Are you ready for Blaire?
Blurb
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the
guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are
you ready for mine?
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1AhIp7A
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1FOfY2m
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1rSEK0k
iTunes: http://bit.ly/1zO1Fsn
Review
Well Hott…..daammnn! I’m at a loss for words. This
story….GAH! Mia Asher completely had me in a daze, completely consumed in the
story, and totally toyed with my fucking emotions.
Blaire, oh Blaire. I wanted to hate her. I wanted
to be so angry with her. I wanted to slap the shit out of her on more than one occasion.
But she totally got under my skin. I wanted to comfort her and tell her that
everything will be alright. This beautiful, confident, strong woman on the
outside has a broken soul. And I wanted to fix it. My heart ached for her at
some of the decisions she made throughout her life. I wanted to sit down with
her and give her a come-to-jesus lecture.
This is far from a love story. This beautiful
woman uses her outside appearance to gain the attention she so desperately
craves. The walls she’s built around her heart have managed to get her through
the past couple years, but one man, one man, one beautiful, sexy and caring man
has the power to crumble those walls. But
will she let him in? She has goals. She has a certain lifestyle that she is
accustomed to. And she has the perfect candidate to give her the lifestyle she
wants, the money she desires. But how much is enough? What’s more valuable?
Money or love?
I absolutely love how Mia Asher portrayed these
characters and delivered this story with such vivid details and emotion. It was
flawless and all-consuming. I devoured this story in one sitting. My eyes were
glued to the screen and I became more and more invested in this story with the
turn of each page. And what an ending! An ending that made me gasp and left me
craving so much more.
**ARC received in exchange for an honest review
Excerpt
With champagne and caviar inundating my every sense, I
slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend
to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer
whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my
left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows
of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space
between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets
gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich
mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit
and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I love it.
Standing across the room, where the crowd is
thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of the
room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks polished
and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo, perfectly
starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to the side
shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to picture that
this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while
hardcore porn plays in the background. He looks untouchable and so cool, but
his searching eyes, scanning the crowd for me give him up. He’s wondering where
I am. He did tell me not to go too far, after all. Soon after we arrived at the
party, I gave him some space to talk to his friends and do his thing while I
did mine. I hate clingy people, so I avoid being one.
I grab a third flute of champagne from a
passing waiter, and try to decide which of the different displays to check out
first when my eyes land on a spectacular piece of jewelry. On a bed of black
silk, similar to my hair color, lies an extravagant necklace made of diamonds
and rubies—a small heaven within one’s reach as long as you can afford the
price.
I bridge the space between the glass
protecting the necklace and me until it’s within my reach, fighting the urge to
touch the cool surface. As if under a spell, I observe how the rows of diamonds
embedded in platinum form leaves and thorns. At its center is a rose made out
of red diamonds almost as big as my palm.
I feel someone walk up and stand next to me,
but I don’t give him or her a second thought as I continue to admire the way
the light hits the gems, making them shine.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His voice is smooth and commanding, dripping
absolute power. I keep my eyes locked on the display. Call it sixth sense, but
somehow I know that under no circumstance should I make eye contact with the
stranger who speaks like the ruler of the world.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“I wonder how much it is?” the man asks.
“I don’t think it matters … I highly doubt
anyone can afford it.”
He chuckles, and the sound is more delicious
than his voice. Lusher. “Oh, but I can.”
I smile at his self-assurance. I love cocky
assholes. “I still doubt it.”
“You shouldn’t. I only speak the truth,” he
retorts coolly. His voice is nonchalant yet his words leave no room for
disbelief—a demand and a statement all in one.
Suddenly, the noises of the room become
distant. People talking and laughing amongst friends and the orchestra playing
all fade away until all I hear is him speaking.
And at this moment, that is all that
matters.
“The truth is very subjective, sir.”
“The truth may be subjective but money
isn’t. Money can buy anything.”
His answer is like an electroshock,
jumpstarting my brain from a champagne-induced haze. My pulse begins to
accelerate, excitement making it hard to take a deep breath. Don’t look at him
… don’t.
“Oh really,” I say, my voice dripping with
sarcasm. He’s right, though.
“Of course. I believe everything,” he
pauses, “and everyone has a price.”
Curiosity winning the battle against curiosity,
I turn to face him, and what a fucking big mistake that is. When our eyes meet,
I feel incapacitated of all sense and movement. The sight of him takes my
breath away. This man gives the term “lust at first sight” a whole new meaning.
In my
short twenty-three years, I’ve been with extremely handsome men, perfect even,
but to classify the man standing next to me in any kind of category would be a
disservice to him, and not really fair to the others. Longish, light brown hair
wildly framing his face, vacant eyes the color of dollar bills, a slightly
crooked nose, and a mouth that begs to be buried deep within your thighs. His
beauty is as harsh as it is stunningly perfect. Dressed in a simple black
tuxedo and unbuttoned white shirt, the man exudes innate virility and grace,
reminding me of a black panther stalking his prey. And just like a panther,
it’s the pure raw and powerful energy emanating from within him that I find
most attractive. Because just by standing next to him, I get the sense that his
word is always the last spoken and his wishes the first ones to be fulfilled.
He doesn’t ask, he demands. He doesn’t hope, he expects.
He’s
quiet for a moment; his uncanny eyes hold me captive as though they are baring
my soul to him and I hate it. I tighten my hold on the crystal flute. I want to
look away, but I can’t. The way he’s staring at me makes me want to squirm.
“I wonder … do you have one?” he asks softly
before turning to examine the piece of jewelry once more.
“A
what?” I ask, momentarily stunned.
He smiles. “A price.”
“For the right amount … I just might,” I say
quietly, my heart beating so fast it feels as though it wants out of my chest.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s no shock coursing down my body, no
rolling waves of shame pulling me down for having said that to a complete
stranger—nothing.
And why should there be? I am who I am.
I’m staring at his profile, waiting for him
to acknowledge my answer, when a breeze of cool air floats past us, making me
shiver. About to chase the goose bumps on my arm with my hand, I watch as he
slowly turns to look at me, catching me staring at him. Time stands still as I
watch him raise his large tanned hand and touch my bare shoulder, his
fingertips lightly grazing the temporary small bumps covering it. Then he
smiles as if he knows that my skin is tingling from his scalding touch, and
looks away.
“I thought so.”
We remain standing next to each other for
another minute or so, the distance between us almost nonexistent. It would be
so easy to reach out and hold his hand. The sound of an incoming call breaks
the silence, bringing us back to reality.
He takes his cell phone out of the inner
pocket of his tuxedo jacket and ignores the call after noting the name of the
caller. He lifts his gaze to meet my own.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I should go … I’m here with
someone,” I reply, not really wanting to leave him just yet.
“Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”
I frown. He didn’t have to be quite so
blunt. The stranger extends a hand toward me, holding something in his fingers.
“Here … ”
I open my hand as I feel the edges of what I
assume is his business card poke the skin of my palm. “What’s this?” I ask
stupidly.
“My business card, of course.”
“Obviously … but why?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Let’s just say that I’m an interested buyer.”
And then he’s gone.
He turns and walks away from me,
disappearing into a sea of colorful gowns and black suits. As the sounds of the
party infiltrate my ears once more, I lower my gaze to stare at the simple
cream-colored card in my hand. Its simplistic and elegant design draws
attention to the name printed in bold black letters on the paper.
Lawrence Rothschild.
I smile and let my fingertips trail his
name. It depends on what you’re willing to pay, Mr. Rothschild.
Published by Mia Asher
Copyright © 2013 by Mia Asher
About the Author:
Mia Asher
My name is Mia Asher.
I'm a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer,
a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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