Billionaire Rake by Misha Bell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Misha Bell
- Language: English
- Genre: Romantic Comedy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Jane
“Why not wait at the library?” Mom asks, and though we’re talking on
the phone, I can sense the worry on her kind face. “I thought this
interview was important.”
Important is an understatement. This librarian job is The One Ring, and
I’m Gollum for it.
Gripping the phone tighter, I look around at my picturesque Central
Park surroundings. “I knew sitting in the waiting room for too long would
make me nervous, so I took a promenade.” Not that it helped much.
Mom gasps audibly. “Is ‘promenade’ what the kids are calling Xanax
these days?”
I almost drop my phone into the serene waters of the nearby lake. “A
promenade is a leisurely walk in a public place. Sorry—another one of
those historical romance words.”
“Oh.” Mom sounds way too relieved, considering I’ve never done
drugs. “Make sure to tell them how much you like those books.”
Huh. Saying that I merely like historical romance is like saying Glenn
Close’s character was kind of into Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction. Or
that Hannibal Lecter was peckish for human livers with fava beans in The
Silence of the Lambs.
The alarm on my phone goes off, spiking my heartbeat. “It’s time to
head over there,” I tell Mom. “I only have ten minutes before my interview
starts, and it’s a five-minute walk.”
“Go then,” Mom says. “Hurry. I’m sure you’ll crush it.”
“Thanks.” Hanging up, I smooth the skirt of the suit I bought with the
last of my money—clothes I’ll have to return if I don’t get the job.
But I will, of course. This library has the best collection of historical
romance in the world, and I’m the most avid historical romance reader there
is. It’s a match made in Victorian England.
Miss Miller tightens her stifling corset, readjusts her bonnet, and lifts
her chin. During trying times such as this, a lady must keep a stiff upper lip.
Yes, that’s better. When I need to calm down or cheer myself up, I often
cast myself in the role of a nineteenth-century lady named Miss Jane Miller.
She’s the daughter of a baron who impregnated her mother out of wedlock
and then promptly died on a ship that was hunting sperm whales. According
to survivors, the good baron was humped to death by the majestic beast’s
eight-foot cock—which, to me, seems like a fittingly ironic fate for a
useless sperm donor.
To further relax myself, I pop in my headphones and play the theme
from Netflix’s Bridgerton.
A menacing white shadow appears in the corner of my eye.
I turn, and my already-pounding heart nearly jumps out of my throat as
I freeze on the spot, a dozen questions forming in my mind.
Is that a sheep? If so, what’s it doing in Manhattan? Why is it running at
me? Is it wagging its tail? Can you be killed by a—
Snapping out of my stupor
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