One Is Too Many BF’S: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (Dating Sucks) Read online

  One Is Too Many BF’S

  Dating Sucks™ Book One

  River Tatum

  Michael Anderle

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

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  Copyright © 2018 LMBPN Publishing

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

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  RIVER TATUM (and her stories)

  are a Michael Anderle Production

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  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

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  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

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  Version 1.01, June 2020

  (Previously published as DEATH IS A WOMAN)

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-957-4

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-958-1

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Author Notes River Tatum

  Connect with River Tatum

  Also by River Tatum

  One Is Too Many BF’S Team

  Thanks to the Beta Readers

  * * *

  Kelly O’Donnell

  Sarah Weir

  Erika Everest

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  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  * * *

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  to Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  Chapter One

  Debra’s curly red hair fell into her face as her hand worked over her sketchbook at lightning speed.

  Her deft fingers curled around her pencil, stroking and scratching and shading where needed. As she focused intently, her crimson red lips pursed together, and her brow stitched itself tight.

  Every shred of stress from her week from hell was etched on the corners of her frame. Her sleeveless black dress clung to her as she donned her latest heel design, a black-studded heel with a silver bottom she had trademarked for herself.

  No one else could produce them.

  Not with the type of shimmering metallic material she used. It was her signature look for her shoes, though her personal signature look was much more fiery than that.

  Debra had encountered the worst week of her business existence. And because she had to keep putting out wildfires as big as the curls in her hair, she had to set aside the one thing she enjoyed doing most.

  Designing.

  It was her favorite part of the job, the thing that kept her going through her Ivy League education. Her bachelor’s in business served her well, but it was her ruthless business tactics that raised her brand, Dabria, to international fame and fortune. For as long as she could remember, she had been obsessed with shoes. Their shape. Their flare. Their pizzazz, and their structure.

  In the fashion world, everyone focused on the dress. Or the pants. Or the bathing suit. Or the blouse. Unless the runway was specifically situated to showcase the shoes, no one gave a damn about what was on someone’s foot.

  Debra had set out to change that, and she’d revolutionized the world of footwear.

  “Knock knock.”

  Debra held up her finger in response to her assistant’s voice before her pencil fell back to the sketchpad. She heard Jonathan come in and close the door behind him, but she wasn’t ready to address him. Debra Stone never addressed anyone until she was ready.

  Frowning, she flipped the eraser over and removed a few marks, brushed the excess away with her finger, and went straight back to sketching. She felt Jonathan’s eyes on her while she worked. He sat there patiently like the good assistant she had trained him to be. When she was done, she sat up, stretched her back, and beheld the vision she had dreamed of the night before.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  She spun her sketchbook around for him to look at and he nodded.

  “Seems you’re stuck on bold colors for your spring line,” he said.

  “How did you know the colors? I sketched it in pencil.”

  “You forget why you hired me sometimes, don’t you?” he asked, grinning.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I do. You’re practically a woman.”

  “And don’t you forget it, honey.”

  “Well, someone who’s practically a woman could never wear a suit the way you do.”

  He smiled, looked down his sleeves, and turned his arms to check them out. “You like it? It’s new. Got it yesterday afternoon.”

  “I’m fanning myself already, honey,” she said, smiling. “Okay. What’s on the agenda for the rest of my day?”

  He pretended to look over a pair of sunglasses at her. “The rest of your day? Debra, it’s six in the evening.”

  Her gaze darted wistfully to her laptop and she cleared her throat.

  “Then what the hell are you still doing in the office?” she asked.

  “Really? You’re wondering what I’m doing in your office after you had a date last night?”

  She shook her head. “I should’ve known you would wait around for gossip.”

  “First, let’s run down what you need to do tomorrow. You’ve got several meetings on the books, and I’m wondering if your secretary possibly fucked that up.”

  “Oh, such harsh language from someone in a smooth suit.”

  His eyes widened. “You like it? I’m working on my power bedroom talk.” He winked.

  She waved a hand at herself. “I wish you would come to the dark side, Jonathan. I think you’d really enjoy the festivities. Then you could stop looking for a man in this dreadful city along with me.”

  He pursed his lips and looked her up and down. “Debra, I love you. But no amount of your plu
mbing is going to work for me.”

  The two of them shared a laugh and she reached out and closed her sketchbook.

  “I take it your date was a ‘not?’” Jonathan asked.

  She shrugged. “He was simply boring. They’re all boring. What happened to the men in this town who enjoy the trappings of their money with a little bit of spice on the side?”

  “I’m telling you, Debra. You’re looking in all the wrong places.”

  She snorted. “I’m looking in all the places, Jonathan. And there’s still no guy to be found who can keep up with me.”

  “Honey, they can keep up with you. They simply aren’t worth their weight in salt for a relationship.”

  She looked up, her eyes unfocused. “Look, I have no problems catering to a man, and I have no issues with being the breadwinner. But when a man wants nothing but my money, my connections, or my body—”

  “And it’s a nice one, sweet cheeks.”

  She continued, ignoring him. “It gets old, Jonathan.” She looked at him a moment before looking away again. “All my friends are in relationships. I just attended my fourth wedding this year where I was, yet again, a bridesmaid. And the one man I did enjoy—Carl Mason?—I haven’t heard from him in a couple of months.”

  “Well…”

  Debra’s eyes connected with Jonathan’s, and she watched him flip his folder open. He pulled out a stack of stapled papers and handed them to her. She took them without a second thought and leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg languidly over her knee. She pressed up onto her toe, rocking the chair steadily as the sun sank behind her over the New York City skyline.

  “I was going to wait until we ran down your day for tomorrow, but it doesn’t sound like that’s where your mind is at right now,” he said.

  “Send my itinerary to my email, and I’ll look it over before I confirm it.”

  “Not after you see that,” he murmured, sitting down.

  “What was that?”

  He tried to smile. “Nothing, beautiful.”

  Her eyes scanned the pages, and she didn’t see anything that shocked her. Carl’s name. His address. His place of business. His asset portfolios.

  Carl was someone Debra had snagged at a bar one night.

  One lonely night when she was defenseless and a little too drunk for even her to admit. He came up to her and smiled with his sandy blond hair smoothed back and his devilish gray eyes, speaking with a fluid tongue that left her knees weak. His suit was tailored. His watch was thick with diamonds. And the empire he had built for himself was enough to scratch at Debra’s personal itch.

  She had dragged him home with her that night, worn his ass out, and fed him back into society. Of course, she had made sure to slip her number into his pocket before he wrapped her in his arms for a goodbye kiss, and she had only heard from him a few other times since.

  Maybe five or six.

  And only two of them were to ask her on a fucking date.

  “Did I tell you that you have six meetings booked for tomorrow alone?” Jonathan asked.

  “No,” Debra replied mindlessly.

  “Do you want to know that you’re working through your lunch with one of your phone conference calls?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Uh-uh.”

  He pressed his lips together before adding, “Are you aware that I’m sending you fourteen dozen black roses to your home tomorrow night along with fifty cans of sardines and chocolate-covered elephant dung pops?”

  “Sounds nice,” she murmured.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, bracing himself for the onslaught of anger he knew was coming.

  “What?” Debra exclaimed.

  “There it is,” he muttered.

  She launched from her chair as she ripped the sheet of paper she was looking at from the stapled stack. “Twenty-six?”

  She turned her eyes to Jonathan, pointing at the paper. “That rotten little bastard has twenty-six other girlfriends?” she asked.

  “All scattered across the world, my dear. I drew up documents presenting basic facts about them if you—”

  “Twenty-six?” she growled, adding under her breath, “I will rip his fucking balls off.”

  Debra’s vision dripped as red as her fiery hair and her blood ran hot as her hands gripped the paper so tightly they began to tremble. Hiring a private investigator had been a little over the top, but she had enjoyed Carl’s attention. His countenance. He was someone she saw herself with, a rich man with a business all his own who could spoil her the way she spoiled all those sissy men who bowed at her feet and kissed her heels. A real man, with a strong grip on her hips and soft lips that fluttered against her pulse point. She felt electricity coursing through her veins simply thinking about it. Their connection was off the charts, but when he’d grown distant, she’d gotten worried.

  She’d hired a private investigator to make sure she wasn’t being played for a fool.

  And apparently, she was.

  “When did you get this report in?” she asked.

  “Two hours ago,” Jonathan replied.

  “And you didn’t bring it into me then?”

  “You were in a meeting.”

  “You could have slid it under my door.”

  “Would you really have wanted to digest this alone? In your office? After finding the stack of papers on your floor?”

  He had a point, and Debra knew it. As angry as she was, she also knew part of this was her fault. She’d fallen hard for a man she’d only met up with three times. Granted, all three times had felt like a dream. Like there was a bond between the two of them she couldn't shake. But twenty-six other girlfriends? All over the world?

  She’d been played like Anne Akiko Meyers played a Stradivarius.

  Oh yes, she’d been duped.

  “Twenty-six girlfriends, my ass,” she fumed, slamming the report onto her desk.

  She grabbed her jacket and shut down her computer as Jonathan stood from his chair.

  “Where in the world are you going?” he asked.

  “Where am I going? Where am I’m going?”

  She tossed her coat over her shoulders and jammed her arms into the sleeves before she plucked her purse from beneath her desk. Without a word, she blew past her long-time assistant and headed for her door, with him hot on her heels. She grabbed his arm and ripped him out of her office and then slammed her door closed and locked it. Jamming her keys into her purse, she made her way to the elevator, her mind on a one-way track to confrontation-land.

  Jonathan was no doubt waiting for a real answer, so she called over her shoulder. “I’m going, Jonathan, to see Carl Mason. When I catch him coming out of that damn condo of his, I’m going to give him twenty-six reasons to regret ever thinking about making me number twenty-seven!”

  Debra jammed her finger onto the elevator button, and the doors slid open. She stepped in with her spiked black heels and wondered if they would leave a nice indent across his face. A grin spread across her cheeks as her eyes landed on her assistant, who was tight-lipped and wide-eyed as he stood there clutching his folder.

  She smiled. “Don’t wait up, sweet cheeks.”

  Maybe her fall line of shoes would consist of heels women could bludgeon men like Carl Mason with.

  Chapter Two

  It had taken twenty-seven minutes to get to Carl’s building. “Carl Mason, please,” Debra told the guard.

  He looked at her with a bland expression. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Unless you’re on his expected guest list or are coming in with him, I can’t let you up.”

  Her gaze fell to the name tag on his uniform before she cleared her throat.

  “Brian, surely you can make an exception. I want to surprise him. And you know how Carl loves surprises.”

  The man looked at her, expressionless. “He actually doesn’t, ma'am.”

  “Well, how would you know? Maybe our relationship is simply a little different,” she tried.

  “Carl Ma
son isn’t in a relationship with anyone at the moment,” Brian said confidently.

  Debra drew in a sobering breath while attempting to stay calm. Carl lived in a high-rise condominium complex in downtown New York City. She remembered the view from his place. He’d plastered her against it several times that night when she went home with him after their second date. A soft, plush bed for her to wake up in. A luxurious bathroom, complete with miniaturized toiletries for her to indulge in. She had taken a bath at nine in the morning simply because she could and come out in a plush robe where breakfast and a note had greeted her.

  Even though Carl had to scoot off to work that Saturday morning, he had taken the time to make her food. Leave her a note. Make sure she knew she hadn’t been left alone without a second thought. Those were the kinds of things that drove a woman like Debra toward a man like Carl.

  But now, everything had changed.

  “Let me up,” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “You let me up to see that sorry excuse of a man right now, or I’ll—”