Are Pleasanton Library Hours Affected By Construction?

"Part OneTracie Hill thought she’d died and gone to heaven when she discovered the stranger who showed up at her office after hours and engaged her in a night of hot sex was none other than her new boss, J. P. ”Pete” Montgomery. Not only that, but he set some very specific rules for her office attire – skirts only and no underwear.Part TwoFor Zane the storm was a reflection of his emotions and the messy condition of his life. He relished the isolation until he had to rescue Zara from the stormy sea. Then the storm reached full level in the cabin.Part ThreeZana and Dara settle into the beginnings of a permanent relationship and she thinks she’s finally found happiness and security. Then her past comes back to smack her in the face. Part FourDealing with a messy and humiliating breakup with her Dom, Bree Donovan welcomed the invitation to leave Chicago for meeting with a potential client in Texas. An impulsive attendance at a private BDSM gathering wiped all other thoughts from her mind the moment Rafe Morales claimed her as his for the evening. The Pleasure Principle is created by Desiree Holt, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author."

Struggling college student Lena Carter works late-night deliveries to keep herself afloat, surviving on tips, exhaustion, and determination. Every night she delivered to his door. Every night he gave her another reason to stay. Lena thought Adrian Cole was just a customer. She was wrong. He was temptation in a tailored suit. And once he decided he wanted her— walking away was never part of the story. What begins with after-hours orders soon spirals into a passionate connection neither of them can control. The deeper she falls, the harder it becomes to tell where attraction ends… and obsession begins. Because Adrian doesn’t pursue halfway. And Lena may be the one thing he refuses to let go. Late Night Deliveries: The After Hours is a story filled with longing, tension and the kind of chemistry that burns hottest after dark. Some deliveries arrive late. Some change everything.

When I asked building management to reset the smart lock on the condo we had bought for our marriage, the technician hesitated before asking: "Ms. Foster, are you sure you want every user deleted? Sophie Clarke has administrator access, while you're listed as a temporary guest." I smiled. "Delete them. Don't leave anyone." The night before, stomach pain had left me crouching outside the elevator, my hands shaking as I entered the code, but the lock kept flashing ACCESS DENIED. I called Marcus Reed, and he lowered his voice on the other end. "Stop messing with the lock. Sophie just fell asleep. Her nerves are fragile, and the alarm will scare her awake." Sweat covered my forehead from the pain. "This is my home." He was silent for two seconds before answering with reproach in his voice. "She's only staying for a few days. Besides, don't you have the code? Don't embarrass her over something this small." Only later did I learn what "temporary" really meant. Her fingerprint had been placed first on the access list. Meanwhile, I was the name on the deed, yet I had been locked outside without even being able to reach my stomach medicine. I stared at the entry in the smart lock's activity log. [Marcus Reed removed Natalie Foster's emergency access at 11:48 p.m.] I didn't call him again. I simply paid off the home improvement loan early and contacted a realtor to put the condo back on the market. I no longer wanted the home that in my name. And I no longer wanted him.

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

Vera Lee, an introverted yet lonesome bibliophile who writes for a living, meets Jackson Young, her charming yet secretive next door neighbor on an online book auction of Stephen King's The Shining. The two enter into a last minute bidding war making Vera take matters into her own hands by convincing Jackson to give up. Vera's life changes when Jackson starts to make her heart flutter and race as their lives continue to intertwine. But the secrets he keep are holding her back. With the pandemic going on, is it even wise to enter into a relationship? For someone who's been alone her whole life, can she risk her heart in the middle of the pandemic?

I was waiting outside the county clerk's office again, all the way until noon. A clerk walked past on her lunch break and gave me a look that bordered on pity. "Girlfriend caught up again?" My face went hot, but I forced out a smile anyway. "Traffic," I said. She shook her head and muttered to her coworker, not quite quietly enough. "That's him again. Seven times this month, and his girlfriend has never once shown up. "Poor guy. Why can't he see it? She just doesn't want to marry him." I pulled out my phone. The screen threw my reflection back at me, flushed red. I couldn't tell if it was the sun or the humiliation. I opened my girlfriend's childhood friend's social media page and saw exactly what I expected. [My stomach's acting up again. Thank god Theresa came by to make me soup and rub my belly. Spoiled rotten all morning!] The photo showed a familiar hand resting on Hector Parsons's stomach, the picture of domestic bliss. Something bitter lodged in my chest until I could hardly breathe. At 12:05, Theresa Reitz finally strolled over, unhurried as ever. "Zachary, I'm so sorry. Work ran long. Come on, let's go in?" I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. When I opened them again, all I felt was calm. "Forget it," I said. "I'm done." I'd played this one-man show long enough.