Hustler by Meghan Quinn, Jessica Prince on May 9, 2016
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I make my living as a hustler, and I’m great at it.
I don’t have a single tell and use that to my advantage to manipulate any situation.
I’ve always known what a person is about to do before they’ve even decided.That is, until I met Nell.
I can’t get a read on her, and what’s worse, she doesn’t want anything to do with me.
Which only makes me want her more.Now I’m in for the hardest hustle of my life.
Somehow I have to convince Nell that she belongs with me.
Good thing I’m always up for a challenge.
We’re celebrating the release of HUSTLER, an NA Romantic Comedy by Meghan Quinn and Jessica Prince!
Casually, I sit on the side of the table and take a sip of my drink as I let her eyes peruse my body. It’s a power move. Even though I’m eager to get to know this little hellion, I mask my reaction to her. Never show and tell, especially with women.I can feel her eyes scanning me, focused on the bit of exposed skin near the collar of the shirt. They then travel down my stomach – little does she know what’s hiding underneath my clothing – and then to my crotch, then she immediately refocuses on her hands. I caught her though, she’s a goner as far as I’m concerned.
“Penelope Prescott,” I start, but I’m quickly interrupted.
“Nell.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone calls me Nell,” she clarifies.
I set my glass down and study her before saying, “Too bad for you, I’m not everyone.” Her mouth falls agape for a second before she closes it, trying not to let her shock show. I have a rather up front personality, it can catch some people off guard. Clearly, she’s one of them. “Now tell me, Penelope, how long have you worked for Hotel Paragon?”
I know the answer to my question, but when you’re holding the upper hand, you not only want to show power, but you also want to make the other person feel as though they have some control over the situation, when in fact, they don’t. Poker 101.
She wrings her hands together on her lap. Tell number one.
She’s nervous, but there’s a confidence in her eyes that almost boasts a cocky air around her. Unfortunately for her, I’m a master at reading people, so she’s doesn’t fool me one bit.
With her head held high, she answers, “A little over a year now.”
I nod. “And how long have you been working in the high roller room?”
She bites her lip before answering. Tell number two.
“It’s my first day today.”
I nod again. “And before you started, were you informed that the men playing at the table you would be serving are valuable members to this hotel, some of our most lavish and esteemed customers?”
She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Tell number three.
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Saint,” I inform her.
“Sorry, yes, Mr. Saint.” She grits out my name, as if it’s painful for her to say.
About Jessica Prince
Born and raised around Houston Texas, Jessica spent most of her life complaining about the heat, humidity, and all around pain in the ass weather. It was only as an adult that she quickly realized the cost of living in Houston made up for not being able to breathe when she stepped outside. That’s why God created central air, after all.
Jessica is the mother of a perfect little boy–she refuses to accept that he inherited her attitude and sarcastic nature no matter what her husband says.
In addition to being a wife and mom, she’s also a wino, a coffee addict, and an avid lover of all types of books–romances still being her all time favs. Her husband likes to claim that reading is her obsession but she just says it’s a passion…there’s a difference. Not that she’d expect a boy to understand.
Jessica has been writing since she was a little girl, but thankfully grew out of drawing her own pictures for her stories before ever publishing her first book. Because an artist she is not.
About Meghan Quinn
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four
legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!