Devlin Masters has spent his entire life in the service of his family's business empire, working his way up from the mailroom to the boardroom of Masters In Style. As C.E.O. and heir to the billion-dollar hair-care company, Devlin's life is consumed by his work. But when a rival orchestrates his downfall, Devlin must rehabilitate his image or lose control of his cherished company.
Then he meets Ayron. He instantly wants her curvy body. He soon appreciates her mind just as much. But what if she wants his heart?
His father hired me to help him. He’s not supposed to know about this deal. I can't fall in love with him.
I've got to be heartless.
Community therapist Ayron Winters loves helping people more than she craves a big paycheck. But when faced with losing her office space—and her beloved assistant's huge medical bills—Ayron knows she needs money, and a lot of it. Fast.
When the founder of the famed Masters In Style hair care corporation wants to hire Ayron to counsel his impulsive, bad-boy son, she's intrigued. When she finds out how much he's paying, she thinks it's a godsend. But the devil's in the details: she can't let Devlin Masters know she's a therapist. In order to gain his trust, she must pose as his friend. His confidant. But what happens if he wants more? What happens if she does?
Ayron can't lose her heart to Devlin. But more than anything: she can't let him find out who she actually is.
This is a bad boy romance novel. It is book 2 of the City Bad Boys series. It has NO cliffhanger, NO cheating, and a happy ending.
This book has had 601 sales and 85,441 page reads which is roughly another 390 more borrows. This book has gotten to the top 1100 in the Amazon store in ranks, and in top 20 of African American romance, new adult romance, and contemporary romance.
Chapter 1-Ayron
As a child, I used to hold my breath for fun. In a tree or in my room, under water or under a cover, I would strategically fill my lungs with as much air as possible, close my eyes, puff out my cheeks, press my lips together so tight that they burned, and begin to count. I made it to thirty once in my room. Back then it was fun. Today, it is a necessity, and age has lessened my skill.
I gulp in the fresh, crisp air, snap on a face mask, and head into the home of Norma Jean, a chronic hoarder of clothing, food, and cats.
“It’s all right,” I explain to Norma, breathing through my mouth as much as possible. “We are going to take this one step at a time.”
“I just can’t, Miss Ayron,” she sobs, letting her head fall against my shoulder.
Norma doesn’t want to let go of anything. I have been working with her for the past two months in an attempt to help her clean her home before the city condemns it. Twice a week, I come to her home and we work together to uncover it, along with whatever feelings that triggered her actions.
“You have to let go of some of the emotion that you are gripping in order to let go of some of these physical things gripping you,” I tell her with genuine empathy. My mother and father passed away when I was young, and for a while, I found it hard to let go of anything that they had ever touched or smelled or seen. I was able to work past those issues with the help of my grandmother—and Norma will, too, because she has me.
I smile under the cover of the mask in hopes that she can feel my understanding. As a therapist and life coach, I work with people at points of crisis in their lives, when failure is not an option and judgment can’t exist.
I hug the small aging woman and set to task with her on the pile of things stacked in the left corner.
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Fotsing fils de Fongang
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Erika Arcoleo
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Zuleika Teresinha Wiechmann Freschi
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Maria Laspiur
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