy bad. I’ve been out here on the balcony for what seems like a lifetime, and I’m almost done with my cigarette, but it’s done nothing to calm me down.

I shake my head, partly in disbelief, and partly in anger. My lips twist into a smile. It’s not the sort of smile that reaches my eyes. It’s bitter. After ninety years on earth, the old man couldn’t just let go and enjoy heaven or wherever he has gone.

“You’ve really fucking done it this time, Grandpa,” I mutter under my breath.

I look out over the carefully cultivated grounds of my parents’ home, trying to stop the thoughts of my grandpa, who, it seems, has excelled himself and found a way to fuck with me even from beyond the grave.

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves of the tall trees around the edges of the huge lawn. The gardener is cleaning the massive Romanesque marble fountain my father had imported from Italy as a wedding gift for my mother. She is very proud of it.

I caught hell off her for squirting a whole bottle of dish soap into the water when I was seven. I was delighted with the result. I thought it looked magical with bubbles and suds everywhere.

My mother, not so much.

I straighten and take one last drag of the foul cigarette, then crush it out in the ashtray on the glass table behind me.

I should have known something like this was coming. Obviously, not this exact thing, I never could have predicted this one in a million years, but I should have known there would be something. My grandpa has always challenged me, pushed me to be the best version of myself, even when I resisted him, but this? This one is completely, totally, utterly from left field.

Throughout his entire life, he never did anything without a reason. When he asked me to run his company for him seven years ago, I should have guessed there would be a catch, that it was only the first phase of his plan for me.

I guess I was naïve, but when he told me he had terminal cancer and he wanted me to take the helm, I thought maybe I had finally done it. I’d impressed the unimpressible man enough to have him take a back seat and leave me to it. But no, I hadn’t. We were at loggerheads the whole time. Ninety-five percent of the time he was wrong, but it was worth the stress for the five percent when he had the better solution.

He’s finally done it now though. He’s set me a challenge he thought I wouldn’t be able to rise to.

“You underestimated me, Grandpa. I see your challenge and I fucking raise you the final victory,” I say to him, wherever he is. Then I head towards the doors leading back into the house.

I step back inside the house, and walk through the cooler, air conditioned air of the interior. I make my way quickly towards the large, elegant dining room, which is where my mother, my dad, and Andrew Garfield, my grandpa’s lawyer and the executor of his will, are waiting.

My mother usually looks young for her age, but today, her face shows the strain of this meeting. My dad is as stoic as ever, hiding his fury behind a stony mask of neutrality. Anyone who knows him well though, will not fail to see the little tic above his jawbone, a sure sign that he’s tightly holding himself from blowing a gasket.

Thank God, he got his share of Grandpa’s fortune without having to jump through the hoops I’m having too. Grandpa played it clever. He knew it’s not about the money for me. If it were, I’d have walked away a long time ago and told him to stuff it. He’s made it about something I feel is mine. Something I’ve spent the last three years building to the exclusion of everything else.

Hell, I’ve poured everything I have into this business.

I can’t just let go of it, and he fucking knew it. It’s my life. Especially not now, when I’m just about to transition it into the next level and turn it into something amazing.

As I step into the room, Andrew looks at me expectantly. I ignore his eyes and stop off at the dresser to pour myself a glass of iced water from a jug. I don’t want the water. I want a very large glass of whisky, but there you have it. I compose my face as I pour the water, then I saunter over to the long table and retake my seat. “Okay, Andrew. Run this thing by me again,” I say.

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