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Piper (The Casanova Club #1)
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Twelve of the world’s most eligible bachelors are personally invited to take a seat on this exclusive, private match-making club. (Piper: Sharing is caring?)
The purpose? To find the perfect wife. Ten women are considered, but only one is chosen. Each of these men are after one lucky girl’s heart. Vetting these ladies is a year long event. Contests. Forms. Interviews. Demonstrations. Galas. (Piper: All of which I missed. Darn.)
The prize? One million dollars or a ring from the bachelor of her choice after the yearlong mutli-engagement period is over. Lady’s choice. (Piper: Show me the money.)
The problem? Me. I need cash more than anyone could possibly understand, and there’s no way in hell I’d ever be invited to woo twelve men for a chunk of change. (Piper: Good thing I know the coordinator.)
The promise? To save my family from losing their house, their business and their hope. All I need is a shot at the position. (Piper: Determination, haircare products and a strut like I own the place will do the rest.)
Piper: These boys are in for a treat. Maybe. Possibly. What did I just get myself into?
The Casanova Club – Only one can win her heart.
Note to the Reader: This is a 13 book sexy romantic comedy series with monthly releases in 2019. We’ll be following the journey of Piper, one funny, down-to-earth young woman, and her willingness to give up everything to save her family. The books are standalone in nature, but do have references to the books before as Piper will spend a month with each member of the 2019 Casanova Club. Voting will begin in early February and run all year long. That’s right. You get to vote on who Piper ends up. More to come on that! Enjoy. I did.
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All billionaires. All looking for the one thing that money can’t buy.
Each of them milled around in front of me in the Casanova Club conference room with drinks in their hands. The place smelled like expensive cologne and whiskey, and the night had barely begun.
All the men were impeccably dressed and of the highest quality New York City had to offer. Every man was startlingly different from the rest, but they all had one thing in common. They were worth billions. Each and every one of them.
That amounted to a very wealthy room—and that wasn’t even including my own obscene bank account.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about them. The candidates.
“Gentlemen,” I said, clapping my hands together. Some of them turned to look at me. Others continued to talk quietly amongst themselves until I raised my voice over theirs, demanding their attention. Last year, I stood where they were now. I had insider knowledge about this elite matchmaking process. “It’s time to get this show on the road. Put up your measuring sticks, and tuck your dicks back in your designer slacks. We have a lot to get done tonight, and I have a beautiful woman to get home to. One of you lucky bastards is going to be just as lucky if you play your cards right. Time is money. Sit.”
None of them were in a hurry to take their seats. They moved slowly, as many wealthy men did, knowing that everyone had to wait on them, not the other way around. Once they had all pulled out their high-backed leather chairs and tucked in to the obsidian round table, I knew it was time to begin.
I planted both hands flat on the table, spreading out my fingers and bracing myself as I peered around at all of them. “We’ve made progress and narrowed it down to one hundred women.”
“One hundred?” one of them asked. Joshua the Canadian. A smirk played on his lips as he swirled the straw around in his whiskey glass. When he lifted it up and took a sip, he didn’t use the straw. “Only ninety-nine to go. Should be easy.”
Chuckles circled the room at his sarcasm. The women we’d narrowed it down to were as beautiful and charming as we were rich. I nodded at Joshua. “It will be well worth it in the end.”
“If I win,” Joshua said dryly.
More laughing went around the table. Easton, the broad-shouldered quarterback from Florida, rested his elbows on the table and cleared his throat. “How many do you want us to cut tonight, Jackson?”
“Good question,” I said, fanning out the headshot photos of the women still in the running to be part of the Casanova Project. “At least half.”
Easton rubbed at his jaw. “Why can’t the club just let more women be part of the contest?”
I straightened up and crossed my arms over my chest. “Twelve men. One woman. You knew how this worked when you signed on. And last I checked, your sponsor still wants you to be part of this. So sit back and do your part. It gets easier. Trust me.”
None of them had a wise word to chime in. They had all seen firsthand last year that this process really could work if you gave it a chance.
At the beginning of 2017, I had no clue how much my life was about to change. I’d gone into this whole thing with a critical mindset and a chip on my shoulder. I hadn’t actually anticipated falling in love with the one girl we’d hand picked out of thousands of submissions. In fact, I’d been positive it wouldn’t work for me.
But here I was, standing in this same damn room, giving the same speech my old President had given us. The victor leading the blind, so to speak.
These boys had no clue what 2019 had in store for them. Shit was going to get messier before it got easier, and they were going to have to come to terms with the fact that one girl was going to be courted by all of them—and each of them only had a month with her.
And then there would be waiting while she spent time with the others. The competitors.
I knew for a fact that none of these men grasped how truly difficult that was going to be.
But I knew.
“At the beginning of the year, we will have ten women competing to be part of the Casanova Project. You will have the chance to meet them all, and from there, we’ll reduce the numbers down to a single woman. You will each have a month with her throughout the year. At the end of the year, shortly before Christmas, she will either accept a proposal from one of you, or she will walk away with one million dollars.”