The Pick Up Artist Book Novels & Stories

(like The Psychology of Power—kind of creepy, but curious. "Might Actually Read" (The Silent Struggle—mysterious and dramatic? Yes, please.) Pierce chuckled. "That one’s just a finance guide." I blinked at the cover, then shot him a look. "You guys really know how to catfish people with your book titles." As I finished dusting, I turned a bit too quickly and knocked into a crystal sculpture, nearly sending it to its doom. Pierce was on his feet instantly, catching it—and my wrist.

I blushed, shook my head, and cleared my throat. “I mean, I’ve been planning to give you since you solved the assignment. The book is very important, it costs the owner’s life.” “What?” he asked in surprise. He’s too young to know the story of the book. The book isn’t popular because it’s the author’s first book. He was a psychologist and also labelled a psychopath. What he wrote in the book was facts about human nature, how to read people and how to make them respect you at all costs as their boss.

Just shrug off four hundred bucks like it's spare change. "Giselle, seriously? That's four hundred bucks, not four bucks!" "What else can you do? Job market's trash. Layoffs, cuts... You should really hang on to this." I must've looked ready to explode because she sighed and hit me with this gem: "Think bigger. You shouldn't chase money. You need growth." There it was—corporate gaslighting 101. I dragged myself back to my desk, brain fried. Was I seriously supposed to eat this?

He continued, "I saw it all from the start. The moment he boarded, he gave that grandfather-granddaughter duo a once-over. Then, he pretended to nap until the old man collapsed. And then—oh, so conveniently—he had a magic pill ready. If you ask me, this was all part of his plan." He smirked and locked eyes with the woman holding the pill. "If I'm right, your name is Eunice Jamison. You're a CEO, right? Unmarried and from a wealthy family. He's not just trying to take advantage of you; he's playing the long con—hook, line, and sinker." The woman's hand froze mid-air. Her gaze shifted to Felix, and uncertainty etched across her face. She could not help but wonder if it was true, that she had j

And here he was, doing it himself—no Leo, no aide—picking up his daughter from some dingy, unnoticeable bookstore. A whim. That's what he kept telling himself. He had completed a brutal acquisition call an hour early. Instead of driving to his penthouse to stare into the same glass of stale scotch, he told his assistant to cancel dinner tonight and turned the car around. His daughter was more valuable than his sporadic and hollow "I love yous." This was an attempt—a cold, awkward one—to reach for something real again. He hadn't expected the street to be so quiet. Julian's eyes scanned the tiny shop wedged between a boutique flower store and a yoga studio. **Chapter & Soul**. The title glowed

Zero I passed the shelves, my fingers trailing on the pines as I walked, searching for the perfect book to read at work. I used to be a chronic addict of books when I was in college but now, being the CEO, sorry, acting CEO, I don’t even have the time to pick a book, but that changes now. Finally, my eyes stopped on one book, just as I was about to grab it, a masculine hand reached out for it and grabbed it. My gaze rests on him, disappointment simmering in my blood. But then his sharp jaw line distracts me.

I was starting to feel like a real author, and it was an incredible feeling. One day, as I was checking my email, I saw a message from a production company. I opened it up, expecting it to be some kind of spam or solicitation. But as I read the email, my jaw dropped in shock. "Dear [Author's Name]," the email read. "We are thrilled to inform you that your book has been selected as one of the top picks for our popular TV show, 'Page Turners.' We would like to invite you to appear as a guest on the show, where you will be discussing your book and answering questions from our panel of judges."

"Not at first. I thought it was real. I thought I was getting what I wanted. I thought I was finally getting what I deserved. I thought I was finally winning. I thought I was finally happy. I thought I was finally loved. I thought I was finally enough. I thought I was finally chosen. But then I found the paperwork. The payments. The instructions. Everything he orchestrated. Everything he planned. Everything he controlled. Everything he manipulated. Everything he destroyed. Everything he stole. Everything he took from us." She hands me a file. I open it. Bank transfers. Emails. Contracts. Everything is there. Every detail. Every lie. Every manipulation. Every betrayal. Every transaction. Ever

I was focused on the present, and not only as a distraction. Running my gaze over the files, I matched a potential partner to thirty-five-year-old Ibiza Prices, a furniture designer, and a major shareholder in many companies. His name was Maurice Grover, forty, a big part of the agriculture industry in Europe and sitting on loads of intergenerational wealth. I’d assessed him once myself at a premier for World War Z. The guy was obsessed with zombies and had a room with arcade games of House of Dead, all editions. Good dude. I picked up my phone and shot her an e-mail, subsequently returning to my paperwork.

"I love hugging pretty girls." When Verda saw that I wasn't hurt, her eyes filled with frantic hope. "Hey, pick-me! I… I mean, Cheryl, please help me. My family's rich. I can give you anything as long as you help me survive this!" I raised a finger and wagged it lightly. "Girl, you've got me all wrong. I'm a pick‑me, not a gold digger. Money doesn't tempt me at all!" I stepped aside politely, ready to let karma do its work.