Still Me (20Something #3) by Amy Patrick
Age Group: New Adult
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 10, 2014
Buy Links:
Amazon
Book Description:
Fall in love like a 20 Something….
23 year old Kenley Moran is going through a mid-life crisis… WAY early. Pushed since childhood by a nightmare stage-mom to use her looks to “land a rich man”, she’s reeling from a broken engagement and regretting the day she gave up her career in TV news for a guy.
Now Kenley’s determined to change her life, shunning makeup and fashion and fighting her way back into the highly competitive career she loves, off-camera this time. When she lands a producing job at Worldwide News Network in Atlanta, she plans to keep her head down, work hard, and prove she’s not just another pretty face. And vows NO ONE is EVER going to make her compromise herself again.
WNN anchor Larson Overstreet has it all—old money, good looks, a prestigious job, and more women than he can count throwing themselves at him. Problem is… none of it is real. He’s known his whole life that people are only interested in him for his fortune and his famous family name, in that order. Except for Kenley. The shy news producer isn’t interested in him at all.
Working closely with the anchor of her new show, Kenley’s dismayed to feel an instant spark. Larson’s everything she doesn’t want. He’s too good looking, too charming, and worst of all, too rich. She’s not looking for another big money honey. In fact, she’d prefer a nice little guy from the mailroom, maybe a guy who lives at home like she’s been forced to do.
But when they must travel together for a special report, Kenley realizes Larson’s not the spoiled pretty rich boy she pegged him as, and she’s not as immune to him as she’s pretended to be.
Now, even at the network level, what happens behind the scenes is the real story.
♥ ♥ ♥
Excerpt:
After killing as much time as possible in the bathtub, I got out and dried off and stood looking at my two clothing options. In this corner—Larson’s clean, fire-warmed t-shirt. In this corner, my repulsive two-day-old clothing. I slipped on the t-shirt and opened the door. Larson’s back was to me. He sat in a chair, facing the wood stove, listening to sports talk at a low volume.
I scrambled up the ladder and called out from the concealment of the dark loft. “Okay—done in there. It’s all yours. I’m really tired—just going to go to sleep—try not to wake me when you come to bed, okay?” There. I’d acknowledged the shared-bed necessity and laid the don’t-talk-to-me ground rule.
“Goodnight,” Larson said without looking up. Rising from the chair, he lifted the third pot of boiling water from the stove and carried it across the room toward the bathroom beneath the loft.
I lay in the bed, pulled the quilt over me, and stared up at the ceiling. The stove cast a dim, orangey light on the wooden planks above me. The grain of the wood seemed to dance and change as the firelight flickered from below.
