Novels by michael.xo

Skylar’s POV I stare at my reflection for the hundredth time, adjusting my blouse like it’s going to fix the chaos in my head. Second day in New York. Last day. My flight’s at four. And yet, a certain billionaire has other plans, texting me. "Let’s talk over breakfast. – C.J. FORD" The message still glows on my phone screen, sitting right above Carrie’s FaceTime window. Her curls bounce as she chews cereal, eyes half-amused, half-concerned. “You’re seriously not going?” she asks, spoon waving in the air. “I don’t know,” I mutter, tightening the strap of my heel. I am getting ready, but denial is easier. “He’s a married man, Carrie. Married. And not just to anyone, to Amy freaking Stone. The Oscar-winning actress. If someone takes a picture…” Carrie snorts. “He’s Carter Ford. Nobody’s taking a picture. Trust me, men like that live above the rules.” “Exactly my point.” “Skylar, it’s breakfast, not a proposal. You could use a free meal before your flight anyway.” I roll my ey

Carter’s POV It’s been one fucking minute. One fucking minute since she walked out of the office, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. The blue-eyed elevator lady. That’s how I’ve addressed her in my head for the past month. I’ve tried to forget her. But now, fate’s brought her right back into my hands. I drag a hand through my hair, leaning back in my chair. The memory of her still burns behind my eyes. I was supposed to go back and look for her, actually. That breathless kiss in the elevator was unfinished business. I still remember the sound of the elevator doors sliding shut like the world locking us in. And when she turned, those blue eyes, wild, lost, met mine. I saw Vivian in them. My very first love. I don't hesitate, I pin her gently against the mirrored wall, my hands on either side of her head. She didn’t push me away. Instead, her breath caught, lips parting just slightly, and that was enough. Her mouth tasted like martini and sin. Her fingers clawed at my shirt lik

Skylar's POVI’m in a Manhattan hotel room, staring at my reflection like it’s a pop quiz I didn't study for.New York.A fresh start.Or maybe a temporary escape from my own stupidity.It’s been a month since the elevator incident.Thirty long, humiliating days since I kissed a stranger so hard I nearly forgot my name, only for him to check his phone mid-makeout and tell me his wife was on her way.Since then, I've avoided men like a plague.Carrie says I’m overreacting. I say I’m healing."You were hurt and emotionally unstable. So you're allowed to make mistakes." Those were her comforting words.Right. I still hold on to the words.I swipe on lipstick, smooth my hair, and whisper to my reflection, "Don't mess this up."This is my first hire job since I quit working for my mother, all thanks to my favourite professor, Mrs. Loretta, who recommended me when Mrs. Lawrence needed a lawyer on short notice. Apparently, all her usual lawyers are booked, and she has to close a deal with a

Skylar’s POVThe rooftop of Artemis Hotel hums with energy, the skyline glittering like spilled diamonds. Laughter swirls with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne.It’s been a week since I called off my engagement.Seven days since I walk in on Greg my fiancé and my sister in my parents’ wine cellar fucking hard.A week of crying, sleeping too much, eating too little, and avoiding the internet like it’s radioactive. Apparently, breaking up with Atlanta’s most beloved football star makes me the villain.His fans call it “fumbling the city’s golden boy.”I call it choosing peace over humiliation.Still, I can’t stop replaying it, the betrayal, the headlines, my mother’s disappointed glare. She adored Greg. He was perfect on paper, and she’d finally approved of something in my life.Until he ruined everything. Until they did.Ugh.Carrie squeezes my hand, her perfume sweet and grounding. “Remember, investors are just people with better suits.”How she even gets passes to these

Skylar's POV The argument with my mother is still ringing in my ears as I storm down the hallway. I’m pissed. Dinner is unbearable. It’s always like this with her, every time we end up in the same room together. I would blame Greg, my fiancé, but he’s only just trying to settle the dispute between his fiancée and mother-in-law, which at this point feels impossible. I only agree to these dinners because of my stepdad, who’s much more reasonable and loving. My mother’s constant criticisms, her disapproving glances, they’ve become her language of control. “I told you, you wouldn’t be able to earn a proper living if you keep staying with that best friend of yours that would suck you dry.” Her words echo in my head like a curse. She hates Carrie, my best friend. Carrie hates her, too. I hate her. All because Carrie agreed to let me stay with her when my mother blocked my credit card. She wants me under her thumb so badly. I knew from the very start that dinner wasn’t going to en