Praise for New York Times and #1 international bestselling author Christina Lauren
“Full of expertly drawn characters who will grab your heart and never let go, humor that will have you howling, and off-the-charts, toe-curling chemistry, Dark Wild Night is absolutely unforgettable. This is contemporary romance at its best! Beautifully written and remarkably compelling—it reminded me why Christina Lauren’s books have a place of honor on my bookshelf.”
—Sarah J. Maas
Sweet FILTHY BOY THE ROMANTIC TIMES 2014 BOOK OF THE YEAR
“A sexy, sweet treasure of a story. I loved every word.”
—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Crossfire series
“A crazy, hilarious, and surprisingly realistic and touching adventure. . . . One of the freshest, funniest, and most emotionally authentic erotic romances.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“No one is doing hot contemporary romance like Christina Lauren. Sweet Filthy Boy is beyond swoon-worthy.”
—Bookalicious
“Funny and adorably charming. . . . Tender, hot, and even heartbreaking at times, but so worth it.”
—Heroes and Heartbreakers
“Had my heart pounding from cover to cover. . . . A must-read!”
—Fangirlish
“A deliciously filthy romp that you’re going to love!”
—Martini Times Romance
“Sweet Filthy Boy has everything necessary for a great romance read. Love, passion, heat, turmoil, and humor are all perfectly combined. Add in the stellar writing and there is nothing more I could ask for.”
—Bookish Temptations
“Christina Lauren are my go-to gals for when I’m in the mood for a laugh-out-loud, sizzling, sexy romance.”
—Flirty and Dirty Book Blog
Dirty ROWDY THING
“Lauren has mastered writing delectable heroes and strong-willed heroines to match, and the contrast between rough-edged Finn and polished Harlow makes for a passionate romance.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“Most of the time when I read contemporary romance, I find myself suffering the lead girl for the sake of the story. Maybe I just don’t identify with her, or I can’t imagine myself being friends with her. With Harlow, I don’t find myself just wanting to know her, I want to be her. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks, but she’s compassionate and thoughtful. . . . In a lot of ways, the most interesting female protagonist I’ve read in a long time.”
—That’s Normal
“Once again Christina Lauren have created a book boyfriend that will probably end up on every blogger’s top ten.”
—The Sub Club
“[A] smoking-hot story. I particularly appreciated . . . the modern tone. It felt of the moment.”
—Dear Author
The Beautiful Bastard series
“Hot . . . if you like your hookups early and plentiful. . . .”
—EW on Beautiful Stranger
“A devilishly depraved cross between a hardcore porn and a very special episode of The Office.”
—Perez Hilton on Beautiful Bastard
“A beautiful read, an astonishing love story, a couple whose journey I understood and felt from beginning to end—this is a book I would recommend with all my heart.”
—Natasha Is a Book Junkie on Beautiful Secret
“This book, like the others in this series, sucked me in right away, and I couldn’t get enough.”
—The Autumn Review on Beautiful Player
“The perfect blend of sex, sass, and heart, Beautiful Bastard is a steamy battle of wills that will get your blood pumping!”
—S. C. Stephens, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Thoughtless
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For Eddie, our Superman
Chapter
ONE
Lola
I MENTALLY DRAW THE panels of the scene before me as we follow the receptionist down the marble hallway: the woman wears six-inch black heels, her legs go on forever, her hips shift with each step.
Her hips shift left.
Her hips shift right.
Her hips shift left.
My agent, Benny, leans in. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers.
“I’m fine,” I lie, but he just snorts in response, straightening.
“The deal is all drafted, Lola. You’re here to sign, not to impress anyone. Smile! Today is the fun part.”
I nod, trying to trick my thoughts into agreement—Look at this office! Look at these people! Bright lights! Big city!—but it’s a wasted effort. I’ve been writing and drawing Razor Fish since I was twelve, and every single second of the fun part, to me, has been creating it. The terrifying part is walking down a sterile hallway lined with glass-front cubicles and glossy framed movie posters to sign a seven-figure contract for the film translation.
My stomach seems lodged somewhere in my windpipe and I go back to my safe place.
Her hips shift right.
Her hips shift left.
Her long legs span from the earth up to the clouds.
The receptionist stops at a door and opens it. “Here we are.”
The studio offices are almost obscenely fancy; the entire building feels like the modern equivalent of a castle. Every wall is brushed aluminum and marble; every door is glass. Each piece of furniture is either marble or black leather. Benny leads us in with confidence, crossing the room to shake hands with the executives on the other side of the table. I follow him in, but when I release the glass door it swings closed heavily, and the jarring gong of glass abruptly meeting metal echoes through the room—a sound broken only by two startled gasps coming from across the table.
Fuck.
I’ve seen enough photos of myself in stressful public situations in the past three months to know that, right now, I don’t look ruffled. I don’t duck my head and apologize; I don’t slouch or wince even though, as soon as the door slams dissonantly shut, I’m tied into a hundred thousand knots inside. Apparently, I’m just good at hiding it.
The New York Times gave Razor Fish a brilliant review, but found me “aloof” during an interview that I’d believed to be spirited and engaging. The Los Angeles Times described our phone call as “a series of long, thoughtful pauses followed by single-word answers” whereas I had told my friend Oliver that I was worried I’d talked their ear off.
When I turn to face the executives, I’m unsurprised to find they both look as polished as the architecture. Neither woman across the table says anything about my less-than-subtle entrance, but I swear the slamming echo reverberates throughout the room the entire time I walk from the door to the table.
Benny winks and gestures for me to sit down. I find a soft leather chair, smooth my dress over my thighs, and carefully take a seat.