Paris with the Billionaire Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Paris with the Billionaire

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

Book Information:

When I win a contest to spend a week in one of Paris’ most luxurious hotels, I leap at the opportunity. It will be the perfect place to work on my novel.
What I don’t expect is the hotel’s owner, billionaire silver fox Forrest Ford, to be waiting for me in my room. There’s been a mix-up. He didn’t know I was coming.
I offer to move, but he demands that I stay… with him. I can’t deny how tempting it is. He’s six foot six with hair the color of iron, his eyes are dreamy blue, and his body is so muscular just looking at him in his fashionable suits drives me crazy.
But I know I have to ignore these desires. There’s no way this forty-two year old billionaire would be interested in a twenty year old virgin… who’s nerdy, curvy, and shy to boot.
But then Forrest reveals something to me that rocks my world. He lays claim to me in the most possessive way a man can. “I own you,” he tells me in his intense voice. “You belong to me now.”
Just as I’m trying to come to terms with this, someone from my past comes back to haunt me. Zack Sykes has mob connections and, even if Forrest says he can protect me, I’m not so sure we’re going to get out of this in one piece.
What started as a dream could all too easily become a nightmare. I can only be sure of one thing.
My life will never be the same after being in Paris with the billionaire.
****Paris with the Billionaire is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
Books by Author:

Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


“I still can’t believe I’m here,” I say, holding my cellphone to my ear as the cab driver takes me down the Parisian streets. Everything is so beautiful, the Seine glittering off to my left in the midday sunlight. “I can’t believe I won.”

“Somebody had to,” Mom says. “I’m so happy it was you.”

“It’s just a bit crummy they didn’t let you bring a plus-one, though, sis,” Kelly laughs.

I roll my eyes, my cheeks aching from smiling so much. I can easily imagine them sitting in the living room in Mom’s apartment. Kelly will probably still be in her construction gear, running a hand through her spiky blonde hair. We’re non-identical twins, and we look so different sometimes people don’t believe me when I tell them we are twins.

Mom will be in her armchair, maybe doing some cross-stitching. Her wild auburn hair probably cascading down to the arms of the chair like it always does.

“I’m only kidding,” Kelly adds. “It’s just so awesome.”

I lay my head against the glass.

It is awesome.

I write at the same café every weekend back home, and one day when I walked over to my usual table, somebody had left a magazine behind open on the contest page.

It was like fate.

Win a luxury trip in one of Paris’ most beautiful hotels.

There was no way I was going to pass up an offer like that.

“I’m here to work, remember,” I say.

Mom makes a huffing noise. “Work, sweetness? Enjoy yourself. Let your hair down. You can write when you get back.”

I pat my laptop bag on the seat next to me, as though they can see me.

“Nah uh. If I want to write the most romantic story imaginable, what better place to do it? Apparently, you can see the Eiffel Tower from my room.”

“Fi,” Kelly says, “you know if you don’t meet a man down there, Mom is going to freak, right? She’s counting on you coming back with a fiancé and plans to have a boatload of kids.”

“She’s not wrong,” Mom laughs. “So that means no writing, none at all.”

I shake my head with a smile, but nerves twist in my belly.

Find a man?

I’ve never been the outgoing sort when it comes to that type of thing. I don’t see how I’m going to suddenly explode into a new personality because I’m in a new city. Mostly I’m looking forward to seeing the sights and sitting on the balcony with the city laid out beneath me, typing away at my keyboard.

Even if I did find some hunky Parisian man, he wouldn’t want to sweep me off my feet.

I’m not exactly the billboard type.

I don’t voice these thoughts aloud though.

Kelly and Mom hate it when I put myself down like that. They’re always telling me I should have more confidence, infuse myself with a protective layer of sassiness, let my personality shine through.

Men don’t care about personality, I want to scream at them. They care about your dress size, and I’m curves all the way.

“Fiona?” Mom says. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I murmur. “I was just thinking.”

“Of book ideas?” Kelly laughs. “Finish the ones you’ve got before you add a thousand more to your pile.”

I giggle. There’s nothing I can say in response. She’s right. The main thing holding me back in my writing is that I’m always flitting between ideas, grabbing hold of one with the certainty that this is the idea flurrying through me.

But then something else will pop up in my mind and I’ll become captivated with that instead.

Maybe Paris will help me focus. At least I won’t have to spend hours waiting tables and dealing with self-righteous douches who want me to fall at their feet and beg for their forgiveness for bringing their water a few minutes too late because we’re understaffed and overfull.

“Seriously,” Kelly goes on. “Don’t stress yourself out about writing. I know you’ve got it in you to write a bestseller. Take Paris as an experience, Fi. Aren’t you always saying how writers need to live if they’re ever going to write realistically?”

“Do you know how annoying it is when you use my own logic against me?” I laugh. “Yes, Kelly, I say that. But saying it and living it are two very different things.”

“We should’ve stolen her laptop from her bag,” Mom laughs.

“Maybe we’ll hire someone to throw it in the Seine,” Kelly jokes.

“I’m so not listening,” I giggle. “Listen, I think we’re nearly there. I should get going. I’ll call you later.”

“You will not,” Mom says, laughing. “You’ll be too busy meeting the man of your dreams and making plans to give me dozens of grandkids.”

“Dozens?” I chuckle. “I don’t know about that, Mom. Maybe I’ll adopt a stray cat over here. You’ll have to be content with that.”

“Talk to you later, Fi,” Kelly says.

“Yes, bye, dear,” Mom says. “We love you.”