Sinful Blaze (CHEKHOV BRATVA #1) by Naomi West EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Naomi West
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.1 MB
- Price: Free
DAPHNE
Today is the worst shitshow of my entire life.
I’m exhausted, weary down to the bone in every part of my body. I need
makeup like the Pope needs Jesus. I need caffeine injected directly into my
frontal lobe. I need a fresh start and a REM cycle. I need a Xanax and
somewhere, somehow, a glimmer of hope.
None of that is forthcoming.
And it’s all Conrad’s fault.
That’s because, as of eight hours ago, my now-ex-boyfriend decided to
throw me into the streets so his mistress could move in and enjoy what used
to be my home.
I couldn’t even fight back. Why? Because duty calls. Work duties,
specifically. I’m the curator at Bloomington Brothers, an up-and-coming
gallery on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and tonight is one of the
biggest events of my life.
I have to curate the art show… at which my cheating ex is the star artist.
“Conrad! You’ve done it again!” a woman standing in the midst of the
gallery cries out in a posh, has-to-be-fake accent. She clutches her husband
by the tweed elbow of his suit. “Oh, darling, look at this! We simply must
add it to our collection!”
I wish sofuckingmuch that I was allowed to drink on the job. It’s probably
for the best that I’m not, though, because I’m pretty sure I’d clean out the
bar just listening to the show’s patrons spew endless garbage in Conrad’s
direction.
The funny thing—and not “funny” as in “ha ha,” but funny as in, “let me
know if you see a bridge nearby so I can jump off it”—is that I used to be
one of them. I used to swoon over every piece Conrad’s brilliant mind
created; I’d sigh and fawn and ooh and ahh.
Especially the central piece of tonight’s showing. That one is his pièce de
résistance, his magnum opus, the culmination of his life’s ambitions
painstakingly poured onto canvas with all the love and adoration of a man
worshiping his personal goddess.
I used to think that goddess in the painting was me.
But the two tiny freckles on her left breast, bared for the world to see, give
the secret away.
I don’t have freckles there. Brittany, though? The woman on Conrad’s arm
currently blushing and waving off her new admirers? The mistress who
stole my bed, my man, my life?
She has those freckles.
In that exact. Same. Spot.
That’s my day in a nutshell. My boyfriend cheated on me, kicked me out of
our home, then forced me to curate his art show, which prominently
features a nude painting of the mistress he left me for.
I must’ve pissed off someone celestial.
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