Chairman of the Whored
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by Lucy V. Morgan
Category: Erotica/Bisexual Erotica/Romance
Description: Dark. Debauched. Delicious... Is she ready to go under his knife? Leila Vaughn is a tax lawyer at a prestigious London law firm. And a whore. She didn't take the night job just to pay off her debts-- an affair with an older man once stirred a pit of darker desires. Now her year as an escort is almost over, she's ready to lock up her alter- ego, Charlotte, and be normal once again. What's bad is that her colleague, Matt, just caught her out. What's worse is that their boss Joseph is with him. Matt wants to rescue Leila. And she should want what he does--monogamy and escape from the city--if she's going to be normal, right? But her boss is as familiar with the slippery world of escorting as she is, and that makes him hard to resist. In London's tightest circles, he's known as the Chairman of the Whored. Bold, sharp and ruthless, he's everything Leila is trying not to be--so why can't she say no to him? Three jobs left before she pays off her debt. Two men playing games she can't handle. One alter-ego, banging against the mirror. In a dark hotel room, the glass is about to break... WARNING: Contains clever lawyers with a penchant for violence, and an alter-ego like Tinkerbell on meth.
eBook Publisher: Lyrical Press, Inc., 2012 2012
eBookwise Release Date: February 2012
2 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [409 KB]
Reading time: 254-355 min.
Why would a promising solicitor moonlight as a whore?
I made up a dozen sob stories. None of them were really true. Suffice it to say, the parents who paid for the education that brought me here--nearing the end of my training at a rather swanky firm, if I say so myself--could never afford it. I could have let the bank take their house and their lives, if I'd been that kind of girl.
I was, apparently, the kind of girl who could splay herself out for rich strangers and earn a couple of thousand in a few hours. A convenient thing, that. A cursed one too.
I built my lair in London. The snakes undulated as the banks closed, and every Eve worth her extra rib knew the real temptation beckoned when the moon began to swell. Life happened on both sides of the looking glass, but only reflected sunlight split Leila the lawyer from Charlotte the whore.
There was something wickedly thrilling about both the jobs I did.
I didn't know they were about to collide with each other.
* * * *
"Is it wrong," I began, "that I actually find tax law fascinating?"
Matt glared over the top of his phallic-statement-sized coffee. "I'd need to understand it before I found it fascinating, Leila."
"You need to get your nose out of Rock Sound and into the FT."
He took the Financial Times and scanned the front page. "Ooh ... capital gains amendments ... exci--no, it's really not working for me." He tossed it back over the desk. "I am so going back into real estate when this seat is over."
"Bah. You have no balls."
He ran long fingers through the dark hair that constantly attacked his face, and cocked an eyebrow. "I can prove otherwise, you know."
"Don't flash me in the office again."
"Flash you? 'S only my knee!"
"A bruised, ugly rugby knee. Highly inappropriate. Put me right off my lunch."
He finished his coffee and feigned a wounded pout. "You should have seen the state of my--"
"La la la! I'm not listening!" I clapped my hands over my ears.