Novel & Cerita Fake Slackers

"You don't?" "No." Vanessa gasped dramatically. "The man lives in your head rent-free, and you don't even have his picture?" "Oh, stop." "I'm serious." Chloe picked up her phone from the bedside table. "Wait." She unlocked the screen. "Oh..." "There it is." "What?" "His I*******m." Vanessa burst into laughter. "Oh my goodness." "What?" "You're stalking a married man." Chloe's mouth fell open. "I am not!" "You went straight to his I*******m."

“‘Excuses. We overcome difficulties with solutions.’ You should see the suppliers’ faces. His little stunt nearly cost us the partnership, and guess who had to smooth things over with pretty smiles?” “You,” Jenny snorted, her tone turning sarcastic. “Ah, Leon Kingsley, champion of pricks and dicks.” I shook my head, setting my glass down with a soft clink. “You know, I can handle a workaholic, uncompromising asshole. But it’s more than that. It’s Claire. The moment she appears, all his principles just go puff. It’s bizarre, really—the way he goes out of his way for her. And last night? That was proof of just how far he’s willing to go.”

I informed her. The next thing that I heard was squeals. “Oh my God! This is great news! How'd you get it?” She asked. My heart sank, as I recalled signing the papers to become a stranger's wife. I felt ashamed, too ashamed to tell her the truth. “Uh nothing much really. The loan corporation…yeah..they gave it to me.” I lied, breathing a small laugh. But Anna knew me better than anyone else. “We both know those guys chased you out of their office after you told them you're a bartender. Tell me the truth.” She demanded.

"A grubby schmuck waltzing into Regal International? Security! What's this place coming to, letting in street scum? It's revolting!" His cronies piled on. "Hey, don't soil the rugs." "Mark, remember? This guy is all principled, claiming money means nothing. Now that his gimpy girlfriend is history, he is here trolling for a rich benefactress?" Their malicious cackles reverberated through the lobby. Enduring their fabricated slander, I fixed Mark with a steely glare and ground my teeth. "Back off!" Mark's expression soured. "Say that again!" He lunged forward, shoving me with brutal strength.

"I don't know what's happened to me. Please, forgive me! It'll never happen, again, I swear!" "Bullshit!" Jake said as he pulled down his fly. "Now that I know what a slut-wife I have—what you've been hiding all these years—I'm going to make the most of it. I don't know who these two are, but they're not the only ones you're going to get shared with. I'm going to use your mouth and your cunt to up the ante on poker nights. Maybe we'll even be able to make a few extra bucks by you giving blowjobs in the men's room at some sleazy bar."

Oliv announced, hiccupping, indicating that she had consumed too much alcohol. “You should go down there and get some water from the bartender. You're hiccupping, you weakling.” Jase butted in again, teasing her. She shifted her gaze to him. “Don't call me a weakling, jerk. My tolerance for alcohol is unquestionably higher than yours.” “Whatever, wimp. Just go get yourself some water.” Jase finished the conversation and returned his attention to Meg, flirting with her once more.

emoji. She then @everyone in the group, “Everyone, that guy’s info is fake too. I have a friend at Semiconductor Technology, and there’s no one named Sadler working there. I didn’t check thoroughly, so I’m partly responsible. From now on, I’ll verify the information before bringing anyone into the group.” E: Got it. B: Got it. D: Ms. Hall, we can lower the income requirement a bit. As long as he’s family-oriented, I’m okay with the man managing the house while I work.

“She’s got her hand back there. It looks like a doozy. Think of those national slapping competitions. Those guys have nothing on your granny. She looks like she means it. Three. Two. One…” That’s the sound of flesh meeting flesh, Granny’s palm connecting with Mike’s cheek. The kind of bamboozling smack I was talking about. Mike face actually rebounds, and his lips wobble as if it’s happening in slow motion. “Shit,” I breathe. “I guess he really is out cold. Or he’s the faker of the century.” “Nope, out cold,” Lancer confirms happily. He holds out his glass, and I realize everyone is holding glasses now. “Cheers!”

Dansanisa is getting prepared for her exercise for her legs to respond fast as instructed by the doctor. Rosela is the only elderly one to handle that situation as Amunsa, Dansanisa's supposed husband wasn't giving a damn about the exercise or how she goes about it. Although, Anuella, Kwensa and Rosela weren't schooling for the main time considering the bad state Dansanisa found herself in. Amunsa wasn't helping as well, he was always going out, not paying attention to anything in the house.

That afternoon, Serena's phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Unknown numbers. Nonstop calls. Her screen lit up with message after message—vile, cruel, endless. She could handle the hate. Barely. But what cut deeper? Her studio was getting dragged with her. Angry users swarmed the company's page: [Fire the homewrecker! What are you waiting for?] [Only trash studios hire mistresses—hope you crash and burn.] [Serena Saun better get on her knees and apologize to Maggie Cheape!]