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"Dirty
Headlines is a fantastic enemies to lovers office romance with a perfect filthy
asshole hero that I wish I'd written myself." - Laurelin Paige, New York
Times bestselling author
Dirty
Headlines, an all-new sexy, enemies-to-lovers romance from bestselling author
L.J. Shen is available NOW!
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Dirty Headlines
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Pub Date: September 7, 2018
Célian
Laurent.
Manhattan
royalty.
Notorious
playboy.
Heir
to a media empire.
…And
my new boss.
I
could have impressed him, if not for last month’s unforgettable one-night
stand.
I
left it with more than orgasms and a pleasant memory—namely, his wallet.
Now
he’s staring me down like I’m the dirt under his Italian loafers, and I’m
supposed to take it.
But
the thing about being Judith “Jude” Humphry is I have nothing to lose.
Brooklyn
girl.
Infamously
quirky.
Heir
to a stack of medical bills and a tattered couch.
When
he looks at me from across the room, I see the glint in his eyes, and that
makes us rivals.
He
knows it.
So
do I.
Every
day in the newsroom is a battle.
Every
night in his bed, war.
But
it’s my heart at stake, and I fear I’ll be raising the white flag.
He had an American
accent. Not French. American. Smooth.
Familiar. Ordinary. He fired out sentences at the speed of light. I heard him,
but I couldn’t listen. Shock gripped my body as the pieces of the puzzle fell
into place. My dirty one-night stand was my boss. My lying, American boss. And
now I had to deal with that—hopefully for a very long time, because I
desperately needed this job.
Someone snapped their
fingers, and my gaze shot from Célian’s face to Grayson.
His forehead had
crumpled into a frown. “You look like you’re trying hard not to cry or having a
really intense orgasm. I’m hoping for you that it’s the latter and some kind of
a weird-slash-awesome condition. You okay?”
I nodded, scraping up a
smile. “Sorry. Zero orgasms happening under this dress. I just zoned out for a
second.”Lies. I was about to orgasm
just remembering how good Célianhad felt parting
my thighs with his big, callused hands and dipping his tongue into my slit.
Then words stopped streaming
down on everyone’s heads like a scalding shower, and I realized that indeed
there was something worse than hearing Célianspeak in his
perfect American English. And that was not
hearing him speak at all. Because now the icicles were pointed at me like a
cocked gun.
I glanced up to meet his
gaze. He stared at me for exactly one second before his focus snapped to
Grayson. “Am I understood, Gregory?” he asked.
Gregory?
“Crystal clear, sir,”
Grayson bowed, his voice trembling at the edges.
Célian jerked his chin toward
me. “Your cover girl material is going downhill.”
God. Damn. Bastard.
He recognized me, and I
knew it. His eyes had kindled, melting the ice and growing darker the minute
our gazes mingled. He remembered, and maybe it killed him that I was here in
the same way it buried me.
I want my iPod back, my gaze told him. I
had over three thousand songs on that thing, and they were all too good to be
wasted on that jerk.
“Jude Humphry. Junior
reporter. It’s her first day,”
Grayson highlighted, almost pleadingly. He shifted in my direction, as if he
might need to physically protect me from the sharp-tongued, suited monster.
I suppressed a smile
when I realized I’d told Célianmy last name was
Spears. Well, he certainly wasn’t a Timberlake. He was a Laurent. An American
monarch through and through. A billionaire, a powerful force, and judging by
our one and only encounter—a raging playboy.
This man was inside you, I internally shrieked. And not just once. His cock was buried so
deep in you, you screamed. You can still taste the salty, earthy flavor of his
cum.You know he has a freckle on his lower back. You know what sound he makes
when he empties inside a woman.
I internally thanked my
mind for ruining my panties in public, and nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
I offered him my hand, my face flushing with embarrassment at my choice of
words.
Everyone was looking at
us, and there were at least fifty people in the room. Célian—if
that was even his name—ignored my outreached hand. Instead, he turned his face
to the man beside him. “Mathias, any other words of wisdom?”
Mathias? Wasn’t that his
father? Just how cold was the man with the icy blue eyes?
“I think you touched everything,” said the big
boss—and he did have a heavy French
accent, so at least the lie had a seed. Mathias stared at me placidly, like he
could read the secret his son and I shared on my face.
Célian spun toward me,
uncuffing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up his veiny forearms. “Accounting
can go back to their unfortunate line of work. Couture is excused from this meeting—though not forgiven for their
horrid blog. Miss Humphry?” He snapped his fingers
impatiently.
He was already waltzing
down the narrow hallway, knowing I’d chase him like a puppy, and no doubt
taking pleasure in that fact.
“I have a bone to pick
with you.”
Bone, boner—same difference, right?
I shot Grayson a
please-save-my-butt look. His eyes said, I
would but I still have a life to live.
I followed Célian down the hall, my Chucks slapping the floor in a
hurry. He sliced through the throng of accountants, then stopped at a corner
office, opened the door, barked “Out!” to the man inside, and tilted his head
for me to go in. I did. He closed the door, and it was just the two of us.
Two feet of empty space
between us.
About the Author
L.J. Shen
is an International #1 best-selling author of Contemporary Romance and New
Adult novels. She lives in Northern California with her husband, young son and
chubby cat.
Before
she’d settled down, L.J. (who thinks referring to herself in the third person
is really silly, by the way) traveled the world, and collected friends from all
across the globe. Friends who’d be happy to report that she is a rubbish
companion, always forgets people's’ birthdays and never sends Christmas cards.
She
enjoys the simple things in life, like spending time with her family and
friends, reading, HBO, Netflix and internet-stalking Stephen James. She reads
between three to five books a week and firmly believes Crocs shoes and mullets
should be outlawed.
