Walk of ShameBy: Lauren Layne
About the Book
Pampered heiress Georgiana Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow – and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbour is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years – and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.
Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss – a kiss that’s caught on camera – all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.
Want more fun, fresh, flirty and very sexy rom-com? Check out the titles in the Oxford series, beginning with Irresistibly Yours, and don’t miss the warm, witty and sexy Wedding Belles series.
Let’s talk about five A.M. for a second.
Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?
If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.
Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.
Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.
Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.
Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five A.M. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.
You have no friends.
But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
See, it’s five A.M., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.
I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.
And yet here we are.
I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.
“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.
The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”
Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.
But that’s later.
Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.
My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”
Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”
“Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”
Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”