That's Not How It's Done Novels & Stories

I pressed my palm flat against the notebook cover. My hand was steady while my heart pounded slightly. "You said you have a proposal," he said. I do. "What kind of proposal?" The kind that requires a room and more than a phone call. "I don't meet with people I don't know." You called me yourself. That's already further than most people get. I sent it before I could second guess the sharpness of it. Then something happened that I hadn't expected. He made a sound, not quite a laugh. Something shorter and more contained than that.

“Not everything is about money, It's really going to cost you…it might even cost you your position, do we have a deal?” “Anything.” “Then consider it done.”

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe. But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text: [Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.] Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel. The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!] Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds. The comment section was ruthless: [If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]

"Fears. I worry that I'm setting myself up for failure. I worry that this is wrong; that there's no future here. I think, though, that I'll regret it if I don't take a chance. I think you're worth that chance." "I also think you're right," I continued, biting my bottom lip as I searched for what I wanted to say. "I think the pact was just a childish thing – I don't think it can work in the real world. Even if you could over-come the jealousy, I think there'd be so many obstacles and so many people willing to jump on something like that, who would have a vested interest in breaking something like that, that it could never work. Even if you could make it work ... I'm not the right man for that

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he begins, each word sharper than the last, “or that I owe you an explanation. But I’ll say this once, for all of you—what happens between me and my mate is private. You want to know why this isn’t a ceremony?” He pauses, his tone now biting. “Because all of you demanded I introduce another woman to you—Lady Celestia—even though you knew I had already found my true mate.” Uneasy murmurs rise again—this time, it’s heavy with guilt.

I can only try to fix my wrongs and move forward. I open my eyes and immediately squint from the blinding sun, before I turn towards my friend. “I know you are trying to help, but I’m honestly telling you, the last thing I need is to try and hook up with some random guy. Plus, you know I’m not into one-night stands.”

Serena shut it down, fast. "When did I ever say I'd marry you? Last I checked, you're still married to Maggie. I only came here to say one thing—stop contacting me. I've moved on. I don't want anything to do with you." She turned to leave, no hesitation. But his friends jumped in, blocking the door. "Okay, yeah, he married Maggie—but it's not like he cheated. Why are you being so dramatic?" "Right? He lost his job trying to clear your name. Then got in a car wreck. Can't you show some compassion? Let the past go."

Her actions had put her in this situation, and she was afraid that she might unintentionally harm me if she continued to do things her way. "You seem really down today, huh?" I said, giving her cheeks a playful pinch to try to cheer her up. "Let me tell you something." As she looked at me expectantly, I continued, "Imagine you have a pair of well-branded sneakers that you've worn for a long time. It seems that the left pair starts to show more wear and tear than the right. It's always tripping you up and getting dirtier faster. Meanwhile, the right pair remains in good condition. One day, while walking down the street, you notice that the left shoe is critically damaged. It's still holding t

"Veya AI, book me a table for a business dinner tomorrow." In my last life, our intern, Vincent Tate, tried using AI to book a client dinner. I told him Veya AI couldn't make reservations. Yet he waited until after work to do it himself. Too late. Every table was gone. Vincent immediately started crying to the whole office. "If Mr. Alford hadn't stopped me from using AI, I would've gotten a table! Now we blew the deal!" My fiancée, Peyton Welch, and the rest of my coworkers piled on. "Why can't AI make reservations? Vincent's right. You're paying for every dollar we lose!" Peyton shoved me during the fight. Then I fell off the building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Ri

“What the hell is this about, Horace?” His hand brushed my lower back, guiding me firmly toward the car door. The touch was electric, sending sparks straight to my core. “It’s not a request, little girl. Get in. We can talk about what we did… and exactly how we’re going to handle Dylan on the way.”