Showing results by author "Cleo White" in All Categories

Not every "once upon a time" ends in a happily ever after. My fairytale, for instance, didn't come with a handsome Prince Charming, a night at the ball, or a magical pumpkin carriage. Instead, I got a bearded, bad-tempered king, a sex party for rich people, and a driver waiting to take me home after the royal asshole was finished with me. And they lived not so happily ever after. The end. That should be it, right? Even missing some conventional fairytale elements, it's clear no one is riding off into the sunset in the tale of the grumpy king and the naïve, much younger actress.

I know a bad idea when I see one, and the unfairly handsome stranger I meet on the airport shuttle is a really bad idea. Especially when the silver fox turns out not to be a stranger at all, and steering clear isn't an option. This isn't a vacation. I'm in Bora Bora for my sister's wedding, to connect with my aggressively successful family members and focus on what matters most: getting into medical school. Judah Hale, with his broad shoulders and growly voice, is a distraction I can't afford.

While I'm not clear on where one gets an official copy of the girl code, it seems like "thou shalt not covet thy bestie's hot dad" would be pretty high on that list. Even if my hormone-ridden peanut brain would love to read into every interaction we've ever had and imagine he's been pining away for me, too, my judgment is clearly not to be trusted here. It's time to move on. Unfortunately, coveting is a hard condition to kick when you find yourself spending Christmas alone with him at his fancy house.

If somebody Googled "cautious, responsible, people-pleasing eldest daughter," a picture would probably come up of me baking twenty-four loaves of banana bread for all the neighbors in our building after my roommate flooded the bathroom. So, as you can see, I am not the kind of person to catch feelings for my ex's tech-billionaire father after spending three days stranded at his house. Nor am I the type to keep in touch with him after I go home. Now, it's Valentine's Day, and Julian Ballard is on my doorstep.

In retrospect, it might not have been the wisest idea to hand in my V-card to a hot librarian I picked up at my mother's cocktail party. In my defense, the man has a French accent, gray hair, and knows a lot about books. I was probably naïve to expect a call after that, but when he didn't, it hurt to accept he didn't feel that same connection I did. If that isn't a sign you need to make a change, I don't know what is. Too bad the change I get is six months in a remote French chateau, working as a nanny to an adorable little girl—who happens to be the daughter of the single dad I had sex with.

I dedicated my entire life to ballet, and what did it get me? A limp, an intact v-card, and zero job prospects. Squatting in my sister's apartment, watching game shows, and feeling sorry for myself seems like an ideal way to pass the time until I figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, my father doesn't agree. Thanks to him, I'll now be spending my days stapling pieces of paper together at his architecture firm, under the watchful eye of his business partner.

Sometimes it feels like every step I take leads to a mistake that is painful or embarrassing, or painful and embarrassing, and it's pretty remarkable that natural selection hasn't taken me out yet. The point is, I have a lot of experience in cleaning up my own messes. Even with all that practice, though, inheriting my dad's failing laser tag business might be a little much.

I've made a name for myself as one of the best sports medicine doctors in the country. I have a thriving practice and a handful of awards that say I'm an excellent surgeon without getting attached to my patients. That all changed when a 17-year-old Olympic snowboarder walked into my office, brushing off injuries that would have put anyone else on their ass. I wanted to protect her, to fight for her, and for three years, that was enough. Until suddenly, it wasn't. Now, all I want is to make her mine.