The Pleasure Contract by Caitlin Crews (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📕

laughs. “You don’t want to know. The cleaners should be coming in now, so the place is going to be spotless before we open.”

“I’m going to go and grab coffee,” I announce, grabbing my bag. “You want one?”

“I’d love one.”

I head to the café down the road, and return with four coffees in my hand, placing one on Bronte’s desk and handing the other to Trade. I leave the other near Chains’s workspace, knowing he will be looking for it when he arrives. Chains is a mechanic here, and also a member of the MC.

I don’t know if they are aware of it, but Fast & Fury is like a second home to me, and I’m glad to be here every day.

“You got me a coffee.” Bronte beams as she comes toward my desk, clasping it in her hands like the Holy Grail. “You are the best, Cam. I’ve had hardly any sleep; Quinn kept getting up last night.” Quinn is Bronte and Crow’s beautiful little daughter. Crow is a member of the Knights of Fury MC, and left here to manage another one of the MC’s businesses.

“Poor thing. My hat goes off to working moms—I don’t know how you guys do it,” I say to her.

“Me either, but it gets done,” she replies, grinning widely. “Luckily there’s only two clients coming in today, so it won’t be too busy. When does Chains get here?”

Chains is Crow’s best friend, and also an MC member. Out of all the men, he’s the...hardest to get along with. He definitely has some issues, but he’s always there if anyone needs him. He’s the black sheep of the group. The more time I’ve spent with him, though, the more he has grown on me. I have to admit, he’s a pretty interesting guy.

“Should be here any minute,” I reply, glancing down at my watch. “If he’s coming in on time anyway. I better get back to work. I want to finish the Harley’s paint job today. I think this might be my favorite work yet.”

Bronte’s eyes smile. “Really? Is it because the bike it hot pink? Because I don’t even ride and I want one.”

“It’s not every day I get to do a sexy feminine design,” I admit, clapping my hands together in excitement. “Whoever this bike is for is one lucky woman.”

“Temper didn’t tell you who it was for?”

“Nope, he just gave me the bike and said it was for a woman, and told me to go to town on it, so I have.”

“Huh,” Bronte replies, turning on her computer. “Well, I can’t wait to see it when it’s done and we can show it off on our social media pages.”

“And I can’t wait to read the comments on it about how talented I am and to let them get to my head,” I joke.

She laughs out loud. “I knew you did that. What’s new with you? How’s your online shopping addiction going?”

I wince and shift on my feet. “Bad for my bank account, but I can’t help how happy I feel when that package arrives on my front doorstep.”

Ever since Billie died, I’ve tried several coping mechanisms. I started out with alcohol, but have now taken up the addiction of retail therapy. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the perfect distraction and I’m a little obsessed with it.

A package a day keeps the sadness away.

“I know what you mean. I got a few packages yesterday—it was like Christmas came early.”

I sit down on her desk. “What did you buy? Where from? Do I need to order something from there? Talk dirty to me.”

Bronte bursts out laughing, and leans closer to me, bringing a husky tone to her voice. “Well, I bought some mustard bedsheets, and new pillows and a throw rug...”

“Mmm. I love mustard sheets,” I tell her, my eyes hooded.

“What are the two of you talking about?” Chains says as he walks in, eying the two of us. “Looks sexual.”

“Bedsheets,” I reply, standing straight. “I need to buy some.”

“You have a problem,” he deadpans, shaking his head.

“You really do,” Bronte adds, amusement etched on her expression. “Lucky Temper pays you well.”

She’s right on both accounts. I do get paid well, but I also do have a problem. If I’m not buying my feelings, I’m eating them.

But we all do what we have to do to get by, right?

Copyright © 2021 by Chantal Fernando

Keep reading for an excerpt from Exposed by Cathryn Fox.

Exposed

by Cathryn Fox

CHAPTER ONE

Gemma

MY PHONE PINGS—finally—and I jump from my buttery-yellow sofa as excitement jolts through me. I slide my finger across the screen and ask, “You’ve landed?”

“We just cleared customs, actually,” my best friend, Mia, says, but the barrage of airport noises and announcements coming through her cell makes it difficult to hear her.

I press my phone harder to my ear and place my palm over the other one as I step outside my Belize villa, straight into my backyard oasis. God, I love it here. With the scorching, late morning sun falling over me and a medley of floral scents drifting by on a breeze, I take a rejuvenating breath and say, “Your driver will be holding up an orange place card with your name on it. Let me know when you see him.” I would have picked the girls up myself—I really wanted to—but our small Porche fits only four—with me behind the wheel, that makes five. By sending a driver, no one is left to cab it alone.

“Looking, looking,” Mia says, and I can almost visualize her scanning the arrival lounge as she pushes through the crowd. Mia is a born-and-bred New Yorker—fast-talking, fast moving and the best friend I’ve ever had. We both work at my mother’s art gallery—Swerve—in Manhattan. I love her to pieces and would be lost without her management skills. I’m the right-brained artist; she’s the left-brained problem solver. Talk about a team made in heaven. “Wait. Hang on. Yeah. I think I see him. Come on, girls, follow me,”