Lauren Layne – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Lauren Layne – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:13:47 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Lauren Layne – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Miranda in Retrograde Read Online Lauren Layne http://www.books2020.com/miranda-in-retrograde-read-online-lauren-layne Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:13:47 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/miranda-in-retrograde-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Lauren Layne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)

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After getting passed over for tenure and having her life upended in the process, a physics professor decides to throw caution to the wind and live by her horoscope predictions for a year in this effervescent rom-com from the New York Times bestselling author of Made in Manhattan.

As the youngest physics professor at her university, practical-minded Miranda Reed plans her life with minute precision. But that’s before she’s denied tenure and the promotion she thought was guaranteed. Suddenly, her tidy life is anything but constant.

Overdue for a sabbatical, Miranda takes some time to look towards the stars—only this time, she’s not looking for black holes. With her faith in science shaken, Miranda turns to a practice she’s long dismissed as preposterous: astrology.
Determined to figure out why her life has suddenly gone sideways, Miranda commits to a year of letting her horoscope guide her. Soon she’s taking on new home improvement projects, adopting a new pet, and studying what the stars have to say about her ideal love match. The intriguingly aloof artist living next door? Never. His Aries energy is all wrong. On the other hand, the charming father of her new tutoring pupil is Sagittarian perfection. Made for her…right?
As Miranda navigates life with new a perspective, she slowly discovers neither science nor the stars have all the answers. And that, when it comes to love, you sometimes just have to trust your heart.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

APRIL

When I decided at the age of nine that I wanted to be an astrophysicist, I’d thought that meant I’d study stars someday.

Not become one.

Now, let’s be clear. I’m not a star in the Aniston, Clooney, Streep sense of the word. Nobody stops me in the streets and asks for my picture.

In nerdy terms:

If the Clooney crowd is part of the blue-white supergiants of the universe, Dr. Miranda Reed (that’s me) is more of a red dwarf–level star.

In less nerdy terms:

It’s unlikely the paparazzi will ever be jumping out from behind a bush to catch a glimpse of me carrying groceries.

I’m not a household name, by any stretch of the imagination. But among brainy social circles?

Well, let me put it this way. I may not be People magazine’s Person of the Year, but I have been Citizen magazine’s Scientist of the Year. And I was a popular fixture on 30 under 30 lists before last year’s birthday put me out of contention.

I’ve been a contestant on Jeopardy! seven times, won four times, and I’ve even guest-hosted the game show twice. And if you’ve ever watched a national morning show on a super blue moon or during a meteor shower, there’s a decent chance you may have seen me.

I’m proud to say that I’m often the major networks’ first call when they need someone to explain something “sciencey” to their viewers.

Here’s the part in this whole not-so-humble-brag where I’m supposed to say that the pseudofame is exhausting, and that I just want to be a regular scientist.

But actually? I like bringing science to the masses. I like making it accessible, especially to girls and women for whom the world of STEM might seem a little historically impenetrable. And most especially, I like that on days like today, being a little bit famous provides a much-needed distraction from the fact that today is the day.

The one that we academics spend our entire career working toward. Waiting for.

The day we get the one tiny yes/no decision that can make or break our career:

Tenure.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Reed,” the blond undergrad student in my office says as she zooms in on the selfie we’ve just taken on her cell phone.

Jennifer Müller, a student from my current Astronomy 101 course with a bright, curious mind as well a propensity for showing up late to every class, squints down at her screen. “You mind if I pop a filter on this before I post it? The lighting in here’s kinda blah.”

“Sure. But no Photoshopping me to make my eyes bigger or my waist smaller, or whatever,” I say. “I hate that crap.”

“Oh my gosh, never. You’re so naturally pretty! I wish I could get away with wearing no makeup.”

I blink.

I actually am wearing makeup. I mean, not a ton of it. Concealer to hide the fact that my schedule doesn’t allow for much sleep, brow gel to keep my thick, trademark eyebrows in place. Mascara, because, well, who doesn’t look a little better with mascara?

But apparently what I thought was subtle is in fact… invisible.

I make a mental note to add some lipstick to the mix.

“Thanks again for the photo,” Jennifer says. “I know it’s kind of lame, but my dad is such a fan of yours. He’s going to freak.”

“It’s my pleasure. And I bet your dad would be even more thrilled to hear that you made it to class on time one of these days.” I soften the rebuke with a smile.

Jennifer winces. “Right. Totally. Sorry. I’m just so not a morning person. I can’t believe the department stuck you with such a crappy 8 a.m. schedule when there’s a waiting list for your class. You should get top pick of time slots!”

Since she’s already heading out the door, I don’t bother to explain that 8 a.m. was my pick of times, and it’s because of the popularity of the class that I’ve asked the department chair for the earliest possible time. The unpopular early morning class time means that those who enroll have to really want to be there, not those who just want to see the “Jeopardy! professor” in person.

Jennifer leaves my office with a promise to be the first student in class tomorrow morning.

Before I can get back to grading the latest batch of papers on the life cycle of stars, I’m interrupted again, this time by a fellow professor.

“Like, oh my god, it’s Dr. Miranda Reed!” Elijah says in a dramatic whisper before he mimes taking rapid-fire photos, paparazzi style.

He pretends to begin untucking his shirt. “Will you sign my bra?”

I roll my eyes as Elijah Singh, professor of computational physics, flops into the chair across from me. Unlike me, Elijah’s class doesn’t have a waiting list.

But unlike most of my other colleagues, he doesn’t seem to hold this against me.

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Advertisement Emergency Contact Read Online Lauren Layne http://www.books2020.com/emergency-contact-read-online-lauren-layne Wed, 25 Oct 2023 18:31:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/emergency-contact-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Contemporary, Funny Authors: Lauren Layne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >80

From New York Times bestselling author Lauren Layne--and her real life husband and high school sweetheart, Anthony LeDonne--comes a new holiday romcom that is sure to warm even the coldest heart.

Katherine, an ambitious NYC attorney, gets diagnosed with a concussion and must be monitored for 48 hours to make sure it doesn't get worse. Unfortunately, she forgot to update her emergency contact so the person they call is her ex-husband, Tom. Unable to be left alone, Katherine reluctantly agrees to travel to Chicago with Tom for the holidays. But thanks to a blizzard, what should have been a quick plane ride turns into an antagonistic overnight misadventure that stirs up old feelings even as Tom prepares to propose to his girlfriend on Christmas Eve.

A delightful meet-cute between The Proposal and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Emergency Contact is perfect for fans of Christina Lauren and Sally Thorne.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

KATHERINE

December 23, 11:06 a.m.

I’m just going to come right out and say it:

The Grinch was misunderstood.

Before you jump down my throat, I’m not going to claim that the whole breaking-and-entering thing wasn’t a little over the top. Or that shoving someone’s Christmas tree up a chimney while dressed as Santa isn’t something to be unpacked in a therapy session.

Nor can I pretend to understand the level of childhood teasing that must have resulted from being hairy and green.

Though, it should be noted that preteen Katherine (that’s me) certainly scratched the surface on that score. Picture, if you will, an aggressive, gangly growth spurt. Then pair it with cystic acne that came well before anybody else’s first pimple showed up.

And then top all that with an unrelenting halo of dark frizz and a single father who didn’t know that smoothing products existed, much less how to direct his eleven-year-old daughter on how to use them.

If you’re thinking that maybe I spent most of junior high sitting alone at the lunch table, you’re quite correct. Though, hypothetically, I’ll grant that my lack of popularity might have been due to my know-it-all attitude. At least, that was Mrs. Cabrera’s stance during parent-teacher conferences.

But back to the Grinch. I’ll just say this: When it comes to his stance that the holiday season is hell on the nerves? I stand in solidarity with the hairy green guy.

“Excuse me. Excuse— Walk right, pass left, please!” I say in a perfectly pleasant voice. Or at least, I’m pretty sure my tone is amiable. My definition of pleasant hasn’t always lined up with other people’s. Another tidbit first dropped during parent-teacher conferences, but I’ve heard it quite a few times since then, courtesy of report cards. Job interviews.

Ex-husbands.

The last one stung the most. Because I cared the most.

I’m off track again.

All I’m saying is that “drive right, pass left” is standard freeway rules. Fifth Avenue at Christmas is at least as busy as any interstate. Why shouldn’t the same rules apply?

If you want to amble or shuffle past sparkly window displays? You do you. But you do you on the right side of the sidewalk and leave the left side open for people with places to be.

I’m nothing if not reasonable.

But one thing I’ve learned over the years? Christmas isn’t about reason. The tourists currently clogging up our sidewalks are in the city for the “experience.” Heavy air quotes on that one.

I try to pass but get blocked by a family walking four abreast (another Manhattan peeve of mine, but one sidewalk etiquette issue at a time).

A woman in a green sweater with honest-to-God bells sewn onto the front turns and gives me a glare that’s equal parts scathing and incredulous. “Take it easy, lady. It’s Christmas.”

“Oh, is it? Is it Christmas? I wasn’t sure.” I gesture to a window display with a snow machine and dancing elves.

She rolls her eyes and turns away but makes no effort to move aside so I can pass.

I’ve worked on Fifth Avenue for more than a decade now, so it’s not like I’m new to the congestion. But December? It’s a special kind of hell. The music alone could motivate me to play hooky. In addition to the usual standbys pouring out of every revolving door, Tiffany & Co. bumped it up a notch this year, playing a remixed version of “Silver Bells” on repeat.

Something I know, not because I treat myself to a little aqua box now and then, but because my office is right next to their flagship store.

Nothing reminds you more that you’re alone than walking by a store with engagement rings in the window twenty-four seven.

My phone buzzes, and I let out a little sigh of relief when I see the name on the screen. Finally. Someone who deserves my ire.

“Well, hello, Jerry.” My voice is all sugar, and I can tell from the way he pauses chewing whatever he’s eating that I’ve caught him off guard.

“Katherine?”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you sound confused, Jerry? You called me.”

“Yup, it’s Katherine, alright,” he mutters, resuming his chewing. “Look. I’ve only got a few minutes before Jamie drags me off to Connecticut to spend the holidays with her family, but I wanted to run something by you.”

“Oh yeah?” I say with fake curiosity, as though I don’t know exactly what he’s about to propose. I’ve been waiting for this exact phone call for weeks now.

Jerry Dodge is a fellow attorney, albeit at a different firm. And he’s actually a pretty decent guy, as far as prosecutors go. As a human being, I like the man. But Jerry as a lawyer? Meh. He wouldn’t exactly be on my short list if I needed a prosecutor with teeth. As opposing counsel, on the other hand, he’s an absolute dream.

“About this Hallinger case . . .” Jerry says.

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Advertisement You Again Read Online Lauren Layne http://www.books2020.com/you-again-read-online-lauren-layne Sat, 30 Jul 2022 10:04:15 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/you-again-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Romance Authors: Lauren Layne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >73

Read Online Books/Novels:	You Again
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lauren Layne
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09RTN65QX
Book Information:
They have to stop meeting like this. After a disastrous meet-cute turns into repeated meetings, a flighty free-spirit and a stodgy rule-follower come to realize that one they can't get away from ... is the one they can't live without. • • • Mackenzie ‘Mac’ Austin just wants what any modern, commitment-phobic woman in New York wants: a no-strings-attached hook-up, steamy enough to brag about over mimosas the next morning. What she doesn’t want is her dating app’s latest suggestion: preppy, corporate Thomas Decker. So, obviously, she rejects the guy without a second thought. There’s just one snag: he’s sitting next to her, so he witnessed her do it. And now he’s calling her out. After the initial embarrassment, Mac is determined not to let it bother her, but Fate has other plans – and Thomas isn’t going anywhere. First, he pops up as her new boss. And then he reappears as her best friend’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. As the not-so meet cutes add up, Mac is sure that uptight Thomas is the last man that a free-spirit like her should want. Only the more time she spends with him, the more Mac realizes that the man she can’t get away from has become the same one that she wants to keep close…
Books by Author:	Lauren Layne

CHAPTER ONE

Friday, September 9

“Another Malbec?”

I glance up from my phone at the bartender, and the fact that she already has the wine bottle poised over my glass makes me think I’m not doing a great job of hiding the fact that I’ve just been stood up.

I smile and nod in thanks as she tops my glass off rather generously, then turn my attention back to my phone.

God bless Collette. My best friend has maintained a reassuring, steady barrage of messages, all of the men can rot variety.

Indeed.

But whereas my best friend is blowing up my phone in grand style, my date, on the other hand, remains steadily, painfully silent.

I suck in my cheeks, and for the tenth time, debate the possibility of texting him. Just something cute and nonchalant. Hey, did we cross wires? Hey, am I at the right place? Hey, did I get the wrong date?

If I tack a casual lol on the end of it. That erases any note of vulnerability, right?

Haha, whoops, did my assistant put the wrong date in my calendar, lol.

There! I start to type. That’s downright breezy.

With a little groan of disgust, I delete the message without hitting send. I don’t even have an assistant.

I take a sip of wine and say a regretful goodbye to the opportunity to explore Kris Powers’ intriguing tattoos up close and personal tonight. I suppose that’s what I get for crushing on a trainer at my gym. If I’ve learned anything from my flaky, free-spirited mother, it’s to never pursue a man who’s better-looking than you.

But oh, how I like the pretty bad boys.

Give me a guy with too-long hair, an aversion to razors, and an inked-up, sculpted bicep, and I end up, well . . . here. Nursing wine, alone, because I’ve got a soft spot for men I can’t count on.

Like mother, like daughter . . .

It’s the way of us Austin ladies. The “settle down” gene skipped right on by us. In place of the commitment chromosome, we got what I like to think is a charming blend of wild child and free spirit.

I mean, we’re not feral. It’s just that our romantic philosophy leans towards love the one you’re with, and love translates more to, well, sex.

But I’m not a cynic. Really, I’m not. I believe in happily-ever-after! I just don’t happen to believe that happily-ever-after has to involve a man—or at least not be limited to one man.

Which is why my below-the-waist parts are disappointed at Kris’s no-show, but there will be no mourning beyond a brief case of Lady Blue Balls.

There are, after all, always other fish in the sea.

And in Manhattan? There are a whole lotta fish. And I know just where to find them: TapThat.

As in, my favorite dating app of late.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Classy.

But also? Sort of addicting.

TapThat happily exploits our human proclivity for snap decisions and gut reactions. You’re presented with a potential match, and then you get five seconds and only five seconds to decide whether you’re feeling it.

Double tap for hell yeah, or do nothing and the guy fades away.

Is it the most cerebral and thoughtful of dating apps? Nah. In fact, it’s quickly developed a reputation as the hookup app more than the meet-your-future-spouse app, but as we’ve established, that suits me just fine.

Especially on nights like tonight when I have no intention of letting my cute, lacy thong go unseen all because of a flaky gym rat.

I open the app, thumb at the ready. I know within a half second that the first match is a no. The guy is probably sweet, but I’m definitely not into the bright coral bow tie.

The second guy warrants two seconds of deliberation—the body’s an A-plus, but the purposeful way he’s leaning against a shiny red car gives me the sense he knows more about how Porsche’s parts work than my parts, if you get what I’m saying.

I let him fade away.

A third comes up and he’s an immediate double tap. Oh mama. But he’s also a long shot. He looks like a young Idris Elba, and I’m like, a 6.5 on a really good day.

I’ll need a backup plan, so I move onto Guy #4, who’s an eventual yes, earning a double tap just as his image starts to fade away. I’m a sucker for hair falling out of a man bun, but my loins aren’t exactly throbbing at the popped collar of his baby blue polo.

One more, just to build my safety net.

Guy #5 is . . . hmm.

The eyes are amazing, I’ll give him that. That sort of muted pale blue that looks almost gray. But he’s also super intense, and his unimaginative haircut and gray suit have him looking a bit like a stock photo for “successful businessman.”

My thumb stays still without tapping, and I let him fade into obscurity.

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Advertisement The Prenup Read online Lauren Layne http://www.books2020.com/the-prenup-read-online-lauren-layne Thu, 26 Apr 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-prenup-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance Authors: Lauren Layne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Prenup
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lauren Layne
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B07NVRSTB5
Book Information:
My name is Charlotte Spencer and, ten years ago, I married my brother's best friend. I haven't seen him since. Charlotte Spencer grew up on the blue-blooded Upper East Side of Manhattan but she never wanted the sit-still-look-pretty future her parents dictated for her. Enter Colin Walsh, her brother's quiet, brooding, man-bun-sporting best friend, and with him a chance to escape. He's far from Charlotte's dream guy as but they need each other for one thing: marriage. One courthouse wedding later, Charlotte's inheritance is hers to start a business in San Francisco and Irish-born Colin has a Green Card. Ten years later, Colin drops a bombshell: the terms of their prenup state that before either can file for divorce, they have to live under the same roof for three months. Suddenly this match made in practicality is about to take on whole new meaning...
Books by Author:	Lauren Layne Books

Chapter 1

Thursday, August 13

There are a few things I’ve missed about New York in the decade I’ve been away.

JFK Airport isn’t one of them.

Current situation:

I’m fresh off a six-hour flight in coach, and thanks to my last-minute trip, and the resulting back-of-the-plane seat assignment, by the time the food/drink cart got to me, they were out of the cheese plate and white wine (horror).

I’d made do with Pringles and vodka, because there are some things a person shouldn’t attempt while sober, and a middle seat between a fussy toddler and a man who brought his own onion-laden Tupperware was one of them.

As you can imagine, somewhere over Nebraska, I’d started fantasizing about the moment I’d get off the plane. Like, we’re talking borderline erotic daydreams about stretching my cramped legs, breathing in non-recycled air, and listening to something other than the toddler’s repeated demands for “bananananaanaa NOW!”

Now don’t get me wrong, I could respect that the toddler hadn’t yet learned just how many sugar calories were lurking in the humbly delicious banana, and he wanted it now. I could even get behind my onion-loving neighbor’s mind-set that airplane food was rarely worth the risk.

Still, my fantasy of not being between the two of them was very, very real.

And yet.

My fantasy had most definitely not included the tense exchange with the airline after they’d made me gate-check my suitcase and then lost it. Nor had it included a mile-long taxi line once they’d finally located my suitcase on the carousel with a flight arriving from Denver.

Lastly, my fantasy hadn’t incorporated a cab driver involved in a heated cell phone fight with his mother. Although, that, at least, I can sympathize with. I’ve had a few of those over the years myself.

I know what you’re thinking:

Who is this hot mess?

Fair question. I’m Charlotte Spencer, age thirty-one. Sagittarius, in case that’s the sort of thing you like to know about a person. Long blond hair, although not as naturally platinum as my skilled hair stylist would make you think. I’ve got blue eyes and a borderline unhealthy affection for mascara. I’m a New Yorker by birth, San Francisco resident by choice. Body type … eh, we’ll go with decent, mostly thanks to a rather expensive personal trainer. And no, we’re not telling her about the plane Pringles. Or the vodka.

My professional life is pretty badass, if I do say so myself. I’m founder and CEO of my own business, a social media management company called Coco (as in Chanel, obviously). I started it when I was twenty-one and had pretty great timing on the whole social media wave. When I started, some of the biggest retailers on the planet were desperate for someone to help figure out the whole social media thing and couldn’t wait to hand over their money to a team of twenty-somethings who got it.

Fast-forward a decade, and if I were going to be completely crass, I’d be making cha-ching! noises right now, because I’ve always known I’d make a killer girl boss, and now, finally, my bank account agrees.

Let’s see, what else …

Oh, relationship status? It’s complicated. Very complicated.

But we’re getting to that.

For now, all you need to know is that I’m back in New York after a decade away and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.

I rest my head back and turn to look out the window. Traffic is even slower than usual, thanks to an August thunderstorm, but Manhattan inches ever closer, its lights a blurry kaleidoscope through the raindrops on the window.

The taxi driver pulls his phone away from his face and glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to again?”

The words Sixty-third and Lex nearly roll off my tongue, and I bite them back. Apparently, ten years on the West Coast can’t undo twenty-one years as an Upper East Side princess. But the last place I want to be tonight is my parents’ house.

“Seventy-sixth and Madison. The Carlyle Hotel.”

He goes back to his conversation without acknowledging my response, but he apparently heard me, because twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up to the correct address.

I pay the fare, and a second later, the car door opens. I smile in gratitude at the hotel doorman who’s already unloaded my suitcase from the trunk and is waiting with an oversized umbrella.

“Welcome to The Carlyle, ma’am.”

Ma’am. Ouch. I make a mental note to stop putting off replacing my eye cream.

And while we’re on the topic of appearances, I’ve forgotten how vicious the summer humidity can be on the East Coast. I feel my sleek blowout transforming into a poufy cloud with each passing moment. Thankfully, the hotel lobby is cool and dry, and I want nothing more than to check in to my room and make a hot date with a bottle of wine and a shower.

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Advertisement Huge Deal Read online Lauren Layne (21 Wall Street #3) http://www.books2020.com/huge-deal-3-read-online-lauren-layne Mon, 27 Nov 2017 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/huge-deal-3-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Lauren Layne Series: 21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >79

Read Online Books/Novels:	Huge Deal (21 Wall Street #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lauren Layne
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1441735704 (ISBN13: 9781441735706)
Book Information:
Even for a top-gun banker, temptation this hot is quite a gamble, in a sexy Wall Street romp from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Layne. An alpha among the wolves of Wall Street, Kennedy Dawson rose to the top of the pack by striking the right contracts at the right times. But there’s one deal that’s been giving him a run for his money—a pact to never again let his assistant, Kate, get under his skin. She may be smart, gorgeous, and sharp as a whip, but she’s definitely off-limits. Kate Henley isn’t a banker, but she knows a thing or two about risk management—specifically, about managing her attraction to her smolderingly sexy boss. She already fell once, and Kennedy showed no sign of paying a return on her investment. So when Kennedy’s brother starts pursuing her, Kate figures she has the best of both worlds. Jack is charming, rich, very attentive, and the spitting image of his older brother. It’s also making Kennedy think twice. But to win Kate’s heart, he’ll have to broker the deal of a lifetime…and prove he’s worth the risk.
Books in Series:	21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
Books by Author:	Lauren Layne Books

PART ONE

1

Tuesday, March 26

“Okay, so where are we with the ice sculpture?”

Kate Henley let the question hang in the air unanswered for about seven seconds longer than comfortable, hoping that the asker would hear the ridiculousness of the question and retract it.

Claudia Palmer merely blinked at Kate with eyelashes that may or may not have been real and waited for Kate’s response.

Kate let out a tiny internal sigh. She’d mastered it over the years. It was the kind of sigh nobody else knew was happening, but it allowed Kate a moment of silent acknowledgment that she was right, even if the other person didn’t realize it. Yet.

If Kate had learned anything in her twenty-seven years, it was that there was a certain power in being underestimated. And at five foot one, with boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, and a penchant for prim clothing, Kate was the queen of flying under the radar when she needed to. Other times, being underestimated wasn’t powerful so much as supremely annoying.

Times like now.

“Still working on it,” Kate finally replied. “General consensus is that a six-foot ice sculpture in a warmer-than-usual spring is going to be a pricey endeavor.”

The other woman gave a practiced, dramatic wave of her hand. “Please. If Givenchy can pull it off in Milan in August, we can do it in Manhattan in April.”

Kate surreptitiously checked the time on her iPad: 2:14 p.m. Cue the slow clap for Claudia. Her boss’s girlfriend had made it fourteen minutes into their meeting before name-dropping one of her famous designer contacts. A new record.

“Okay, so you’ll take care of that,” Claudia said, looking back down at her tiny spiral notebook. “I’m still undecided on who we should have supply the oysters. I’ve heard good things about Oysters XO. Have you worked with them?”

“Sure, several times,” Kate said. “But—”

“Okay, maybe I’ll hand off this task to you as well,” Claudia said, tapping her lip with a perfectly manicured red nail. “I’m thinking a mix of East and West Coast. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking Kennedy’s allergic to shellfish,” Kate said.

Claudia didn’t even glance up. “So? He won’t be the only one at this party.”

Um. “But it’s his birthday party.”

Claudia apparently hadn’t mastered the silent sigh, because hers was audible and annoyed. “Kennedy will understand that other people like oysters, even if he can’t indulge. There’ll be other food for him to eat.”

And chances are he’ll be so horrified by the ice-sculpture statue in his likeness that he won’t even notice the shellfish he can’t eat, the Maroon 5 cover band he can’t stand, the guest list of people he doesn’t know . . .

Kate was on the verge of letting Claudia know exactly what she thought of her party plan when the other woman reached across the conference room table and touched her arm. “Thanks again for helping me with this. His mother kept offering, but it’s important to me to show Diane that I can do this on my own. That I care about her son as much as she does.”

Kate forced a smile in response, even as she privately doubted that someone who’d been dating Kennedy Dawson for all of two months could possibly care about the man as much as his own mother. Not to mention, Claudia was hardly doing this “on her own.” Kate should have known better when Claudia had asked if she could “run a few ideas” by Kate for a small surprise get-together for Kennedy.

In reality, Kate was spending nearly as much time on this damn party as she was her actual job as Kennedy’s assistant, and she was pretty sure she was ending up with the majority of the work for what was turning into a freaking circus.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Kate said noncommittally. “Though if you’re open to suggestions—”

“Claudia? What are you doing here?”

Kate went still for just a half second, the way she always did when she heard his voice, the gesture as frequent, and nearly as imperceptible, as her internal sighs.

Claudia immediately stood, all graceful movement and long legs, as she slid her notebook across the table to Kate.

Since Claudia’s and Kennedy’s focus was entirely on each other, Kate allowed herself the gratification of an eye roll at Claudia’s hasty handoff. As if Kennedy were really going to make a beeline for a tiny, impractical little notebook that had—Kate flipped through it—maybe twenty pages.

Most of the pages were filled with over-the-top party ideas. One simply said Doves.

Kate smiled a little at that. It would serve Kennedy right to have doves at his party. In fact, if Claudia asked Kate’s opinion on the doves, Kate was happy to lie her little heart out.

Absolutely! Kennedy would love to see a bunch of creepy birds at the birthday party he doesn’t know is happening and probably doesn’t want, because he hates surprises even more than he hates parties . . .

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >79

Advertisement Hard Sell Read Online Lauren Layne (21 Wall Street #2) http://www.books2020.com/hard-sell-2-read-online-lauren-layne Thu, 27 Jul 2017 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/hard-sell-2-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny, New Adult, Romance Authors: Lauren Layne Series: 21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Read Online Books/Novels:	Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lauren Layne
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1441735380 (ISBN13: 9781441735386)
Book Information:
He’s a Wall Street wolf. She’s been hired to tame him. From New York Times bestselling author Lauren Layne comes a wildly sexy novel of business and pleasure. Twenty-eight and filthy rich, Matt Cannon is the youngest broker on Wall Street. He may be a “boy wonder,” but he’s every inch a man. Ask any woman—any night. But when Matt’s latest fling makes scandalous headlines, his clients get anxious, and his bosses at Wolfe Investments level an ultimatum: keep his assets zipped, get a “real” girlfriend, and clean up his act. Only one woman can help Matt with something this hard. For PR genius Sabrina Cross, the best fixer in Manhattan, playing Matt’s steady is going to be a challenge, even if it’s just for show. They already have an explosive history, she can’t stand the cocky party boy, and worse—she can’t stop thinking about him. So who’ll dare to break her “no touching” rule first? Because when that happens, Matt and Sabrina’s game of let’s pretend will get so hot it could set both their reputations on fire.
Books in Series:	21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
Books by Author:	Lauren Layne Books

1

MATT

Monday Morning, September 18

“You’re an angel, and I love you,” I say with a reverence usually reserved for people in church.

My assistant lifts an eyebrow and holds out two aspirin. “Are you talking to me or the bagel sandwich?”

“Both,” I say around a bite, holding out my free hand for the pills.

Kate waits until I swallow, then holds out a Venti Starbucks cup that I use to wash down the pills.

“How’d you know?” I ask, picking up the egg and Swiss on sesame bagel once more.

“That you were hungover as crap? I get your flight change notifications. Taking an unplanned Sunday red-eye from Vegas to New York after a bachelor party pretty much says it all.”

I wince. “Can we not say the word Vegas? Or bachelor party? And until further notice, all references to alcohol are hereby banned.”

She smirks. “It sucks getting old, huh?”

“I’m not old,” I say automatically. The very suggestion’s an affront. After all, I’m Matt Cannon, Wall Street’s legendary wunderkind.

And yeah, only douchebags would call themselves legendary, but in my case? It’s kind of true. I graduated from high school when I was sixteen, college when I was nineteen, and got hired on at Wolfe Investments just days after my twenty-second birthday, back when my liver was basically a virgin (though I was definitely not) and more than ready to take on the booze-fest that is Wall Street.

Whoops. I just remembered we’re not talking about alcohol. Not until the aspirin, caffeine, and this sandwich work their sweet magic on my hangover.

Anyway, the point is I’m only twenty-eight. Not exactly a boy wonder anymore, but to be one of the Wolfes before thirty is brag-worthy. It’s hard enough to get hired by the company in the first place, even harder to move up the ranks at such a young age, and . . .

Oh hell, who am I kidding?

I can’t drink like I could when I was twenty-two, and I am officially feeling the effects of the forty-eight-hour rager that was my cousin’s bachelor party.

“How are you feeling, for real?” Kate asks, giving me a critical once-over.

Kate Henley’s one of those assistants who you guard more closely than your wallet, Pappy Van Winkle, or bank account password. She’s that valuable.

Sure, she’s got the petite, pretty, doe-eyed look of a 1950s debutante, but she’s obscenely competent at her job. So competent, in fact, she works for not one demanding boss but three. A couple of years ago, I got promoted to director the same month as my two best friends and Wolfe colleagues, Ian Bradley and Kennedy Dawson. The promotion meant we each got our own assistant instead of sharing one like the junior guys. We couldn’t decide who got Kate, so she took on all three of us and does it twice as well as any of the other assistants who support only one investment broker.

Our arrangement also means we made a pact to keep our playboy wiles far away from her, though truth be told, I don’t know that she was ever really at risk. I’m pretty sure Kate’s too smart to fall for one of us because she knows us all too well, though her gaze does seem to linger on Kennedy at times.

I grin at her. “Better. Thanks. Headache’s already receding.”

“Good. Because The Sams want to see you.”

My grin disappears. “Now?” I check my Rolex. “It’s barely eight on Monday morning.”

“Yeah, well, this is Wall Street. Everyone’s day started four hours ago. Speaking of which, I’ve called you, like, ten times.”

I rub my forehead. “I lost my cell phone . . . somewhere. The Sams say what they wanted?”

“Nope,” she says, bending to pull something out of a garment bag. “But they came by my desk themselves instead of sending Carla, which is never good. Put this on.”

She hands me a skinny blue tie, and I obediently tug off the striped one I put on in the airport bathroom at baggage claim. At best, it smells like the smoke of a Vegas casino. At worst . . .

The way Kate wrinkles her nose when she takes it tells me it’s in the unnamed “worse” category.

I put the fresh tie around my neck, but she holds up a finger and waves it in a circle. “Hmm, nope. You’re worse off than I thought.” She holds up a white dress shirt. “Wardrobe change. Where the hell’d you sleep last night, a barroom floor?”

“Didn’t sleep at all,” I mutter, unbuttoning my shirt.

It sort of sums up my and Kate’s platonic relationship that I’m shirtless but she doesn’t so much as glance at the upper body I’ve earned through long gym hours as she hands me the shirt. “One day you really are going to be too old for this, you know.”

“One day,” I say as I put on the fresh shirt. “Not today.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Advertisement Hot Asset read Online Lauren Layne (21 Wall Street #1) http://www.books2020.com/hot-asset-1-read-online-lauren-layne Thu, 04 May 2017 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/hot-asset-1-read-online-lauren-layne Genre: Romance Authors: Lauren Layne Series: 21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >80

Read Online Books/Novels:	Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lauren Layne
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B075WTFNCM
Book Information:
A sexy agent hounds Wall Street’s hottest new wolf in an exhilarating novel from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Layne. Ian Bradley is the definition of a Wall Street hotshot: seven-figure salary, designer suits, and a corner office. His drive off the floor is just as potent. Every woman who knows him has felt the rush. But now he’s met his match in Lara McKenzie—a woman with the power to bring Ian to his knees. An ambitious, whip-smart daughter of FBI agents, Lara is a rising star in fighting white-collar crime. Her latest case—the investigation of Ian Bradley for insider trading—could make her career. She knows a scoundrel when she sees one. Ian fits the bill: a cocky, ridiculously handsome bad boy with a slick swagger. She’ll do anything to prove he’s guilty. He’ll do anything to prove he’s not. But it’s only a matter of time before their fierce battle of wits gets oh so hot and personal. Now, taking down Ian has become more than business for Lara. It’s become a pleasure—and there’s more at risk than she ever dreamed.
Books in Series:	21 Wall Street Series by Lauren Layne
Books by Author:	Lauren Layne Books

1

IAN

On paper, I’m a douchebag. Yeah, I said it so you don’t have to.

Don’t believe me? Here’s a crash course in Ian Bradley:

The charcoal-gray suit I’m currently wearing costs more than my first car. I’m six foot two, black hair, blue eyes, and I work out every day, so I wear that suit well, if you get what I’m saying, and you know you do.

At thirty-two, I’m an investment broker—director level, thank you very much—for Wolfe Investments. And let’s just say, work hard, play hard is basically the unspoken company motto.

I’ve got a corner office, a seven-figure salary, a swanky apartment in Manhattan’s Financial District, and I never sleep with the same woman twice—because I don’t have to.

Did I mention I went to Yale? Managed to graduate top of my class and get all the usual college bad decisions under my belt. Achieving both a thriving social life and summa cum laude at an Ivy League is no easy task, let me tell you.

So, like I said—I’m basically the poster boy for “Wall Street dickhead.”

But don’t hate me just yet, because here’s what that Ian Bradley poster doesn’t say:

Unlike the rest of my fraternity, that Ivy League education didn’t come courtesy of a trust fund and four generations of Yale alumni to get me in the door. More like three jobs, an academic scholarship, and a shit-ton of financial aid.

As a kid, my spoon was plastic, not silver, and was provided by a cranky but kind gas-service attendant in South Philly because most of my foster parents didn’t give a fuck whether or not I ate.

That cushy corner office I just told you about? Mine came from sheer force of will and about a decade of no sleep.

And while that seven-figure salary puts a swanky Manhattan roof over my head, it also provides college education for Philly foster kids who are willing to work for it.

Have you started a mocking slow clap yet? Yeah, that’s fair.

But the point is there’s never been a damn thing I worked for and didn’t get through relentless hard work and hustle.

Until her.

And that’s where my story really begins.

Week 1: Monday Afternoon

It’s three o’clock on “Merger Monday,” and I need more caffeine.

Monday is the day of the week where a shit-ton of mergers between companies is announced. For my colleagues and me at Wolfe Investments, that means a lot of time staring at the list, making phone calls, trying to figure out what’s huge, what’s pay attention, and what’s who cares among the deals.

In other words, it’s necessary but mind-numbing, especially after a late night, and, well . . . they’re all late nights in my world.

I step out of my office for a Starbucks run, and the second I do, the office door across from mine opens, and a stunning brunette in a tight red dress gives me a slow smile. “Hey, Ian.”

I smile back at my colleague. “Joss.”

She leans against the doorframe and strategically crosses her arms to emphasize her cleavage before giving me a slow once-over. “Busy?”

Subtlety’s not her strong suit. Hell, it’s not any of ours here at Wolfe.

“’Fraid so.”

Her eyes narrow. “I haven’t seen you around.”

She’s seen me around plenty. She just means she hasn’t seen me naked since the gin-fueled mistake last week that I have no intention of repeating. Not because she’s not hot, but because I don’t do do-overs.

The moment the challenge is over, so’s the appeal.

I’m not proud of it, but it’s always been that way—faulty wiring, I suppose.

“Sorry, been busy.” I give her a wink, then turn to head down the hall.

“Is Kennedy around?” she calls after me.

I smirk a little at the too-obvious question. If she’s trying to make me jealous, she’s wrong on both counts. I don’t do jealous, and Kennedy Dawson doesn’t do office hookups. Even if he did, my friend doesn’t touch my leftovers. Wall Street has a guy code.

“No clue,” I call over my shoulder.

I’m texting my Monday Starbucks barista to let her know I’ll be there in five (no point waiting in line when a twenty-dollar tip has your drink waiting for you) when a pair of excellent female legs in the break room catches my attention.

I slow, trying to see what I’m dealing with here. I don’t recognize the calves. Not the ass or slim waist, either, and I’d definitely remember the long blonde ponytail that’s got just the right amount of grown-up cheerleader fantasy going on.

Hot. Very hot.

Still, I’ve got shit to do, and I’m about to pass on by when I hear the woman talking to herself. “How are there eight milk options?”

I smile at the genuine bafflement in her voice. Shoving both hands into my pockets, I step into the kitchen to see firsthand if the face is as great as the body. “Well, I’m no expert, but off the top of my head, whole, two percent, skim, soy, almond unsweetened, almond sweetened with vanilla, coconut . . .”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >80

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