Nick Miller Book Novels & Stories

I was still wearing my black presentation blazer from the showcase, the hem of the fabric stiff with dried rainwater and faint streaks of gold alcohol pigment from my second model’s display. I walked down the quiet, carpeted corridor of the private wing, my footsteps completely silent. Miller was sitting in a low-backed vinyl chair outside Room 714, his ruggedized laptop resting on his knees, his face illuminated by the steady, green glow of an analytical spreadsheet. He didn't look like a man who had just participated in the dismantling of a multi-billion-dollar corporate extortion ring; he looked like a senior accountant working an early shift. As I approached, he closed the laptop with a

The interior of the Miller library was configured with dark wood shelving that rose twenty feet to a vaulted ceiling. A single digital fire terminal glowed in the hearth, casting flat shadows across the leather chairs and the large oak desk at the center of the room. ​Thomas Miller did not stand up when we entered. He sat behind his desk, his gold-headed cane resting against his knee. His face was older than Arthur Kendrick’s, but it carried the same cold, analytical expression of a man who managed a billion-dollar sports empire.

the girl requested and Mila nodded. "Eleanor and Park is a really good book, and also Just Friends is a great one," Mila told the girl as she handed her the books. The girl examined the books, then thanked Mila and went to pay. Mila returned to the table and she found somebody reading what she was writing. She walked quickly and took the notebook from his hands, closing it. Annoyance was crystal clear on her face.

Eli crouches in front of him, gets to eye level, and keeps his voice below the threshold of the corridor above. “How long before you talk,” he says. Not a question. An assessment. The man looks at him for a moment and then the corner of his swollen mouth moves. “Look at you,” he says, low and rough with it. “Fighting us like you’re one of them. Carver’s going to love hearing about that.” “Carver’s going to hear what I tell him,” Eli says. “How long.” “Oh is he now?” Miller smirks through blood-stained teeth. “I’m guessing you don’t plan to tell him how you betrayed your own men… your own FATHER… because of some rich girl’s pussy.”

Mili was too inquisitive to read that novel just by the cover of it. Her intriguing eyes froze her at that very spot, before the tall racks of books, for an unknown amount of time. She quietly turned the pages of that book, and the abstract paintings throughout the book made her pulse beat faster. Never in her life has Mili gone through an erotica. But she now had one in her curious hands. The contents on the very first page were enough to make her feel something jittery; curiously, Mili turned to the next page. She was so damn invested in the book that she could not feel it when Daniel stood behind her, towering over her frame and observing her reading those naughty lines.

"It doesn't matter how good of a client he is or how much he can pay. There was an attempt on your life, and Lily ended up dead—your Lily. Let the Chengs take care of it." Samuel could be very blunt when he wanted to. He had no intention of trying to please a Manhattan millionaire. He had grown up in the outskirts of the Big Apple, far from the public eye and elite schools. His whole life had been in public school, and he was never one of the privileged in the city. That's why he felt resentful. Despite that, Gabriel Specter knew that when it came to defending the weakest, Samuel Saywell was the best.

I’ve got that mystery novel you were asking for on the new arrivals shelf," Mila said, her voice bright and welcoming. As she moved to help her customer, Jax stayed back, leaning against the shelves and simply watching her. He watched the way she spoke, the way she treated every book like a treasure, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the plot of a story. He remembered the frightened, bullied girl she had been when they first met, the woman who had taken on the entire corporate structure of the sports world to save her career. Seeing her now—confident, soft, and radiating a calm, centered joy—was the greatest victory he had ever witnessed.

he asked in concern. Nicky Peters, aka Nicholas Greene. Before meeting my other Dad, Nicky was a baseball player for the Colorado Spring Sox and one of the best. He told me his Dad made him play to be a man, but all my Dad wanted to do was make colorful clothing and make-up. He played baseball until he was in high school, but during that time, he joined beauty pageants when he finally came out. His Dad was unhappy once he found all the dresses and costumes and kicked him out.

A grin settled on her lips. “Oh, don’t mind me; I read lots of those kinds of books, but tell me, is that the case?” She rests her elbow on the table and waits for her response. She looked like a little child who asked if Santa can come in June as she waits for a positive response. “You really read a lot of those books.” Joan chuckled and then thought about telling Stacy her predicament and what led her to working here. She hasn’t discussed what happened with anyone aside from Camila and Henry, who has been by her side all through the mess.

I could almost feel Fuyu, but that would be impossible considering the amount of damage he endured during our last encounter with Hayes. He cackled, throwing his head back in feigned amusement. I could only imagine the many ways I could end his pathetic life as I glared spitefully. “As you wish," he slithered, and at that same moment, Miller appeared with an entourage of five guards with the ancient Book of the Damned tucked in one arm.