Can't Buy Me Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurbs

  A Royal Pain by Abigail Drake

  Other Books by Abigail Drake

  Dedication

  A Royal Pain

  About the Author- Abigail Drake

  Caught by Him by Tammy Mannersly

  Other Books by Tammy Mannersly

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author- Tammy Mannersly

  Romancing the Princess by Bridie Hall

  Other Titles by Bridie Hall

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About the Author- Bridie Hall

  All My Memories by Grea Warner

  Other Books by Grea Warner

  Dedication

  All My Memories

  About the Author- Grea Warner

  Me and Tillie by Lisa Hahn

  Other Books by Lisa Hahn

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  About the Author- Lisa Hahn

  Defending Demma by Melissa Kay Clarke

  Other Books by Melissa Kay Clarke

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author- Melissa Kay Clarke

  His Royal Typeface by Stephanie Keyes

  Other Books by Stephanie Keyes

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author- Stephanie Keyes

  Other Books by Stephanie Keyes

  Please check out the other books by these authors...

  Can’t Buy Me Love

  Abigail Drake, Tammy Mannersly, Bridie Hall, Grea Warner, Lisa Hahn, Melissa Kay Clarke, and Stephanie Keyes

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Can’t Buy Me Love

  A Royal Pain by Abigail Drake

  Caught by Him by Tammy Mannersly

  Romancing the Princess by Bridie Hall

  All My Memories by Grea Warner

  Me and Tillie by Lisa Hahn

  Defending Demma by Melissa Kay Clarke

  His Royal Typeface by Stephanie Keyes

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook: 978-1-945910-45-6

  Print: 978-1-945910-46-3

  Inkspell Publishing

  5764 Woodbine Ave.

  Pinckney, MI 48169

  Edited By Melissa Keir

  Cover art By Najla Qamber

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Can’t Buy Me Love

  Seven romantic tales of love where royalty, celebrities, and passion meet. A case of mistaken identity, protecting the one you love, or proving you aren’t all about the money...these tales will entice and thrill.

  A Royal Pain by Abigail Drake

  Getting shot in the bottom turns out to be the best thing to happen to, impoverished socialite, Chloe Burkhart in a long time, especially when the prince’s very handsome, very sexy bodyguard, Nicolai, comes to her aid.

  Caught by Him by Tammy Mannersly

  Blockbuster movie actor, Brody Nash doesn’t quite know what to make of the gorgeous woman precariously perched on his neighbor’s gate, but as they start to get to know each other better, he begins to wonder if she might just be the one for him.

  Romancing the Princess by Bridie Hall

  A commoner, Sebastian, and Princess Alixandra are set to get married until he begins to wonder if fitting in with royalty is worth sacrificing his principles. Love rules all. Or does it.

  All My Memories by Grea Warner

  The possibility of reconnecting with an unrequited love leads country music star Finn Murphy on a journey of memories in this special prequel to the Country Roads series.

  Me and Tillie by Lisa Hahn

  1950s musical film star Oren Cooper returns to Broadway to find new inspiration. Unexpectedly, that inspiration comes in the form of Tillie Parker—his childhood friend’s little sister and an up-and-coming ingénue.

  Defending Demma by Melissa Kay Clarke

  When faced with an unsavory past, can Demma St. John, rising new starlet, trust ex-Marine Ryker "Digger" McMillan with her secrets and her heart?

  His Royal Typeface by Stephanie Keyes

  When all is lost, love can be found. Will Prince Asher Tarrington's unique font design be enough to salvage a royal family and set the tone for true love?

  A Royal Pain

  Abigail Drake

  Other Books by Abigail Drake

  Traveller

  Saying Goodbye, Part One

  Saying Goodbye, Part Two

  Lola Flannigan in Valentine Kisses

  Delayed Departure

  And Under the Name Wende Dikec

  Tiger Lily

  Starr Valentine

  The Bodyguard

  A Royal Pain

  Copyright © 2017 Abigail Drake

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To my friend, Sena.

  Nothing is better than exploring

  the streets of New York with you,

  (or of Istanbul), because you always find

  the magic around every corner,

  and help me to see it, too.

  A ROYAL PAIN

  The shoes sat in the window display, mocking me. Even at a discounted price, I could never have afforded them, but I wanted them, so badly it hurt.

  I turned away, knowing I had to spend what little money I had on other things. Important things. Things I never would have even thought of a few years ago when my whole life had revolved around parties, dresses, shoes, and shopping.

  Food. Utilities. Lunches for my little sister. A mountain of medical bills.

  I glanced at my w
atch. I was running late again and would barely have enough time to grab coffee for my evil boss and get to work.

  I stole one last longing glance over my shoulder at the shoes before taking off at a trot to the coffee shop. The line looked short, but I ended up behind a woman questioning every single item on the menu.

  “What is a mocha exactly?” she asked.

  Oh, no, I thought, and panic set in. This might take a while.

  When I finally got to the front of the line, the barista handed me my order with a sympathetic smile. “Running late again, Chloe?”

  “As always.” I grabbed the coffee and gave her a generous tip. The poor girl made even less than I did. A true travesty.

  “Be careful. It’s hot,” she said as I juggled my purse, cell phone, and the flimsy cardboard cup holder. “You wouldn’t want to spill coffee on your pretty coat.”

  My coat was a remnant from the days when I could afford cashmere and didn’t worry about buying something white and frivolous. Now I wore it, because it kept me warm on a cold November morning in New York City. Fashion had nothing to do with it. How times had changed.

  I left the shop, dodging pedestrians and moving as quickly as I could in heels. My shoes were also an item from the old days—four inches high, four years old, and scuffed from overuse, but it wasn’t like I could start wearing flats. I’d probably have an allergic reaction. I might even break out in hives. That would make a bad day even worse.

  I’d hoped to cross before the light changed, but didn’t make it. I tried to wiggle through the crowd to reach the front of the pack, but got rudely jostled by a tall, smelly man in a black overcoat. He reeked of body odor, sweat, and something odd and minty. I jostled him right back, wrinkling my nose at the smell, and slipped past. I refused to put up with any more nonsense this morning. I’d had enough. I couldn’t take anymore.

  I’d left our apartment on Park Avenue extra early this morning, after setting up my father by the window in his wheelchair and saying goodbye. Not that he answered. He never answered. It was our morning routine.

  But what should have been a fifteen-minute walk to the Flatiron District had taken close to thirty. Why? Because of those shoes. Because of the woman in the coffee shop. Because I had poor time management skills. Because I’d become a living, breathing example of Murphy’s Law. Whatever could possibly go wrong did go wrong. Always

  I glanced at my watch again, ready to run, as the Madison Avenue traffic crawled past. It would take a miracle for me to get to work on time today, and I’d been sadly lacking in miracles lately.

  The light turned red, finally, and the crowd pressed from behind, startling me and making me spill hot coffee all over my fingers and down the front of my jacket.

  “No, no, no.”

  I felt a small surge of panic in my chest. Patricia, the meanest boss in the world, would have only have half a soy latte this morning, another thing she’d rage about, and I didn’t have time to get her another one. The entire office would pay the price, but I would receive the brunt of her anger. Arriving late and in a stained coat was bad enough. Arriving without a full cup of coffee was basically a mortal sin.

  I took a tissue out of my pocket and dabbed at the coffee on my jacket. Hopeless, especially because I tried to do it while simultaneously sprinting across a crowded street in my heels. Not my best idea.

  My shoe got stuck on something, and I’d been moving so fast I couldn’t stop my momentum. I went flying, a redheaded missile wearing only one shoe and a badly stained cashmere coat.

  Total nightmare.

  I’d had a lot of bad Mondays, but this was officially the worst on record. The Monday to end all Mondays. A sad statement about my life in general.

  Things happened in slow motion as I fell. I still clutched the coffee holder, but it was empty now. Both cups of coffee had hit the man walking in front of me squarely in the back when I’d lost my shoe. Tall, blond, and wearing an expensive looking suit, he stopped moving when I plowed into him, flattening him like a pancake. I’d hit the man with the force of one of those WWF wrestlers as they bounced off the ropes and did some kind of move. Like a screwdriver or a snowplower or something. He landed beneath me, covered in coffee, my boobs on top of his head. I heard the breath leave his body in a huff, and then felt something sharp and painful hit me. Right in the ass.

  “What the heck?” I asked to no one in particular.

  Definitely the Monday to end all Mondays.

  I tried to get off him, but couldn’t move. Someone else had fallen on top of me, and held me down. My hands and jacket were covered in coffee, and something warm ran down my leg. My face was tender and felt scraped from where it had hit the pavement, and my butt hurt. A lot.

  I heard screaming, and a big commotion, but I couldn’t tell what was going on. The man beneath me stayed very still and quiet, but the one on top of me shifted back and forth, like he was looking around.

  “Excuse me,” I said, trying to lift my head. The man on top of me shoved it back down. The pebbles on the pavement dug into my cheek, and it was a little hard to breathe with my chest smashed into someone’s head.

  Finally, just when I’d reached my breaking point, the person on top of me got up, and gently turned me onto my side. I looked over my shoulder, planning to give him a piece of my mind, but stopped as soon as I saw his face. Dark hair, dark eyes, an arrogant nose, and a chiseled jaw. Hot. Just my luck. He must be someone famous, an actor or a male model or something, and I’d made a fantastic first impression. Covered in coffee and kissing the pavement, I’d never looked quite this horrible in my whole entire life. Even when I’d gone on spring break with my best friend, Norah, and we’d gotten drunk and ended up sleeping in a barn. Even that day, covered in hay and reeking of horse poo, I’d looked better than this.

  I tried to get to my feet, but the Dark Hottie held me down, refusing to let me get up. He made me lie in the middle of the street.

  “Stay still. You’re injured,” he said softly, his voice deep and husky.

  I was surprised to hear his accent, which sounded very upper-crust English, but mixed with hint of something else, traces of a language I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t quite figure it out, but I had other, more pressing things on my mind at the moment.

  “Injured? What are you talking about? I’m not injured.”

  He rolled up his dark suit jacket, his muscles flexing under his impeccably ironed white dress shirt, and put the jacket under my head, like a pillow. “Just stay still.”

  Two other men in dark suits helped Mr. Blondie Man to his feet and rushed him off. He glanced back at me as they led him away. I frowned. I’d seen his face before. Another hottie, probably someone important, and I’d tackled him like a linebacker.

  It took me a second to realize the dark man next to me had one hand firmly placed on my bottom, right where it hurt most, as he held me down. A crowd had gathered, and they stared at me with mouths agape, whispering and pointing. Dark Hottie scowled at them.

  “Give us some space, please, ladies and gentlemen. Back off. Now.”

  He had the voice of authority, and the people in the crowd listened to him, moving a few feet away. But they continued to stare at me, and he still had his hand on my bum.

  I tried to pull my skirt back into place. I was showing half of the Flatiron District my lacey lilac-colored undies. Not a good thing. Now I’d arrive at work not only late, covered in coffee and filthy, but I’d also be on YouTube. And I only had on one shoe.

  Dark Hottie spoke into his sleeve, like a secret service agent. “The Chessman is safe. I repeat, he is safe. But the suspect has escaped, and I have a girl down. I need medical assistance. Immediately.”

  He pushed even harder on my butt. I glared at him. “Get your hands off my ass, Mister. Now.”

  His blinked at me in surprise. “You’ve been shot. I’m applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding.”

  “I’ve been what?” A wave of nausea crashed over me and sudde
nly, I became aware of how much pain I was in. My butt felt like it was on fire. “Is blood running down my leg?”

  “Yes. What did you think it was?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Coffee?” He raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you feel it when you got shot?”

  I pushed the hair out of my face so I could glare at him. “Of course I did, but I was too busy trying to breathe with you lying on top of me to think about it.”

  “I was attempting to protect you.” He pushed a little harder on my butt.

  “That hurts. Damn you.”

  Tears poured down my cheeks. Dark Hottie gave me what seemed like an attempt at a reassuring pat with the hand he wasn’t using to stop the bleeding. “There, there,” he said. “You’ll be as right as rain. It looks worse than it is. Redheads tend to be bleeders.”

  Another wave of nausea came over me, and I did my best not to get sick. At least bystanders weren’t staring at my bottom anymore. Some of New York’s finest had formed a wall of blue around us, keeping the crowd at a more respectful distance.