Tabitha Sims Novels & Stories

Tabitha said as she smiled. The doctor left and Tabitha stood up. She took the gown off and grabbed her sweatpants. She stepped into them and put her shoe on. She grabbed her purse and took her other shoe out. She put it on and smiled. Who knew you could get so excited about being able to wear shoes? Mark walked up and grabbed the boot and walker. “You ready?” he asked.

Sylvania teased, earning a round of light laughter from the group as they settled in, ready for the show to begin. Tashil Simmons entered the great hall with all eyes turning her way. She was a true fashion icon, and her outfit showed it. People cheered and applauded as she made her way through the hall. She headed straight for the executive section, her presence commanding attention without her saying a word. Guests whispered and admired her as she passed by. “She’s stunning!” one guest murmured. “Tashil Simmons never disappoints,” another replied.

The maid returned seconds later with an armload of towels. "The Alpha said you needed something." She said. "My name is Tabitha, and I'll be your personal maid from today." Scarlett stared warily at her. Tabitha had light brown hair woven into a single braid, blue eyes and freckles scattered across her cheeks. She seemed to be around the same age as her. "I need some pads." She said finally. "And something to help with cramps." "Pads?" Tabitha repeated. Scarlett then realized pads probably meant something else here. "Something to collect the blood."

They even used their young ones to testify about how great Salazar Simmons is an uncle and grandfather. Bartholomew doesn't care about that. He continued to post vlog feeds following the documentary of all the victims of Salazar Simmons. Together with his cameraman Neilson, Bart is on his way to another young woman claiming to be a victim of Salazar Simmons. Her name is Martha Stewart.

Thankfully, she went to another country for college while Caleb and I went to the same college here… and that's when Thorne came into the picture. I exhaled through my nose. “Oh fuck me,” I muttered. “Of all people…” Naomi followed my gaze. “Is that—?” “Tabitha,” I hissed. “She’s like athlete’s foot. You think it’s gone and boom—back again, scratching your soul.” “Shit,” Naomi whispered, giggling. “She still looks like she moisturizes with men’s tears.” “She’s gonna be a problem,” I said, already sensing the fake hug coming.

Zachary was at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city below. Reid set a thin folder on the desk. "Isla Simmons. Twenty four. Irish national on a work visa. Graphic designer at Hartwell Creative — small firm, six employees. They landed the Cole Global gallery installation contract three weeks ago through an open tender." He paused. "She's been in the building four days." Zachary didn't turn around. "And?" "And nothing. She's nobody connected to anyone. Clean record. No ties to any competitor or person of interest." Reid's voice dropped slightly. "Zachary. What is this?"

she answered after pulling on one of Riffraff’s shirts. “Miss Jasmine Olson?” came an unfamiliar feminine voice. “This is she.” Closing the door to Riffraff's room behind her, she headed to the stairs in her sweats, t-shirt and crocs. She had not expected to like the weird shoes as much as she did. “Miss Olson, my name is Tabatha Smith, and I’m with Bellator.” Taz stumbled slightly on the stairs but caught herself on the railing. Two brothers also reached out to steady her.

Her makeup is flawless, and she looks like one of those AI creations everyone is talking about. “My name is Arabella. I am the new PR working for Marius, and this is Josephine and Tomas,” she says as she shakes hands with Julien. Her eyes move to me and she offers me a smile. “Tatum, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I am sorry it’s under these circumstances,” she says as she shakes my hand. I watch as Marius keeps his eyes on me. I know he never liked me. “Tatum, I hope we can work together so Thatcher’s name is not dragged in the mud with yours,” he says and I look at him, throwing daggers through my eyes as Thatcher clears his throat.

Derek's POV Tabitha was different from usual. She had deliberately put on light makeup and tied up her hair. She was wearing a lake-blue wool coat paired with sapphire earrings. Her fair neck was both elegant and noble. She walked towards me gracefully in high heels. Although not as glamorous as at an awards dinner, she looked fresher and more elegant. In terms of looks, she was unmatched even among the stars in showbiz. And when it came to her temperament, she was truly one of a kind.

Ashton said. "Are you saying that…" Maya blushed at being teased by Ashton. She was already embarrassed enough and yet he was still making fun of her! "No princess, I didn't mean anything," Ashton said, grabbing the pillow that had been thrown at him. "And you should stop calling me princess already," Maya said. It felt weird for someone to call her a princess when she had been a slave somewhere else. "But you are my princess." "Just call me by my name." "What about babe, baby, honey, honeypie, darling, sweetheart….."