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“And I’m the happiest fucker alive.”
I’m Mason Westbrook. And the only plan I’m committed to is my plan to love Karli Brighton-Westbrook for the rest of my life.
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Squee!Thank you for reading Wild Thing. I appreciate it so much. I hope you fell in love with Mason and Karli.
Mason and Karli’s wedding night was extra sweet (in a dirty way). Make sure to grab your copy of the Wild Thing wedding night epilogue to get the spicy details.
Also, have you read the prequel to Wild Thing. Grab your copy of Dr. Westbrook Gone Wild to about the first night Mason and Karli met. There were instant fireworks, so to speak.
Happy reading!
The Brighton Boysare absolutely ready to melt your panties now. Look out forSweet Thing, coming next. You’ll get to see Felix Brighton get sucker-punched in the feels by love :)
SO, WHAT TO READ NOW…?
If you love a steamy and hilarious rom com about a grumpy workaholic billionaire and the one woman who can dig up his soft side—his sunshine-y best friend who he scribbled a marriage pact with nine years ago—read an excerpt of The Wild Side.
Cash and Meghan’s sizzling chemistry will short-circuit your Kindle. (It’s free in Kindle Unlimited.)
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Excerpt
Cash
I push backthe cuff of my custom-tailored dress shirt and glare down at the face of my Patek Philippe watch.
Fuck, I’m running late. Very late.
Across the massive mahogany conference table, a bunch of disgruntled corporate executives slam around their whiskey glasses and grumble about having wasted their Wednesday afternoon.
Tough luck.
Today’s negotiations were a complete bust but that’s not my problem. If those assholes had approached this deal in good faith, we could have easily struck a mutually-beneficial agreement. Instead, they decided to be stingy.
So, no deal.
I know what my time is worth and I know what Westbrook Wealth Management brings to the table. I refuse to do business with a group of slick-haired swindlers trying to lowball me.
In one seamless movement, I briskly glide out of my executive chair and give them a curt nod. “Gentlemen.”And I use that term lightly.
I’m unapologetic as I leave the men to their whining and exit the conference room. Nicky is hot on my heels, an iPad and a slim file folder neatly gripped in her manicured hands.
“Traffic is gonna be a mess at this time of day, and you still have to swing by the bakery,” she reminds me as we hustle down the carpeted hallway back toward my corner office.
Through the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the sun diving behind the skyscrapers embellishing the Chicago skyline. The clouds are dark and thick.
That’s not a good sign.
I throw her a scowl over my shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
She shrugs, struggling to keep pace with my long strides. “I told you I could have gone to the bakery for you.”
“And I toldyouI’d handle it myself.”
“The CFO of the city’s fastest growing wealth management company fetching a birthday cake from a bakery halfway across town—on the company dime, no less. Yeah, that’s fiscally efficient,” she bites, unfazed by talking back to her boss.
