Kiss the Girl

Book 3: The Naughty Princess Club

by Tara Sivec

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

In Kiss the Girl, a struggling antiques collector finds herself falling in love with a millionaire playboy; but can she ever be a part of his world?

Meet the Naughty Princess Club, a series from USA Today bestselling author Tara Sivec that brings listeners to Fairytale Lane and the hilarity—and romance—that three women fall into once they decide to strut their stuff and bring on their own happily ever after.

While her friends have broken free of their insecurities, Ariel Waters is struggling to come out of her shell. Her ex-husband took away her voice and her self-confidence, and Ariel is drowning under a sea of debt to afford the alimony she has to pay him. She refuses to ever fall for a man's charms again, and is determined to make her own way.

When her house and her beloved antiques are taken by the bank after too many missed payments, Ariel finds herself adrift until the infuriatingly charming Eric Sailor comes to her rescue. Although she can't stand the millionaire playboy, Eric's kindness and unconditional support reveal hidden depths and a love that Ariel never imagined she could find.

But there are outside influences who will stop at nothing to keep them apart; can Ariel and Eric weather the storm and find a way to be together?

Release date: September 4, 2018

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1: Fantastic Fish Female

“You have got to be fucking kidding me with this shit.”

I glare at my phone sitting on the table in front of me when Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” blares through the low hum of conversation in the coffee shop for the seventh time in so many minutes.

“It’s okay. You can answer it. I don’t mind,” Natalie, the perky blonde sitting across from me, says with a smile.

I turn my glare in her direction, adding in a lip snarl for good measure as I scoop up the phone and jab my finger against the screen before bringing it up to my ear.

“You better be dying in a ditch somewhere,” I mutter in greeting.

“Ariel?” my friend Cindy questions through the line.

I let out a long suffering sigh, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You called me, dickface. Who else would be answering my phone? Are you dying?”

“Uh . . . well . . . no,” she stammers.

“Then for the love of God, why in the actual fuck are you calling me? Hang up and text me like a normal person or I will slit your throat.”

Natalie has the good sense to look slightly terrified as she subtly pushes her chair a few inches back from the table and out of arm’s reach from me. It’s not that I want her to be afraid of me exactly, but if this interview continues in the direction it has been for the last thirty minutes, I may have just found a new roommate. It’s good to establish who’s in charge right from the get-go.

“I was just calling to make sure you’re still going to help Anastasia and I move into PJ’s house tomorrow,” Cindy states.

“Again, something you could have said to me in a text,” I growl in annoyance.

I love my best friend, I really do. I just don’t like talking on the phone to anyone. I’d like to say that my irritability right now all stems from being forced to speak on the phone, but deep down I know that’s not true. I am woman enough to admit that ever since Cindy announced she and her fourteen-year-old daughter would be moving in with her boyfriend, I’ve been feeling slightly off. Add to that the fact that I need a roommate to help pay the bills since I’m drowning in debt and my life is just one big suck fest lately.

“Belle and Vincent are going to be here at nine tomorrow morning to help as well. I’m going to pick up coffee and donuts!” she tells me excitedly, like coffee and donuts will make getting up at an ungodly hour and lifting heavy shit all day worth it.

Okay, fine. The donuts are definitely a perk.

I swallow back another groan when Cindy mentions my other best friend, Belle, and her boyfriend Vincent. When the three of us became friends, no one was more shocked than me. For one, I don’t do girlfriends. Just thinking that word makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Women are too moody and judgmental and hold grudges about shit that happened twenty years ago. On top of that, Cindy was a prude housewife and Belle was a shy, nerdy librarian. Polar opposites of myself. But then we each realized we shared similar money problems and were in dire need of making cash very quickly and, I don’t know, we just clicked.
I helped the two of them learn how to break out of their shells and become the strong, independent women they were always meant to be, while at the same time, starting our own business called the Naughty Princess Club. It’s basically strippers who make house calls. Think of it like a Tupperware party, but with less clothing and no appetizers. It was all fine and dandy until those two assholes had to go and fall in love and ruin everything.

Okay fine. They didn’t ruin everything. They just made me feel like something was wrong with me because I wanted absolutely nothing to do with men or love or romance or any of that other nonsense. Cindy fell in love with PJ Charming, the owner of Charming’s Gentlemen’s Club, where we initially went to get stripping lessons before we opened our business. And then Belle fell in love with Vincent “Beast” Adams, the surly bouncer from Charming’s, who shocked us all when we found out there was a sweet, thoughtful man hidden under his bad attitude.

“How did your roommate interview go?” Cindy asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“It’s still going,” I inform her, watching Natalie nervously rip the napkin in front of her into a million pieces.

“Is she nice?”

“I guess,” I shrug.

“Is she too nice?” Cindy questions.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Cindy sighs through the line.

“It means, is she going to turn into single white female and dye her hair the same color as yours and try to screw your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I remind Cindy as Natalie perks up and looks over at me.

“Yet,” Cindy laughs.

I roll my eyes and let out another annoyed sigh.

“I do not have a boyfriend and I will never have a boyfriend. Stop trying to get me on the boyfriend train just because you found the one guy in the entire world who is sweet and romantic and loves you for who you are.”

“He is not the one guy in the entire world like that. Belle found hers too, don’t forget,” Cindy states.

“Can we be done talking about this now? You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Shut up and ask the nice girl about her hair,” Cindy demands.

Right now, I’m seriously regretting teaching Cindy how to find her voice and not let people walk all over her. Moving the mouthpiece of my phone away from me, I jerk my chin in Natalie’s direction.

“Are you happy with your current hair color?”

Natalie looks at me in confusion for a few seconds, tentatively reaching up and twirling a strand of her long blonde hair between her fingers.

“Uhhhh, yes?” she whispers. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about a change lately, maybe brunette with some caramel highlights. I’m getting a little tired of—”

“Stop talking,” I interrupt, holding a hand up to her and bringing my phone closer to my mouth to address Cindy.

“Are you happy now? She’s not going to dye her hair red like mine, I don’t think she’s got the balls to screw the boyfriend I will never have, and I’m fairly confident if she tried to kill me I could take her skinny ass and jam a screwdriver in her eyeball before she could even blink.”

Natalie visibly starts shaking in her seat, and I start to feel really bad about scaring the poor girl.

Ha ha, just kidding! I don’t give a fuck.

Damn it. Yes I do. I need a roommate, like, yesterday, and Natalie has been the only normal person I’ve met with in the last few weeks.

“Stop trying to scare her,” Cindy scolds. “Give her a chance and do not kick her out before the interview is over.”

I bristle at her words and narrow my eyes even though she can’t see me.

“I’ve given all of these jackholes I interviewed over the last few weeks a chance. It’s not my fault every weirdo in a fifty-mile radius responded to my ad. Did you forget about Felony Felicia? Or Pothead Patricia?” I ask.

(Let’s conduct a small reenactment, shall we?

Me: Well, I think this went well. I’ll be in touch.

Felony Felicia: Great! My parole officer will just need to inspect your house.

Me: I’m sorry, what?

Felony Felicia: It’s fine. As long as you keep anything that might be used as a weapon locked up and out of my reach, he’ll approve it. You know, like knives, forks, chopsticks, stilettos, and lighters.

Me: *blank stare*

Felony Felicia: Honestly, the stilettos charge was total bullshit. It’s not like the heel went that far into my ex-boyfriend’s neck. He’s just a pussy and I guess neck wounds bleed a lot.

Me: Get out.

Me: It was nice chatting with you. I’ll call you later this week.

Pothead Patricia: Quick question, dude. Do you conduct random drug tests?

Me: I . . . what?

Pothead Patricia: It’s fine if you do. I’ll just need, like, at least a three-day notice so I can get ahold of some clean urine. It’s okay. I’ve got a guy. Are you gonna finish that muffin? Blueberries are my jam, dude. I could go for some Cheetos. SpongeBob is really funny. Can we take a nap now?

Me: Get out.)

Cindy groans through the line and I know she’s thinking about my disastrous roommate interviews as well.

“Just be nice and call me when you’re finished,” she tells me.

“When have you ever known me to be nice? Also, I will text you when I’m finished, like a normal human being. Leave me alone and go have crazy monkey sex with your boyfriend before tomorrow when you’re shacking up, all the magic is gone, and you murder him in his sleep for not replacing the toilet paper roll.”

“One of these days, Ariel, you are going to get your own fairy tale and I’m going to point and laugh at you when it happens,” Cindy informs me. “You’re going to find your very own Prince Charming and he’s going to knock you on your—”

I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up on Cindy, cutting off her bullshit fairy-tale lecture.

Fairy tales don’t happen in real life.

Shit. Forget I said that. They happened to both of my friends. Let’s just say they don’t happen to me and I’m fine with that. F-I-N-E, fine.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” Natalie asks softly.

“I’M FINE!” I scream at her.

I don’t need a knight in shining armor to save me and pull the stick out of my ass like Cindy did. I don’t need a beastly man with a heart of gold to help me spread my wings and save my precious library like Belle did. I just need to be able to pay my bills, finally start stripping for the Naughty Princess Club, and die happy and alone without a man pissing me off and telling me what to do. And it won’t be weird. I won’t turn into a Creepy Cat Lady or anything because I hate cats.

My best friends can go ahead and have their stupid fairy tales. I will be a Fantastic Fish Female. My pet fish won’t let me down, they won’t cover me in hair, and there’s zero chance of someone finding my dead body with my face half eaten off.

It’s fine. I’M FINE.