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The next book in this series is Beckett Pearce and will release on November 26, 2021.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at this enemies-to-lovers, billionaire romance.
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Beckett Pearce Sneak Peek
Oh my gosh, I LOVE writing these two!!!
So, to give you a little background which will help this make sense, Jenna dated Beckett's best friend, Declan, for a couple of years. They're broken up now. Jenna has never enjoyed time spent with Beckett. She's a stylist, and her friend has called on her to style a shoot for a magazine she works for. This scene takes place when Jenna arrives for the shoot.
JENNA'S POV
“You’re not serious?” I say to Tilly as I stare at the man she’s directing me to. I then look at her and add, “Like, for real, at what point did you think it would be a good idea not to tell me who I’d be styling today?”
I arrived at the YR offices less than ten minutes ago and am ready to walk back out. Spending time with Beckett Pearce while dealing with a pounding head is my idea of hell on earth. Something Tilly is very aware of. I’m already calculating ways of hurting her worse than I already planned to.
She grips both my arms as if she’s about to give me the pep talk of all pep talks and says, “Just go in there and pretend he’s someone else. Like, Chris Hemsworth. That should get you through the afternoon.”
“Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is going to get me through the afternoon if I have to talk to that man.”
Tilly cocks her head. “What is it actually that you don’t like about Beckett? Every woman I know would die to spend an afternoon with him.”
“That’s because they don’t know him like I do. He’s arrogant and superior and overbearing and controlling.”
“Those words mean the same thing, babe.”
“Yeah, well that’s because he’s those things multiplied by a thousand. You should have told me who I’d be working with, Tilly.”
She manages to look regretful at that. “I’m sorry, but I was desperate. Please don’t leave. Please, please, please. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yes, you will.” I take a deep breath and steel myself while looking at Beckett again. “Okay, I’m going in. Pray for me.”
“I’m on my knees.”
The thing about Tilly? I can’t not love her, even when she does stuff like this, which she often does. She’s been the kind of friend to me that I adore and need in my life: always there at the drop of a hat when I need her. Tilly got me through my messy break-up with Declan when so many others dropped me because I no longer had anything they deemed of value, i.e. a wealthy man who could open doors. I’ll never forget what she did for me.
Straightening my shoulders and gathering my inner strength, I walk to where Beckett is waiting. Not that he’s waiting—this man doesn’t wait for anyone. No, Beckett Pearce enters a room and takes command of it simply by existing. Declan was up there in the realm of arrogant assholes, but he was never on Beckett’s level. The difference between the two of them? Declan had to put effort into everything he attempted; Beckett never had to try.
As I move closer to where he’s resting his ass against the makeup vanity, I lament the fact Beckett is the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Tanned skin.
Dark hair that’s the perfect blend of styled and “fuck it, I just got out of bed.”
Killer stubble that’s a little more than a five o’clock shadow but not a full beard.
Strong jaw.
And those eyes.
I don’t even want to talk about those eyes.
They’re the brightest shade of blue and they’re so wasted on him.
Also, don’t get me started on the dark blue suit he’s wearing today. Or the fact he’s wearing a vest. A man should always wear a three-piece suit in my opinion. I could ogle a good suit for hours, and this one’s right up there for me. I just don’t want to ogle it on him.
Beckett’s eyes meet mine right as I’m admitting to myself just how fine he looks today.
He doesn’t smile.
Not even a trace of a smile hits his face.
He just stares at me, looking bored.
Fuck you, Beckett Pearce, fuck you.
“You should fire your stylist,” I open with when I reach him. Glancing at his shoes, I add, “I would have chosen the brown Alessandro Galet Scritto Oxfords for you. So much more personality in those. These are a little minimalist and bland.”
“Hello to you, too, Jenna,” he drawls, still looking just as bored as he was a moment ago.
I dump my bag on the vanity next to his ass, doing my best not to check out said ass. I fail epically. Beckett’s ass is an eleven in a ten world. I’ve always thought so. And that has always pissed me off.
“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here. I wouldn’t have picked YR as a magazine you’d ever agree to doing an interview with.”
He casually crosses his feet and arms after placing his cell phone in his pocket. “I have my reasons.”
I bet he does. Beckett doesn’t do anything without a clear and calculated goal.
God, we’re not even a minute into our time together and I’ve had enough.
“Right,” I say, glancing at the clothes hanging in the corner, “let’s get you suited up so we can both get out of here as soon as possible.”
“That would make my fucking day,” he says, and I detect the first note of turmoil I’ve ever heard come from Beckett’s mouth.