Dirty Rich One Night Stand: a sexy standalone novel by Lisa Renee Jones

Author:Lisa Renee Jones [Jones, Lisa Renee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Julie Patra Publishing
Published: 2017-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Lauren is hanging over the toilet about three minutes after she answers the door, and I grab a clip from a drawer and pull her brown hair back from her face. Finally, she calms and lies down on a big, fluffy cream-colored rug. “How often are you doing this?” I ask, sinking down on my knees beside her.

“I should just camp out here in the bathroom,” she murmurs. “That’s how often.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“That sickness is a sign of a healthy baby. Which sounds ridiculous, except for the fact that I wasn’t sick before my miscarriage at all.”

“You’re miserable. Can they give you anything?”

“I have random drugs that he’s prescribed. But the options are limited, and none that are approved for pregnancy seem to work for me. Do you know how hard it is for me to do my job like this?”

“I’m surprised you’re even able to try.”

“I have people counting on me,” she says, “but Julie helps me a lot.”

“Isn’t she a divorce attorney?”

“She’s burned out and working with me on criminal cases more and more.”

“Divorce isn’t pretty,” I say, “but neither is crime. Are you eating at all?”

“Yes. Häagen-Dazs ice cream. It’s all I can keep down. I’m going to be the size of a ship when this is over.”

“You barely have a belly,” I say, eyeing her flat stomach through her T-shirt and sweats.

“Right,” she says. “I have four months of baby in my butt right now.”

I laugh. “You do not. I checked out your ass already. It’s as cute and perky as ever. Are you any better?”

“Yes. I need ice cream.”

I laugh again. “Do you have some?”

“Royce bought, like, twenty pints. And I’m not kidding. He really did.”

“I’ve met him,” I say. “I believe you.” I stand up and help her do the same.

A few minutes later, we are on the couch in the living room, the television on mute, the fireplace crackling in the corner, with a selection of six ice cream pints on the table in front of us. “I told you he bought twenty pints,” Lauren says, finishing a bite of ice cream. “Did you know that one of these pints is, like, seventy percent of the calories we’re allowed to have in a day?”

“Thank you for that,” I say, as I try a spoonful of some kind of chocolate ice cream that is incredible. “Thankfully, I haven’t eaten much today, and neither have you.”

“I ate a pint,” she says. “Maybe I ate two. For some reason, after I eat one of these, I’m not sick for a while.”

“The baby wants what the baby wants,” I say. “Eat the ice cream.”

She grabs a stack of files sitting on the coffee table and sets them between us on the couch. “Has Reese talked to you about the trial, or is that off-limits since you’re press?”

“I’m not press. You know I hate being called press as much as Reese hates being called Mr. Hotness. And I was with him and his team all day, working on the questions and closing for next week.

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