Angol
My one-night stand turns out to be my billion-dollar enemy.
Yeah, I'm screwed-and unfortunately not that way.
I meet a handsome man at the bar, the kind you only dream about. You know the one? He drinks his whiskey neat and power oozes from his suit-clad form. The night we spend together is perfect-I'll treasure the memory for as long as I live.
Until I discover who he is.
Who's the billionaire asshole trying to tear down my bookstore? My one-night stand. Correction: my rich, handsome, calculating one-night stand.
I hate his determination and his ruthlessness. I hate the way he smirks and the thick fall of his hair. But most of all, I hate that I can't look at him without remembering our night together-a night he's keen to repeat.
During the day, we're at war.
At night, we're lovers.
Sorry. I think they call it, ahem, fudge buddies.
The two things are strictly separated.
No funny business. No emotions.
And definitely no falling for him.
