Takeover, an all-new swoon-worthy billionaire romance from Evelyn Sola, is available now!
I was supposed to be in charge. That was always my intention.
Until that slick corporate raider, Ethan Bradford, clicked his fancy pen and poof! Just like that, I was under him, instead of on top.
Rich and powerful men–especially arrogant, handsome ones–are all the same.
I know exactly how to handle him, but when my father pulls rank and orders me to play nice, my plans of putting him in his place vanish.
I know his type. I’ve been around men like him my entire life, but one chance meeting with him and his son, makes me question everything I thought I knew.
When it comes to business, I always come out on top. Not even being a single dad can slow me down. I never let a good investment get away, and that includes Taylor Toys. After all, business is business, right?
How was I supposed to know a friendly meeting would set me on fire? Tara Taylor is a spoiled princess, used to getting everything she wants.
Sure, her good looks and smart mouth turn me on like nothing else. Despite her hostile stares, she triggered feelings I thought were long dead.
She dares to judge me while she stands there in her designer shoes, looking more beautiful than any marketing exec I’ve ever met. Instead of being grateful that I saved her family’s legacy, she blames me for their failure.
What was meant to be a formality turns into a game of wills.
I never lose. Except this time, I find myself wanting her more than I want to win. I find myself wanting her to take over.
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“I wish I knew it was your birthday and that you love Thai food,” I say. I reach out and run my hand over her ponytail.
“Why is that? How would things be any different if you knew?”
“I would have taken you to Thailand.”
Her eyes widen and she gasps. She gives me a questioning look as if she doesn’t believe what she just heard.
“You heard me,” I say.
“Why?” she asks with an eye roll. “So you could bury my body?”
Unable to help myself, I let out a laugh, and to my surprise, she laughs too. “
Burying that body would be a waste. It’s much too nice for that, and I like looking at it.”
The smile slips from her face, replaced with surprise. I take a small step closer, and she presses her back against the counter. For an excuse to touch her, I grab her chin and dab at her eyes again.
“Why are you here, Ethan?” she whispers.
“I think you know why, Tara.”
“To get back at me.”
“For being such a—” I pretend to mull my next word. I watch, fascinated as the sadness slips from her eyes and replaced with the same righteous indignation from the first day we met.
“Such a what?” she hisses, challenging me. Daring me to say what’s on my mind.
Her nostrils flare. “Brat? Are you sure that’s the word you want to use?”
“What other word would I use?” She snatches the paper towel from my hand and tries to move away, but I step closer, pinning her to the kitchen counter.
“Bitch, Mr. Bradford. You want to call me a bitch. Say it. You’ll feel better. Men like you always call women like me bitches. Do you know why that is?” She puts a hand on her hip, looks into my eyes, and waits for me to answer.
“Men like me?”
“Rich men. Powerful men who aren’t used to hearing the word no from anybody. You surround yourself with nothing but ass kissing yes men, and the minute someone tells you no, especially a woman, you resort to name calling.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I imagined the sadness from just a few minutes ago. This, I can handle. This is much better than her tears.
“Wrong, Ms. Taylor. Weak men resort to name calling. The truly rich and powerful just take whatever the fuck they want. We don’t ask. Think back to every interaction we’ve had. I’d never lower myself to ask you for permission. I just take whatever the hell I want from you.”
She stares, her breathing so heavy that every time she inhales, her breasts brush against my chest. All I need to do is take one small step closer to her and our bodies would touch, but I can’t.
“I was wrong about you,” she says. “You’re an even bigger asshole than I thought, you arrogant son of a bitch.”
I lean down and lay my forehead on hers. She exhales, her breath caressing my neck, but she doesn’t pull away. I move my forehead away from hers and roughly grab her face, my eyes searching hers. She stops breathing and waits for my next move. She puts both hands on my chest, but before she can push me away or utter another word, I lean down and slam my mouth on hers.
The kiss is rough. She inhales, opening her mouth just a fraction, and I bite her bottom lip before savagely sucking it into my mouth. As I’m about to deepen the kiss, I hear footsteps approaching the kitchen. She abruptly pulls away, opens the fridge, and starts to move its contents around.
A Boston native, wife, mother, and wine enthusiast. If she’s not writing, thinking about writing, you will find Evelyn with a book in her hands. While a new publisher, she’s been writing for years, and she will continue to write for many years to come.
Evelyn is obsessed with assertive and confident men who will stop at nothing to get their woman. Her stories are filled with love, passion and humor.
She currently lives in Chicago with her husband and two daughters.
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