Veronica Seider Novels & Stories

Zita asked curiously. Rebecca replied in a nod. "Your grace, would you be glad to share the journey your love with me? I promise to listen without judgement." Zita persuaded her, eager to know more. "Probably when I've fully let go of the pain and shame I feel within." Rebecca answered calmly. Zita didn't force herself and hummed. She got bitten by an insect-a little ant-and slapped it off her leg. She looked at her mistress and her eyes widened. "Your grace!" She exclaimed fearfully.

"Complete sexual access. The winner can do whatever they want....within safety parameters...for 24 hours." "Precisely. And you're comfortable with this?" Veronica had asked herself this question a hundred times since applying three weeks ago. She was twenty-five, had a degree in business administration, worked as an executive assistant at a hedge fund, and made good money. But good money wasn't enough for what she wanted. She wanted obscene money. The kind of money that would let her buy the gallery she'd always dreamed of owning. The kind of money that would set her up for life at twenty-five.

"Seriously, is sex the only thing on your mind?" Veronica's brow furrowed, seemingly in deep contemplation at LJ's question. The angel sighed. He meant it as a rhetorical question, of course. She was the Princess of Lust, after all. But Veronica was intent on answering it, anyway. She kicked herself off the sofa, producing a bottle of wine and a glass out of thin air. Veronica took a big gulp of wine before answering, "Most of the time, yes. I mean, I do have Asmodeus' mark. But I think about killing people and destroying things, too. I was Satan's second choice, you see."

Emily Warner, the crazy and happy go lucky side-chick in all of the stories. She is happy that all of her friends met the man of their dreams but she hasn’t. She has never met a man who even remotely loved her. As a kid, she always hoped for a crazy life story like beauty and the beast or toy story or finding nemo. But she worked at a nine to five job, at the age of twenty nine, she was single, while all of her friends were either getting married or pregnant. And there she was sitting in front of the television, eating chips out of her hair.

"It's still early, and you're already here bothering me." Veronica retorted. She then chose to stand up from the sofa and gracefully walked toward Kaivan, who was seated at his desk. "It seems my suspicions were correct. You've changed. I'm sure Anne has influenced you." "Influenced how?" Kaivan asked. "That slut surely seduced you, didn't she? To the point that you've changed like this. I swear, I can't stand seeing you so close to that woman. Why don't you just divorce her right away!" Veronica then circled around Kaivan's work desk, approaching him, trying to narrow the distance between them.

So I have to be on time for the meeting. —Okay, go, I love you, take care of yourself. "I love you too, see you," Luciana said before hanging up and immediately leaving for the company. She had arrived a few minutes before the meeting, and when she was in the hallway that went to the meeting room she heard crying, which was He was surprised, he followed the sound and found a small girl, beautiful, with black hair and waves, her eyes were brown and she had a beautiful mole near her nose on the left side of her face that was under her secretary's desk.

Probably some guy gave her a fake number in the bar. "I know what it is. But who are you?" She again asks me anxiously. "I am secretary of the President of the Damison Group. My name is Ethan Stone." I reply to her irritatingly, as she is wasting my time. I need to go home and take a lavender bath with my rubber ducks.

But now? Now he was silent. Detached. And she hated it. Suddenly the doors opened, and Veronica Sinclair walked in. Tall. Elegant. Ridiculously beautiful. She was one of Black Enterprises’ long-time clients, a luxury investor from London who clearly had an interest in more than just business. And if the tabloids were to be believed, one of the many women who had once graced his bed. Veronica’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she approached Adrian, her red lips curving into a knowing smile. “Adrian,” she purred, extending a hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“You mean I look older.” “I mean you look like someone who’s survived,” Sandra corrected quietly. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Sandra gestured to the two leather chairs across from her desk. “Sit. Please.” Veronica sat. The chair was impossibly comfortable. She hated how small it made her feel. Sandra took the seat opposite, crossing long legs. “Why now? After all these years?” Veronica met her gaze. “Because I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin.”

But just let him try to make something of it, Veronica decided fiercely as, having had her shower, she changed into a long silky black jersey dress, brushing her hair and quickly re-doing her make-up before checking the time. Almost eight-thirty. Taking a deep breath, she checked her appearance in the mirror and then, holding her head high, headed for the bedroom door. Her jersey dress, plain black and unadorned, might not reveal the fact that it had cost her the best part of a month’s wages and carried the label of one of New York’s top designers, but it was showing her every delicious curve… No space for imagination. The way Sasha looked when Veronica saw him waiting for her at the bottom