Bestselling Bastard : A Hero Club Novel Read online

  Bestselling Bastard

  A Cocky Hero World Novel

  Nicole Rodrigues

  Copyright © 2020 by Nicole Rodrigues and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Emina Ros (The Guide to Romance Novels)

  Bestselling Bastard is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  “Isn’t that what we all desire: to be the heroes and heroines of our own stories; to triumph over adversity; to experience life in all it’s beauty; and, in the end, to live happily ever after?”

  -Dieter F. Uchtdorf

  Prologue

  Dear Raya,

  I've been lost in this world for a long time. I'm trying to figure out my next move, what I should do with the rest of my life and it all keeps coming down to writing. It's what I do, it's what keeps me happy when everything else in my life is going to shit. Every date I end up going on fails, I've never had a real family and I hate my job. Should I go for it? Follow my dream of becoming a writer? I don't want the bullshit answers Ida used to give, I want the straight truth. Am I nuts?

  Jenna

  Nashville

  Dear Jenna,

  You are nuts, but aren't we all? My advice? Stay at that crappy job, save enough money to sustain yourself while you live out your dream and get your career off the ground and then write until your fingers fall off. We only miss the chances we never take. Take the chance.

  Raya

  Lorenzo

  "I'm taking a break from Morgan Financial Holdings for a little while. I want to be a writer," I blurt out quickly, as I step into my father's office.

  I adjust my tie and cufflinks, a nervous habit I've developed these last few years and sit in the chair opposite his desk.

  "A writer…"

  My father tests out the words like they're poison and then spits them back out.

  "A writer. I saw Ma's column and that Jenna girl stirred something inside me. I've been writing since I could hold a pencil and working with you hasn't been crap but it's not what I want to do, it's not making me happy."

  "You're not happy?"

  "No, I am. I mean I love my life, I love my family, it's just...I'm kind of miserable during the day. I can't wait to get back home to write."

  My father taps his watch, a habit he's had for as long as I can remember. He's silent, stretching out the awkwardness in the room and I keep my gaze on him, trying to figure out where his head is at.

  "Oh, my two favorite men in one spot, how lucky am I?"

  My Ma's voice automatically breaks the tension in the room as I stand and turn, bending down to kiss her cheek as she pats my chest. The tips of her hair are blue today and I know we're all in the clear from her Italian temper. Blue is good, red, not so much.

  "Morning, Ma."

  "Am I interrupting a meeting? I checked your schedule, baby, it said you were free."

  My father stands, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pulls her to him for a way too long greeting kiss. They’re in their fifties now but you would think they’re still newlyweds. It’s nauseating yet endearing at the same time.

  I clear my throat, sitting back down in my chair as my Ma pulls away, sitting on the edge of his desk.

  "No meeting, just talking life. Maybe you should weigh in on this...Raya."

  I can hear the undertones of possibly a little anger as my Ma's eyebrow quirks up, sensing it too.

  Uh-oh.

  "Yeah? Before or after you leave that attitude at the door, Mr. Soon to be Celibate in Manhattan."

  I press my lips together, trying not to let my smile slip as my father and Ma angry whisper to each other.

  "Ya know I'm right here, right? I can hear everything you both are saying and I'm twenty six, not a child."

  My father exhales, running a hand down his face and my ma stands, turning to get behind him as she massages his shoulders.

  "Lorenzo, are you really unhappy here?"

  I let out a breath and nod to my father.

  "I'm grateful. I appreciate everything you taught me, Dad, but it's just...I see the way you work, I see the stress. I know you love what you do but if I am going to be that stressed, I want it to come from something I love doing. I don't want to put in 50+ hours of work into something I hate."

  I see the tension slowly seep out of my father, the vein in his neck gradually subsiding back to normal as my ma continues to rub his shoulders. I glance up at her and she winks. I try to hold back my smile as my father finally speaks up.

  "Lorenzo, of course your mother and I just want you to be happy. If writing is what you want to do, then we'll support you, but I have one condition."

  "Name it!"

  "You take the time you need to save up rent until you can sustain yourself on your author money. I love you son, but your ma and I have an empty nest now and our little birds don't want to come back to it. Believe me, it's for your own benefit."

  Suddenly, my father pulls my ma's wrist, causing her to fall into his lap. She laughs and the sound warms my heart. Eventually, I'll find what they have. I want what they have, I just can't seem to stumble on a woman that wants me for me and not for what's in my wallet, or underneath my slacks.

  "Deal. I already have a decent amount saved but I'll stay maybe another six months to a year. Can I get this in writing? I don't want you to change your mind once you're out of Ma's spell."

  My ma laughs, pointing at me.

  "Remember who really holds all the power Lorenzo Morgan. Never forget it!"

  My father rolls his eyes, whispering something in her ear and her smile fades, her cheeks turning pink.

  "Yeah, my cue to go. I'll stop by for dinner Sunday, Ma. Love you."

  I lean over the desk to kiss her cheek and she grabs mine, kissing me back.

  "Love you, my boy."

  I leave the office with a newfound determination, setting my sights on my goal.

  Thank you Jenna from Nashville.

  Seven months later...

  I check her page again and damn those words and that picture.

  "Tell me to drop to my knees. I want to hear your rough voice command me, Asher."

  "Drop, baby. Then open that gorgeous mouth so I can fuck it."

  She's been killing me for the past week with all these teasers for her
debut novel and I want to message her. I want to tell her that I can't wait to read this fucking book because I've jacked off to her goddamn teasers more times than I want to admit.

  The girl can write a damn sex scene, at least I think she can with all these one liners. My fingers itch over the "message" button, back and forth, back and forth until finally I just do it.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Hey. Random I know but can't wait for your book to come out. Speaking of come…

  No. What the fuck? Hell no. I backspace the entire thing and try again.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Hey. Been catching your teasers, can't wait to see the real thing.

  Fucking hell. What am I doing? I exit out of the message screen, like her last teaser and throw the fire emoji in the comments. I toss my phone to my bed so I don't get the bright idea of embarrassing the shit out of myself and walk to my kitchen.

  My fridge is practically bare, realizing I have to go food shopping, I relent and decide to order pizza instead.

  I sit down on my couch, rubbing a hand down my face as I collect all my thoughts and get my brain back. I mentally run down the list of things I need to do for my debut release, refusing help from my parents and their connections, and their money. I am half Morgan and half Venedetta; the word “can’t” is not in my dictionary.

  I gave up my condo in the Upper West Side of Manhattan two months ago, more conscious of my money now without a Morgan Financial Holdings paycheck. I came back to my mother’s stomping grounds, getting a small apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

  My apartment buzzer rings and I stand, heading to the door to grab the pizza, tossing a few bills at the delivery boy and shutting the door behind me. My west highland terrier, Cannoli, starts to jump on my leg and I brush him off, opening a pack of Caesar's steak and tossing it into his bowl and filling up the other side with some water.

  I scarf down two slices, realizing how hungry I’ve actually been the past few days and then grab some water from the sink and swallow it all down.

  Walking back to my room, my phone chimes and I glance at it, momentarily forgetting about my embarrassing attempt at connecting with J Watson.

  I don’t do this. I don’t stumble over my words, second guess my choices and especially not with women. Dark haired, good-looking, and suave as fuck, I’m the “Italian Stallion”. Being in the writers cave has got my head all fucked up. I open up my Instagram and click on my notification.

  She commented back with a sly smirk emoji. Shit. My dick hardens in my pants and I seriously need to get the hell out of here and get laid. I've been holed up for three days straight, trying to finish this first draft and I don't even remember the last time I showered.

  I shake my head, glancing down at her comment and press on her handle, pulling up her page.

  J Watson

  Romance author

  Nashville, TN

  No pictures of her, just her logo.

  Since I stumbled on her page last week, all I've been wondering is if this is the same Jenna from that Dear Raya letter. J, from Nashville, author, her page looks new...it has to be.

  I open the message tab, trying for a different route.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Hey. You might not have any idea what I'm talking about but are you the Jenna from the Dear Raya column?

  I sit down on my bed, holding my phone in my hand like a fucking idiot and then I see she's typing. Hell, what am I doing, how do I even know she's a she? Jesus Christ, I need civilization, I'm going crazy. I shove my phone in my back pocket of my sweats, padding to my kitchen to make some coffee.

  My phone buzzes in my pants and I ignore it. I'm not going to be the guy that answers a message in two seconds. Nope. Not fucking doing it. It buzzes again as I press down the Keurig and I groan.

  "Fuck it! I am gonna be that guy."

  I reach for my phone, sliding to see the notification and my mouth turns up into a smile.

  AuthorJWatson: I know taekwondo and I have a samurai sword in my bedroom. Who the fuck are you?

  EnzoMorganWrites: Just a reader of the column and couldn't help but recognize the J and your location. Shouldn't put so much info out there if you're wary of creeps.

  AuthorJWatson: I wasn't until you messaged me.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Not a creep, just a fan. Your letter kind of lit a fire under my ass to take the plunge into writing myself.

  She doesn't respond, doesn't even type and I scroll up to look back on our conversation.

  "What the fuck am I doing?"

  Okay. I'm getting out of this damn house. I exit out of my Instagram, opening up a text to my friend Danny and ask him to meet me at the Lucky Dog.

  As if he can read minds, Cannoli comes barreling into the room.

  "Yes, you're coming. Let me take a shower first. You smell better than I do."

  An hour later I'm down the stairs of my apartment, Cannoli by my side as we take the walk to my favorite bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It’s one of the few bars that allow dogs, and being as Cannoli is a puppy, I don't like to leave him for long periods of time.

  Cannoli's grandpa, Blackie, belonged to my grandmother way before my mother and father even got together. Right before Blackie passed away, he knocked up another White Highland Terrier in the dog park on my ma's watch.

  When the owner of Blackie's booty call got in contact with us, my ma felt guilty as hell and agreed to take a puppy. Like a true Morgan, Blackie Jr knocked up another dog at the park, this time under my father's watch, thus Cannoli was born. I fell in love with the little shit the second he pissed on my sister Chloe’s shoe. This time though, I stay away from the dog parks. I keep a close eye on him at the Lucky Dog, making sure I don’t have another puppy in the long line of Morgan’s not being able to keep their paws off the ladies.

  I feel my phone buzz in my jacket as I walk inside the small bar, hooking Cannoli up to the leash hooks on the side of the bar tops. He walks right over to the bar knowing full well one of the bartenders will be over with a dog treat.

  I take my phone out of my pocket, seeing the response from Danny that he’ll be here in ten minutes and I can’t help but notice the Instagram notification.

  Click it you pussy.

  I hover over the notification and the bartender interrupts as I order a beer. Waiting to take my first big sip of it, I finally press the notification and the message window pops up.

  AuthorJWatson: Glad I could be of assistance. What do you write?

  I smile, taking a sip of my beer as I type out a response.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Would you believe me if I said romance?

  AuthorJWatson: No, but I’d like to see you try and convince me.

  I laugh, liking her spunk and see a flirt from a mile away.

  “Okay Miss Watson, you want proof, I’ll give you proof.” I type out the latest dialogue between my hero and heroine, hoping to blow her mind just as much as she's been doing to me.

  EnzoMorganWrites: “You have no idea do you?”

  AuthorJWatson: No idea of what?

  EnzoMorganWrites: “How much I want to make you mine, Miss Watson. Your smile, your laugh, your smell. I want to be surrounded by it for the rest of my life.”

  AuthorJWatson: Not terrible. I’m more of a, “whisper sweet nothings as you fuck me like an animal” kind of girl. I’m a walking contradiction.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Hold the door for me but then smack my ass kind of girl? I can get behind that...your choice ;)

  I laugh, hoping that she doesn’t think my cheesy pick up line is creepy. I don’t want to be one of those guys that slide into girls DMs that they always talk about. Something about this girl says differently though.

  AuthorJWatson: I’m not sure how I feel about going toe to toe with a romance author. You’re cheating. Your job is basically researching how to soak women’s panties and make them swoon.

  EnzoMorganWrites: Is that how you work?

  AuthorJWatson: I’m a woman, I don’t need to do research, I know.

  “Hey man
, what’s up?”

  Danny’s voice breaks me out of my conversation and I look up, slapping his hand.

  “What’s up, man. No Hammer today?”

  “Nah. Left him home with Emily. She doesn’t feel good, so he’s keeping her company. What’s going on? Haven’t heard from you in like a week.”

  He orders a beer and I take another big sip from mine, feeling the heaviness of my phone, the itch to answer it and continue on with our banter.

  “Been writing. Got my first draft in, gonna sit on it for a few days then read it over before I send it to my editor.”

  “I can’t believe it man. You, Lorenzo fucking Morgan a romance author!” He laughs, slapping me on the back and motions for the bartender.

  “Joy, get us some shots. You know this guy is gonna publish some lady porn?”

  Joy, one of the bartenders comes sauntering over to the two of us. She’s hot; blonde hair, blue eyes, fake tits I’m sure, but I smelled gold digger on her the second I met her. I don’t need an “accident” that will trap me into a nightmare for life.

  “Hey there, Renzo. How’s it going? Missed you these last few days. Thursday night football wings and beers were calling your name.”

  “Hey, Joy.”

  I lift my beer to her, taking a big sip.

  “So, you’re doing porn now? Where do I sign up?”

  She leans forward, her big, fake tits spilling out of her low-cut tank top and I choke on my beer.

  “Writing," I manage to say. "I’m publishing a contemporary romance novel in a few months.”

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket as Joy’s eyebrow quirks up.

  “Need to do any research? You know I’m always game, big guy.”

  I laugh, finishing my beer as she pours us each a shot. She takes one herself, giving me a wink as she walks toward the other end of the bar, attending to the other customers.

  “When are you gonna let her ride the ‘Italian Stallion’ man? She’s begging for it.”

  “Not interested. She’s probably rode many stallions in her day and mine is just one she’s gonna miss out on.”

  I look at Cannoli, passed out underneath my feet and my phone buzzes again.

  “You’re popular tonight.”