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Lotta
I may be a total princess, but I’m not looking for a prince. Or even my usual type of wealthy, overly-groomed playboy.
I’m done with smooth. I want a bit of rough. A real man, with a real job. One who’s good with his hands and not afraid to get them dirty.
Someone exactly like the foreman on the new community project my team’s volunteering on.
Aide.
He’s delicious. Even his name says “I know how to get the job done”. And his demeanour says “I could have you moaning in five seconds flat”.
Aide
Carlotta Montefiore-Charlton is as ridiculous as her name. She’s a pampered princess who’s totally out of her depth on a building site.
Even her bras are incompetent at doing their basic job.
Usually, I’d run a mile from a woman like her. But she looks like an angel, and I can’t stay away.
It seems I’m her “bang a poor guy” project. It’s not on me that she’s underestimated my bank balance.
By eight or nine zeroes.
She has me all wrong.
I can’t be her Mr Right.
