Highest Bidder Collection - Lauren Landish Page 0,181

her go.

Chapter 1

Lilly

“What in the f’n hell?” I slam the romance paperback, Playback, I’d been reading close with an angry growl. My blood boiling like an evil witch’s cauldron.

“How could it end….like that?” I grit my teeth, shaking my head at the gall of whoever’s written this. I fell in love with this storyline and totally felt the heartache and brutal pain the hero and heroine went through. I was rooting for Liam and Tilda. Their story gripped my heart from the very first page, and I was quickly drawn into their struggles to overcome the heart-breaking obstacles keeping them apart.

I’d read each page breathlessly, flipping through the pages like a hungry wolf in search of his next meal, practically dying to find out how it all ended and then…I gulp as my throat constricts into a ball of tight anger, unable to understand how someone could be so cruel. I’d invested so much of myself into the story, hoping to be rewarded with a satisfying conclusion to such a tragic relationship.

Then it ended. Just like that. No happily ever after. No resolve. A tragic heartbreak that left me feeling raw. I can’t believe how invested I was in the book, feeling like I was part of the character’s lives, only to be shafted at the very end.

Burning up with anger, I turn the book over and peer at the binding, determined to commit the author’s name to memory so I can make sure to stay clear of reading anymore of the their future work. Lauren Winters. “More like Slutty Winters,” I mutter angrily, feeling thoroughly cheated.

I know it’s fiction and it’s not real, but I hate when I get invested into characters and then something like this happens. It makes me feel absolutely cheated.

I groan my frustration, tossing the book on the end table. My eyes are drawn to the roaring flames of the marble fireplace that I’m seated in front of. The heat of the fire pricks my already heated cheeks and I relax slightly as I’m enveloped by cozy warmth. Despite my sour moment, I love this.

It’s one of my favorite past times during the cold winter months, sitting in front of the roaring fire with a hot mug of coffee and burying my nose into an engrossing romance novel. I just like it better when it’s a book that doesn’t leave me feeling like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest and stomped on in front of me.

“I need something more mindless and smutty after that,” I mutter, picking up my cup of coffee and taking a sip. I’m calm now, but I still have the slight urge to toss the book into the flames. I must admit the author did a good job with everything else. I just didn’t like her ending.

I just wish I hadn’t stepped on my kindle. I had like 50 awesome books piled up on my to-be-read list.

Sighing, I get up from my cushioned recliner with the book in my hands and stretch out my limbs, several of my bones popping. But if feels so good, I hold the position, letting my limbs come back to life.

My eyes take in my living room and my mood lifts slightly again. It feels so homey in my new townhouse, especially with how cold it is outside. I’ve decorated it with warm, earthen colors that makes me feel right at home. The walls are lined with decorative shelves that are filled with books. I’ve read every single one of these books. A few of them are even autographed.

I love my new bookends too. They’re pale blue mice made of stone on each end. They look like they’re holding the books up, and just seeing them makes me smile.

This room is completely mine and finally feels like a home. I still have the rest of the rented townhouse to put my stamp on, but this one room is just perfect. I walk to the large paned window across the room to open the curtains and let the evening light in. I can feel the cold from the winter coming through.

Outside, I can still see the confetti lining the streets from the New Year’s Parade as I place my hand against the window. It’s a few days past the first of January and a few pieces are still blowing along the edges of the building.

I grin as I take it all in, the ending of the book quickly forgotten. I could write a romance that