Mogul: Price of Fame, #3

By Elizabeth Lynx

Trying to lose your virginity at a New Year's party isn't the best plan. The only things worse? When the guy turns you down but you still have to work with him.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but here goes. My name is Emmie and I'm a virgin. I know what you're thinking. How could a twenty-eight-year-old woman who runs her own company not have turned in her V-card by now?

While I won't go into details about it right now, I will admit that I've been a bit busy with work. Time flies when there's a media empire to build. But I decided this year to make things right. A new year's resolution. To find someone to make me a woman before the clock strikes twelve.

It's all going to plan. I find the hottest guy at the party. He is more than willing to come up to my bedroom. Then I make the mistake of trying to kiss him. Not only did I not pop my cherry, but I can't ever look Jon in the eyes again.

Hi, I'm Jon. The one Emmie tries to seduce on New Year's. Things are still a bit fuzzy about that night, but I do remember Emmie. She's beautiful and knows what she wants. Emmie is a guy's wet dream. She's my wet dream.

I'm in control of my life. I run a successful company with my sister and work hard to do things right. I make sure things get done right without a hair out of place. But when I'm around Emmie it's as if I met my match. My work suffers and everything I do is wrong.

I should walk away from her. Tell her I want no part in her life. The trouble is whenever I leave, I can't stop thinking about her.

I'm ready to let her take control of my heart but what if she doesn't want it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Lynx
• Release date: Dec 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393833406

Elizabeth Lynx

Elizabeth Lynx is not a robot, that's for sure. At least she says she's not. She is also not a space alien. How do I know this, because she was born in Baltimore Maryland in the 1970's when no one wanted to be in Baltimore Maryland so why would her parents say that if it weren't true. Of course she has had her suspicions growing up and is still in a continual search for evidence that backs up her space age theories.To bide her time she writes about 'normal' people and their sexy romantic lives. Her husband chooses to put up with her theories and paranoid musings. Her two little boys help her see that perhaps she isn't an alien but more of a climbing rock. This theory is new, so she needs more time to develop it further.She has a website called E. Lynx (http://elynx.weebly.com).

Book preview

Mogul

Elizabeth Lynx

Mogul

Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Lynx

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

MOGUL

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

Series Order

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MOGUL

Trying to lose your virginity at a New Year’s party isn’t the best plan. The only things worse? When the guy turns you down but you still have to work with him.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but here goes. My name is Emmie and I’m a virgin. I know what you’re thinking. How could a twenty-eight-year-old woman who runs her own company not have turned in her V-card by now?

While I won’t go into details about it right now, I will admit that I’ve been a bit busy with work. Time flies when there’s a media empire to build. But I decided this year to make things right. A new year’s resolution. To find someone to make me a woman before the clock strikes twelve.

It’s all going to plan. I find the hottest guy at the party. He is more than willing to come up to my bedroom. Then I make the mistake of trying to kiss him. Not only did I not pop my cherry, but I can’t ever look Jon in the eyes again.

Hi, I’m Jon. The one Emmie tries to seduce on New Year’s. Things are still a bit fuzzy about that night, but I do remember Emmie. She’s beautiful and knows what she wants. Emmie is a guy’s wet dream. She’s my wet dream.

I’m in control of my life. I run a successful company with my sister and work hard to do things right. I make sure things get done right without a hair out of place. But when I’m around Emmie it’s as if I met my match. My work suffers and everything I do is wrong.

I should walk away from her. Tell her I want no part in her life. The trouble is whenever I leave, I can’t stop thinking about her.

I’m ready to let her take control of my heart but what if she doesn’t want it?

ONE

Emmie

I can always count on you, Emmie, to be here with me, my mother said as she patted my cheek.

The warmth that grew in my heart almost overshadowed the headache that felt like a meat cleaver had been lodged in my skull and forgotten.

Thank you, Ma. Of course, I’m here for you, I said with a smile as it was rare for my mother to compliment me.

Your sister is the social one—the one with all the dates. But you . . . you’re dependable. Like a, uh . . . a—

Like an old pair of slippers. I frowned.

Her golden eyes widened, and she pointed into the air. Yes! Like I always say, slippers!

That was me—old, soft, and dependable. I sighed and moved closer to the stove. I couldn’t be mad at Ma because she was right. I had no social life except for my one coffee date a week with my friends, Willa and Niki.

I was a twenty-eight-year-old successful woman who owned her own company and yet, I spent New Year’s morning hanging out in my kitchen with my mother.

My sister was right, I needed to get out more.

Steam rose from the cast-iron pan. I leaned over and inhaled every delicious scent. My mother’s hand never once let go of the spoon that was stirring the pan as she reached for something on the marble island behind me.

I’m making a big batch of my mote pillo for everyone who stayed over from the New Year’s Eve party last night. Oh, I threw out the eggs you bought. Went this morning and got different ones.

What? They were perfectly good eggs.

No, they were from Dashelle Farms. Never buy their products.

I groaned. Mom, the food poisoning incident happened over five years ago.

She waved her hand at me. My mom believed if it happened once, it would happen again. She was superstitious and fearful of just about everything that didn’t seem right to her.

Despite all that, she was also beautiful. Her dark brown hair mixed with gray fell softly to her shoulders. When I was young, we had nothing, but she always dazzled my sister and me with her stories. She was the entertainer, so when I created my business almost ten years ago, Delarosa Incorporated, I knew it had to entertain people. I started with a lifestyle magazine and website, which grew into different brands and we’ve recently moved into visual media. We started our own channel on Vidtube, and I hired a script editor to take on movie scripts.

It was all inspired by my mother’s love of lighting up a room with food, talk, and love.

I patted my stomach as it rumbled. I can’t wait for it. Has anyone made coffee?

Oh, your sister got up early with me. She helped me make the dough for the empanadas. You know your sister, always a help.

I frowned at the dig at me not getting up at the crack of dawn this morning. But I had other important matters to deal with—like getting a man out of my bed.

I glanced around my French country-style kitchen with blue-green glazed cabinets and white stone counters.

Where’s Issa? I don’t see her.

I told her she does too much, my mother said as I rolled my eyes hoping she hadn’t seen. I told her to get some rest and that I’d do what was left of the cooking. Since you slept in so late, I figured it would be okay if she used one of the spare rooms.

Must be so hard for Issa doing nothing all day, I mumbled as I discovered a few warm empanadas on a platter on the island.

Those are for the guests. Hands off. My mother, quick as a wasp, gave my hand a tap. She narrowed her golden eyes at me and shook her head. Where is your man friend?

Bile rose up my throat as my mind went into overdrive. Think, Emmie, think. What would Oprah do? She’d calmly explain that she’s a modern woman and could have a man stay in her bed overnight in her own house.

I cleared my throat and stood a little taller. What man?

I wasn’t Oprah. And as for a modern woman, that was debatable. My mind was clearly locked up in a rusted cage from the middle of the twentieth century. Though I longed for it to escape, I worried too much about how that would change my life.

That a man could distract me from my life.

My mother, the beautiful and strong Maria Delarosa, raised me to work hard for what I wanted and to never let a man sway me from my goals. As she was a single mom, I got the impression her idea of never letting a man get in the way of my dreams was her way of teaching me not to have sex until marriage.

I loved my mom. She was strict but caring. In a way, I idolized her. She worked two jobs to get my sister and I everything we needed. Now it was my turn to make sure she was taken care of.

I bought this home six years ago when my company took off. She moved in and it made me happy to see her doing everything she ever dreamed. I specifically had this kitchen designed exactly as she wanted because she loved cooking.

The handsome man in the wrinkled suit with the disheveled brown hair that tiptoed out of here like he was up to no good. He didn’t spend the night in your room?

My eyes widened, and I was thankful that my back was to my mother. There was no getting a lie past her. She’d say, "Your eyes tell me everything." And they did because I was a terrible liar, hence why I had my back to her now.

I, uh . . . that guy doesn’t sound familiar at all. Are you sure it wasn’t the gardener? I asked and winced.

What a stupid question. I had been caught and it wasn’t pretty. Ma already knew without me turning to face her that my mouth was a dirty, filthy, lying whore.

Emmie. Turn around.

I swallowed and tried to find an excuse to get out of