I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Mon, 12 May 2025 18:28:55 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Never Say Yes To Your Bodyguard (I Said Yes #6) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-bodyguard-i-said-yes-6-read-online-lindsey-hart Mon, 12 May 2025 18:28:55 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-bodyguard-i-said-yes-6-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)

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He’s grumpy. She’s glitter. And there’s only one bed (and one very judgmental cat).

My life? Chaos, glitter, and cat fur.
His? Rules, shadows, and muscle so intense it should be illegal.
We’re total opposites.
Like "hug everyone" versus "might scowl you to death" opposites.

When my internet-famous cat gets catnapped, Thorn Stone shows up.
Scowling. Bossing. Judging.
And refusing to leave.
He calls me unprofessional.
I call him a tactical potato.
He says I need protection.
I say, “Hard pass.”

Now he’s my bodyguard—uninvited and insufferable—guarding me and my cat like it’s a military mission.
All grumpy. Growly. And… hot.
And unfortunately, very good at getting under my skin too.

He says it’s just a job.
I say he’s about to lose more than his temper.
Like maybe his bulletproof heart.

And I said I’d never fall for someone like him.
But looks like my heart didn’t get that memo.

If you love grumpy/sunshine romance, forced proximity, bodyguard heroes, laugh-out-loud banter, and spicy slow-burn love stories that melt your heart, Never Say Yes to Your Bodyguard is your next must-read!
Each book in this series is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!

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

Chapter one

Ephemeral

“Help! Someone grabbed my PUSSY—” I’m shouting while running, so the next word, “cat,” never makes it out of my mouth as I run out of breath. And I realize just how bad I’ve messed up when the heads of practically everyone around me at the cat convention whip around. A few sets of goggly eyes fix on me. “My cat!” I yelp, pointing in the direction of the big dude clad in all black who is rapidly speeding away, throwing elbows all through the crowd and forcing it to part for him.

He has Peach Lips. She’s mine, and I’ll do anything to get her back.

Including giving chase.

In platform boots.

It’s not working out so well so far, and I realize with a horrible, gut-wrenching disappointment that even if I have decent shoes on, my five-foot-four frame is no match for the burly burglar who is heading straight for the arena’s exit.

Even if I catch up with the guy, all he’ll have to do is shove one of his meaty palms in my face, and he’ll lay me out flat. He can hold Peach Lips above his head so that I can’t reach her. He’s clearly a terrible human being who likely has an accomplice, and they probably won’t be above tossing her around while playing keep away.

The thought of something happening to her makes me want to puke.

Also, sprinting. I’m not that out of shape, but when I said platform boots, I meant the five-inch rainbow-hued with stars variety.

Honestly, it’s a shock that I haven’t faceplanted straight onto the tiled floor yet.

It’s mom-strength. When one’s child is threatened or taken, you get superhuman strength. I wish it were speed. Ugh, I wish very badly it were speed.

“That guy took my cat!” I scream again, mustering all the breath left inside me. My lungs are steaming and heaving, but I keep going, forcing my burning legs to propel me forward. “Peach Lips! That guy is trying to steal her! Someone help!’

More heads turn. I hear people start talking, and they’re staring. At me. At the exits. Looking, trying to locate her.

“There!” I point at the black-clad figure. He’s moving like a freight train, still plowing his path. The exit isn’t that much further. They’re all around the building, and this week, I’ve used pretty much every single one of them, so I know where they are. If the crowd wasn’t so thick tonight for the last night of the convention, that asshole might have gotten away long ago.

Even still, he’s gaining ground on me, and I’m dropping back.

My legs are pillars of fire, and my feet are blistered. My lungs are an inferno, but my heart is worse than all of it.

I want to drop to my hands and knees and beg.

Please. Please, don’t take my cat. I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. She’s literally all I have. My ride or die. She needs her medicine. She likes her heating pad, and she has special food because she has allergies and no teeth. She loves the sun. Her perch in our window is her favorite thing in the world. I need her. Without her, I’m lost. If I lose her, I lose what little I have left of my tattered and worn heart.

“Stop him!” I’m so hoarse by now that it’s a wonder anyone hears me.

But he does.

He comes out of the shadows, also dressed entirely in black and also a brick shithouse, mountain shadow, supervillain-himself-looking dude. He’s all muscles and square chin and black combat boots, his black T-shirt emblazoned with the white blocky letters that scream he’s SECURITY.

He’s in front of the guy fleeing with my cat tucked up under his arm like a loaf of bread as he carries her football style.

It’s appropriate then that the cat nabber gets clotheslined and football-style tackled to the ground. He doesn’t see it coming and ends up flat on his back. I’ve been running my platform boots off this whole time, so I catch up with the fray as a crowd and three more security personnel gather around and get involved.

“Please!” I hold out my arms. “My cat!”

Everyone is all oohs and awws and simpering mush as Mr. Superhero Security passes me Florida’s Ugliest Cat, legit voted for five years in a row. Ugly meaning cute. If you know, you know. Peach Lips is also a world-famous internet sensation. The thing about the ugliest cat title? It’s a badge of honor. We wear our weirdness and our differences and what some people think of as disabilities with pride.

People can be mean. They can be horrible. The internet can be a sad, judgmental place filled with nasty old trolls and people who don’t think the person reading that stuff on the other side of it all has feelings, but it can also be a great thing. A great place. A place where wondrous things can happen.

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Advertisement Never Say Yes To Your Brother’s Best Friend (I Said Yes #5) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-brothers-best-friend-i-said-yes-5-read-online-lindsey-hart Mon, 21 Apr 2025 22:19:47 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-brothers-best-friend-i-said-yes-5-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)

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I lost my brother.
Then I got a letter from him—his final wish.
Find his best friend… and marry him.
A man I’ve never met.
A man my brother trusted with his life.

Only problem?
Rick McDonald is a nightmare wrapped in a jawline that could cut steel.
Cold. Distant. Unreadable.
A brooding, scarred billionaire with a permanent scowl and a stare that should be illegal.
And the grumpiest man on planet Earth.

His reaction to me?
A big fat no.
But I don’t back down from a challenge.

I make him a deal.
Two weeks.
I stay.
He stops glaring at me like I’m his worst nightmare.

Simple, right?
But somewhere between the fights and the accidental almost-kisses,
I realize I want more than just his permission to stick around.
I want him.
Too bad he placed me in the off-limits category.

All books in the "I Said Yes Series" are STANDALONES and can be read in any order.

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

Chapter one

Aspen

I’m one of those people grief should have killed, but I’m still here.

My brother was twelve years older, and the thing about having a sibling so many years apart is that they become an adult before you do. They experience far more life before you even begin to figure out what living is. Jace saw more of life than I’ll ever hope to know. He joined the military at seventeen because he graduated early. I was just going into kindergarten then. My dad was so proud. My mom too. She wasn’t even Jace’s real mom, but she loved him like she was. I remember all of us standing there, seeing him off. My parents. Jace’s mom. We all got along well, which wasn’t something I really understood to be a thing when I was five, but I know it’s a thing now. We all waved Jace off when he joined the military. Everyone put on a brave face, even though the three adults were terrified something would happen to him. I was just proud because they acted like they were proud too. I didn’t know that under those forced smiles, their hearts were aching, and there would be so many sleepless nights to come, worrying about him.

Jace trained here first, but I was still just a kid when he went overseas. There were letters and videos, emails and texts. When my parents hung up the phone, there were so many tears in private, even from my dad. I thought it was because they missed my brother, but even when I was young, I started to see what the reality of having someone in the military meant.

Proud or not, we all missed Jace so freaking much.

When he came home, we thought maybe it might be for good.

It wasn’t. Over the years, the details became sketchier and sketchier. Jace stopped being able to tell us anything, and my parents stopped asking because they didn’t want to put him in that position. All we knew was that he was in Special Forces, and he was doing the kind of stuff we shouldn’t know about.

Even at eighteen, I knew Specials Forces wasn’t the kind of spy shit you saw in the movies. It was dangerous. I told my brother that if he ever got killed, I’d be so mad at him, and I’d never forgive him, so he had best never do it. He promised me he wouldn’t.

For six years, life went on. I went to college, graduated, got my first real job, had my heart broken a few times, and worried constantly. I did life while Jace wasn’t here to see it, and I always, always wished he was. Missing him was a perpetual ache.

Last year, he broke that promise.

It was a joke kind of promise. I wasn’t serious. He knew I wouldn’t hate him. It was just my plea to please, please, please come home safely.

We didn’t get his body back. That’s the worst part. Because it makes all this feel less than real. Except I know it is real because my parents have aged ten years in the past twelve months. My life has been on a frozen, paused hold where nothing feels real, yet everything is so real all the time that it could freaking crush me.

I’m twenty-five now. But Jace is always going to be thirty-seven. Until the end of time, he’ll never grow old in my mind. Until the end of time, I’ll do anything and everything I can to keep him alive in my memory, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how, sometimes, I could die or scream with the anguish of it. There are days, even a year later, when I have to lock myself in a bathroom or step into an alley and give in to the private, heart-wrenching sorrow. Some days, I can smile and laugh, but other days, the grief eats away at me. I want to celebrate Jace. I want to celebrate each and every minute we have spent together, but at the same time, it’s so hard knowing there isn’t ever going to be another.

No, that’s wrong.

A few days ago, my life changed. It was like Jace was speaking to me from the grave. No, more than like. He was. Is. I can imagine him right here with me, on this plane, flying across the country. I can imagine him smiling at me and giving me those dopey thumbs up and telling me I rock like a sock.

There’s only one letter. There isn’t going to be another. When the lawyer gave it to me the day after the anniversary of Jace’s death, he told me there was just one letter. It was left in his care, and Jace gave him instructions.

I have to say, I wouldn’t want to carry out final notices like that, but this guy? He was a pro. It was like he’d never had an emotion in his entire life.

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Advertisement Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband (I Said Yes #4) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-fake-husband-i-said-yes-4-read-online-lindsey-hart Wed, 12 Feb 2025 07:22:59 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-fake-husband-i-said-yes-4-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)

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Married? Yes.
Happily? Not even close.
Because guess what…
I’ve never actually met my husband!
That was the term when I accepted the contract marriage.

Except I'm so over being "married" but single.
After a threatening phone call to my husband's lawyer,
One reckless night out,
A ridiculously hot stranger,
And a very unfortunate case of holy-crap-I-just-hit-on-my-husband later…
I’m screwed.

Because now? He’s interested.
Like, let’s-make-this-real kind of interested.
He says I can’t break the contract.
He says I belong to him.
And he now wants to play husband.
Like excuse me?!
But no, thank you.

Not falling for the billionaire stranger I married.
Not when he's still hiding secrets from me.
Not when he ghosted me for four years straight.
Not when his smirk is criminally illegal.
Not even when he looks at me like I’m cake.
Not even when he sends me a one-eyed, farting dog as a peace offering.

Just a few more months until the contract expires.
Until then, my anti-husband shield is staying on.

An unconventional marriage, quirky humor, and steamy chemistry all bundled up in one entertaining package.
All books in the "I Said Yes" Series are STANDALONES and can be read in any order.

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

Chapter one

Weland

“I’m about to make a terrible decision, Smitty McSmittington.” Based on the fact that this man is my husband’s lawyer and, out of the two of them, the only one I’ve ever met before, I figure I should give him the best possible chance to talk me down and maybe even stop me. I owe him that, at least. He’s nice. Most of the time. Plus, I think his name is kick-ass. Even though he does boring things all day, like law, he’s all right when it comes down to it.

And my god, it's definitely coming down to it.

“Miss Bull, please don’t give me that.”

“Give you what? No bull?”

Smitty’s sigh is one of the longest, long-suffering ones I’ve ever heard through a phone. “For the love of turkey drums, what’s going on?”

Oh, maybe the fact that I’ve been married—technically married—for four years, and I’ve never met my husband. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. Or maybe the fact that I used to be fun, but due to the gag clause in the contract I signed, I mean marriage documents, I have to zip it. It means no telling my family and friends why I can’t go out, why I’m not interested in guys, and why my life is on pause while theirs goes on, and they get to do things, live, meet people, fall in love, get married, and have babies.

You know, all the regular, amazing, normal life things to do.

They get to share it with someone else.

I just have a piece of paper that bought my silence. Oh, and two hundred grand up front, with the other three hundred grand promised to me at the end of five years.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it all over again if I had to. I saved my brother’s life with that money. It was a no-brainer at the time. I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to be this lonely.

“I’m going out tomorrow night. My sort of best friend is getting married, and I’m going to her stagette.” I can only imagine Smitty’s face. Given that he’s pretty patient, I’d say he’s not pulling one at the moment. He has a good, resting, straight-laced face. A good lawyer face.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. The contract was never meant to make it so you couldn’t go out and have fun with friends.”

“Yes, but it’s at a bar. A bar with guys. Guys who are no doubt attractive. Guys who will buy us drinks. Not that we can’t buy our own because we can, and we will.” One day, I’m sure I’ll look back on this moment as the deciding moment of something or other, but right now, I’m going for it. And by going for it, I mean going off the rails. “I will no doubt be inebriated, and I haven’t been drunk in a very, very long time. I can’t promise I’ll behave. I also can’t promise I won’t find a handsome stranger and take him home. Of course, it would all be very discreet, so that should at least be within the parameters of the piece of paper that rules my life.”

I know I’m not being fair. I know the piece of paper kind of rules his life too. I know if I mess up, he’s going to get in shite. But honestly. Four years. It’s been four freaking years, and I am just so freaking done.

Will I actually get drunk this weekend? Probably. But too far gone drunk? Not a chance. I actually don’t even like drinking. I prefer more like nicely buzzed, still kind of sober, easy to get sober with a glass of water so I can still look after my friends kind of drunk. And that friend who’s getting married? She’s my sort of bestie, just as I said. The bestie I’ve grown a little apart from in the past four years, and no, it’s not just because of life. It’s the gag clause. She has no idea I’m married. As far as she or anyone else knows, my family’s health insurance paid for my brother’s surgeries.

Will I hit on a handsome stranger and take him home? Not a chance. I would never do that. But can I threaten and be petulant and wish for just a moment that I had someone to hold me at night and share my feelings and my heart and life with? It’s not as though I’d find that with a one-night stand, but yeah. It doesn’t stop me from wishing. Or from hurting.

“Miss Bull, please, let’s just talk about this.” This is where the calm lawyer stuff comes in. The rational tone and the I’ve got this because I can handle anything lawyer voice.

“I’m not technically even a Miss Bull. Did you know that, Smitty? Of course you know that. You know what my last name is. I don’t. I don’t even know that. Because on the contract I signed where I gave up five years of my life, the real name of my husband was blacked out. In war times, I think they would call that redacted. Or not in war. In government documents. Which I feel like this crazy contract was.”

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Advertisement Never Say Yes To A Stranger (I Said Yes #3) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-a-stranger-i-said-yes-3-read-online-lindsey-hart Fri, 06 Dec 2024 20:24:09 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/never-say-yes-to-a-stranger-i-said-yes-3-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)

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The deal was for one single night.
And I was expecting a sweet old man in his sixties.
Instead what turned up on my doorstep was…
A big fat self-made billionaire
With gorgeous blue eyes
And a hard-and-sexy body

I knew there was something sus about him,
He probably lied about his age.
But the deal he was offering was too good to pass on.
He wants 4 nights with me.
And NO! It's not what you are thinking.
The only things on offer are companionship, cookies and milk on my little farmhouse.
Apparently, billionaires also feel lonely and want a little company.

But when we end up sharing a bed…
He has me rethinking all aspects of the deal.
Not the platonic kind either.
But why does it feels like he is hiding something.
Is it just me being paranoid or does he know my real identity?

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

Chapter one

Ignacia

Ignacia Sutherby may be my not-so-real name, but my legit toxic trait is that I let strangers sleep in my bed for money.

Hot bedding.

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad if people let me explain what the hell is hot bedding. I suppose I do it differently than most people, though. Yes, I’m careful. And no, nothing funky ever goes down. There are contracts and cameras for mutual protection. What’s more, all my clients are old, sweet, and harmless. How did it come to this? Well, a girl has needs.

Mine happen to be that I’d like to keep the run-down acreage I bought under a fake name when I fled the state and city from my scammer slash abusive ex and not lose it to the ravages of time. Time ravages are really a thing.

No one tells you that bugging out, getting a fake ID, going into hiding, and assuming a new life isn’t as fun as it sounds. You pretty much have to leave everything about yourself behind. For me, it meant taking a hiatus from my fairly lucrative, rising-star fashion design career and becoming someone who kind of lives on the prairie and sews prairie dresses. You know, those long boho-style ones that were so popular in the seventies? Cottagecore is actually a thing again.

I had to start from nothing all around, but in the past eight months, I’ve reinvented myself, though it came with a price tag. First of all, the acreage just about bankrupted me, but I did buy it in cash. Getting a fake ID isn’t cheap either, even when you know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Even without a mortgage, I have bills to pay, groceries and fabric to buy so I can eat and sew, and the constant upkeep of this place.

By upkeep, I mean I need to keep most of the buildings from falling down around me.

Luckily, the house is mostly cosmetic, but that’s not the case with the barn and shop. If I wanted to save them, something had to be done.

I didn’t have the money to hire anyone, so that something was done by me.

I first heard the term hot bedding when I was driving around in my ancient station wagon, trying to hear the crackly radio above the roaring heater that was spewing out very little warm air while I drove on snow-covered back roads, heading into town to mail out a stack of finished orders. Yes, I’m good. Starting over sucks, but it didn’t take me long to get back into the roll of things. My work speaks for itself, I guess. Plus, granny dresses are hot, so hence the massive order stack I had to get out.

I would have been doing fine if I hadn’t walked into the barn to feed the two stray cats that kind of came with the place and noticed that the walls were…what’s the term? Cantilevering? I’m not sure if that’s right, but one was moving one way in, and the other was moving the other way in, so they were both bowing in the middle in ways they shouldn’t. I took some photos and joined an online forum, where some very nice people informed me that I was hooped—and hooped hard—unless I acted fast. Meaning I needed to pour a concrete floor and pin the cement grade beams in place by digging out all around them and making sure they couldn’t move once I straightened them out and realigned the walls with them using all sorts of jacking and blocking methods.

It sounded really scary, but I learned there isn’t anything I can’t do with enough muscle power, enough hours of shoveling, and the knowledge and will to get it done.

The one thing I didn’t have was twenty grand to pour a new floor and make sure the walls stopped moving. Doing it by hand with bags and a mixer wasn’t an option for a pour of that size, so the advice I got was to call a truck in. The pouring would be done by the truck, and the rest would be done by me.

When I realized I’d need a big chunk of money fast, and I needed to also do a hell of a bunch of research, I turned to the internet. The only thing I was willing to sell was my feet, but it didn’t work out. Everyone talks about making bank off their toes, but I got a whole lot of zero tractions from the websites I tried.

And then.

Inspiration.

Hot bedding.

It’s not a very big thing here in the US, but I think it’s why I’m able to make so much money so fast. There’s a fledgling website that is gaining traction, so I signed up.

I couldn’t believe rich men were willing to travel out here, into the middle of bum farge nowhere North Dakota, just to share the other half of my queen-sized bed for the night. Regular hot bedding is supposed to be where people rent out half of their bed or their whole bed for a night, and they take a shift sleeping in it with a stranger. No one shares the bed at the same time. But maybe I was desperate, or maybe I was just willing to go the extra mile. I wanted something that would set me apart.

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Advertisement Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I Said Yes #2) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-best-friend-i-said-yes-2-read-online-lindsey-hart Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:35:43 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/never-say-yes-to-your-best-friend-i-said-yes-2-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Funny Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Another night.
Another boring blind date.
Another attempt by my family to meddle in my life.

The mission
Wine her.
Dine her.
And never see her again.

Except the woman who showed up was outrageously loud and over the top.
Nothing like the usual meek, prim ladies I'm used to.
And when she moans over a piece of crab leg, my boner is a goner.
Even her burp is cute.
And then I discover she's not who she said she was.

Her
Dine me.
Ruin the date.
And never see me again.
All as a favor for her best friend.

Well, she should never have said yes to that.
Because now I can't get her out of my mind…
And if it means me, the tech guy, will have to acquire a pudding company…
Just because she works in it… then that's what I'll have to do.
She can reject me all she wants,
But I'm seriously determined to taste her… pudding.

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

Chapter one

Evilla

Evilla (Pronounced Eve-ay-lah because my parents had no notion that a name could cause me SO many problems throughout my entire freaking life.)

“I didn’t know meringues have eggs in them! How was I supposed to know that?” Gen, my best friend, screeches.

“Sweetheart, I think everyone knows that,” I say to her.

Gen’s face turns murderous and thunderous. A very large red welt stands out on her forehead, and there are two that look horribly itchy on her neck. She jams a finger up at the welt on her forehead but doesn’t scratch it. “I didn’t do this on purpose. I could have freaking died!”

“I’m glad you had your pen with you.”

“I didn’t need the pen. I just took some allergy pills fast, and they worked. I would have extra died if I had to stab myself in the leg in front of everyone.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. Or that you’re going to be. But you could just cancel the date and reschedule.”

Genevieve storms across her expansive living room. A person could probably run a marathon in here and still not reach the other side. As far as grad gifts go, this was a good one. We might be in Tampa and not New York, but rent and real estate are still expensive. I’m never going to own a house, and I’ve made my peace with that. Home ownership sucks anyway. Who wants to constantly be sinking all their hard-earned savings into fixing a leaky roof, spending all their free time unclogging gutters, or worrying about the central air crapping out or the fridge going on the fritz?

Gen doesn’t have to worry about those things. She has so much money because her parents have so much money, and when anything stops working, they’re either replaced or fixed by people who know what they’re doing.

Gen is a hot blonde. Naturally. She’s gorgeous. Her parents might be super rich, but she’s actually pretty down to earth. She might like her car and condo, but she goes for natural in every other way. She has a killer body—she always did—even before she had a personal trainer. Not only that, but she makes all her own meals because she loves cooking. She’s also kind and smart, and she’s a great best friend—she has been ever since we met in kindergarten. Her parents getting rich and mine not getting so rich never changed the fundamental core of our friendship.

“It’s just a bad idea. I didn’t want to go in the first place.” Gen flops down on the couch. It’s strangely super hairy, and it kind of resembles a mossy boulder. It swallows her up. She grinds her face into it, then pops back up and scratches the giant hive on her forehead. “Argh! My parents. I can’t believe they did this to me.”

I love Gen to death, but she does have a penchant for bright green that I find to be a little too much. Everything in this place is a shade of neon or chartreuse except the floors. You should see the bathroom, though. It turns out you can get any color of tile, sink, and toilet on the planet if you have the money to pay for it. They’re not even vintage finds as a throwback to when green and pink tubs were hot stuff.

My bare feet make tracks through the fuzzy shag lime green rug as I make my way over to the couch. I sit down beside her on the thing that looks like it came right out of some forest. Then, I stroke her hair. God, it’s so soft. Expensive shampoo and conditioner and trips to a good salon do wonders, though I wouldn’t know about that. My strawberry hair—and I use that term with a grain of salt because it’s more of a coppery red on my best day—wouldn’t know anything about splurging since I don’t treat my hair to spa days. I can’t afford them.

“I hate to ask this, but are you sure you didn’t know about the eggs thing?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t eat them just so I wouldn’t have to go on this horrible blind date my parents set up with his parents.” She scratches at the hives on her arm. “I would never do this to myself. I’m going to be itching for the rest of the night, and I look like a monster.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” I smooth her hair but quickly make adjustments when I realize I’m actually stroking the hairy couch by mistake. “And I’m sure he’ll understand that you have to reschedule.”

“I don’t want to reschedule. I can’t believe my parents did this. They’ve never acted all rich people spoiled and stuff, but this is a rich person thing to do. This guy is just looking for a wife who doesn’t annoy him to death, someone to carry on his rich ass bloodline. That’s it. He doesn’t give two donkey arses about connection or romance.”

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Advertisement Never Say Yes To Your Boss (I Said Yes #1) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/never-say-yes-to-your-boss-i-said-yes-1-read-online-lindsey-hart Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:02 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/never-say-yes-to-your-boss-i-said-yes-1-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: I Said Yes Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)

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One day I'm struggling to repay all my debts,
The next, I'm being whisked away to get married…
My boss says he needs a wife ASAP.

When you are offered a huge paycheck that would resolve all your life's problem,
Saying yes might be the only option.
Plus my boss is pretty easy on the eyes.
Probably has no idea that I have this huge crush on him.
Or that he's like a ray of sunshine in my life every day.

Except the guy that showed up at the altar is… not him.
The one I was just made to get married to is my boss's older twin brother…
The heir to the Bradford Enterprise.
The dark brooding man that everyone calls a beast.
The one that stays completely out of the spotlight.
The one surrounded by all kinds of rumors…bad ones.

Before I can escape,
He hauls me away to his huge mansion.
Away from everything.
And he says for better or worse,
We are stuck together…

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

Chapter one

Everleigh

Iwill never get over Bradford Anderson the Third.

Yes, so he also happens to be my boss, and I’m just the lowly admin person. This isn’t some rags-to-riches story. I’m just one of his assistants with hopes of being, well, of being not.

And by that, I mean promotion. I have no aspirations for the man himself. The company promotes from within. They try and give people who are already here an opportunity if they can. I saw my chance last week when an entry-level position in the accounting department came up. I couldn’t decide whether applying showed ambition or would make me look malcontent, but I sent my resume in anyway.

It’s been a week of literally sitting on pins and needles because I have this thing where when I get super nervous, my butt cheeks become slightly numb. Having a numb butt for seven days now has been uncomfortable, to say the least. It’s gotten worse now that I’ve received the call. You know, the one where the said god of a boss gets on his office phone, calls your direct line, then asks you to please come to his office. Totally unscheduled. For no reason whatsoever.

That call.

The numbness is spreading. I’m walking, and I’m doing it all funny—it's like my legs are all jelly and butter, and there’s no toast or anything substantial to hold me up and keep me together. I’m that nervous. I’m a wreck. I’m probably sweating through the white blouse my mom still has to iron for me because I’ve never figured out the art of making it look good, and she’s a pro, and we can’t afford dry cleaning. I’ve already knocked on the door, so it’s too late to lift my arms and check, but in any case, I’ll keep them pressed to my body.

Breathe, Everleigh, breathe. Don’t breathe messily, and don’t pant. Just breathe normally. In, deep, out, push. In and out. Soothing breaths. Here we go. You’ve got this. You need this. Oh god, what if he fires me because he thinks I’m not happy here because I applied for a different position? What if he thinks I’m a huge ingrate, and if I’m not dedicated to my job, then I shouldn’t have a job? Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can’t afford to lose this job. Not now. Not ever.

Bradford is there in his palatial office behind his throne. I mean his desk. He’s sitting all casual and gorgeous. He basically defines beauty, and his suits might be the three-thousand-dollar bespoke kind, but they only look so stellar because they’re on him—all six foot three godly, manly inches of him. He has perfect sandy hair, and it falls just the right amount over a strong forehead. His eyes are a glittering green, and the lights in here only enhance their strange shade. He’s also got a carved-out jawline, strong lips, and all the typical too-gorgeous-to-be-real features of a god-made man through some unfortunate and humbling accident that happened in a parallel universe before he was even born.

“Good morning, Everleigh.” He motions to the chairs in front of him, and because he’s a king and I’m just a lowly peasant, and the entire lower half of my body is now numb, I fall into one of them rather less than gracefully. It takes me a second to rearrange my wooden legs and pull down my cheap pencil skirt. I pray he doesn’t notice that it’s not designer and that I got it on sale at a thrift store. Yes, on sale at a thrift store. I manage to keep my arms tucked at my sides just in case of sweat emergencies, and then I raise my head and gulp.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” My stomach ties into a horrible, tight knot. If only this man knew how desperately I’d fallen for him. I’ve been working as his assistant, which was basically landing the job of a lifetime, for two years now. I only got the job because I have a friend from college who used to work in the mailroom here but now works in marketing and knows people who know people who know people. And they needed someone urgently back then.

I’m distracted when the sun comes out from behind the clouds outside, and a beam of golden sunlight slants through the huge windows in the office and straight onto Bradford. He’s not only gorgeous, but he’s good. He runs this place like it’s his birthright, which it basically is because he comes from a long line of Andersons—the third in his name should give that away—but also from old, old, old, ancient family money. Despite his mountains of gold, he gives back to this city in ways that most people don’t, and he really does care. He’s an inspiration, which is why his name has been in so many magazines and newspapers and generally all over the internet. It’s not my job to handle his PR, thank goodness. That takes a whole department. Literally. He’s turning thirty next month, and it has led to a whole slew of requests for things like the top thirty under thirty, blah, blah, blah. It’s been a scheduling nightmare, and unfortunately, I do handle that part. Just saying.

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