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Saint (The Buck Boys Heroes #3) Read Online Deborah Bladon

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Buck Boys Heroes Series by Deborah Bladon
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Saint (The Buck Boys Heroes #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Deborah Bladon

Language:
English
Book Information:

I called the police on my cocky, condescending neighbor last night. Today I found out he’s my new billionaire boss.
My neighbor could win an award for being the rudest man in New York City. It wouldn’t kill him to hold the elevator for me when I’m running late.
He also plays music way too loud, entertains a lot, and is constantly knocking on my door for no good reason.
Whenever I do answer, I tell him to get lost. His response is always the same – his signature smirk and a wink. He tosses me a goddamn wink because he knows he’s that good-looking.
Last night, he had a party. I’m all for having fun, but when it dragged on past midnight, I went next door and asked the arrogant jerk to tone it down.
He offered me a drink and told me to lighten up. Lighten up?
I did what any woman who needed to sleep would do. I called the police, hoping they could get him to shut up. It worked… until this morning.
I just arrived for my first day at my new job. It might also be my last because I just caught sight of my ridiculously handsome boss, and this time, he’s not wearing handcuffs.
Books in Series:

The Buck Boys Heroes Series by Deborah Bladon

Books by Author:

Deborah Bladon



Chapter One

Callie

“Wait!” I yell as I race out of my apartment with one of my red-soled heels in my hand. “Hold the elevator!”

I slam the door shut before turning to face the open elevator at the end of the corridor.

Just as I suspect, my gorgeous neighbor is standing front and center in the elevator with a smirk on his face as he tugs his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Dammit.

He’s all perfectly styled dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and a body that I can’t stare at too long or all kinds of dirty fantasies trample every other thought I’ve ever had.

The man is the epitome of hot, but he’s rude.

He’s not just rude. He’s next level extra rude.

“Hold it,” I call out. “I’m going to be late for a job interview unless I get on it now.”

The smug-faced jerk raises his big hand in the air and waves at me like he’s on a float in a parade as the elevator doors slide shut.

“Asshole!” I scream just before they close, hoping this time he gets the message that he’s not a good neighbor.

He’s the worst neighbor I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot.

Until a few weeks ago, I lived in a cramped two-bedroom walk-up with three friends from college.

Our next-door neighbor was our landlord.

He never had one complaint about any of us, but he must have wished he were a chef in another life because every night, he’d cook up something that smelled like a sewer.

He always brought the leftovers over to our place.

Not wanting to insult him, one of us would accept the food with a grin.

Even if we sprinted down to the basement to toss it in the incinerator as soon as the coast was clear, the lingering scent of his home-cooked meal permeated our apartment until the next night when the same thing happened again.

That’s one of the reasons why I jumped at the opportunity to stay at my oldest brother’s apartment while he’s working in Phoenix for three months.

When Grady asked if I’d apartment sit to help him out, I knew that he was doing it as a favor to me.

Living rent-free in a luxury apartment in a building on Madison Avenue is a step up in every conceivable way.

Or it was until I realized that I live next door to one of Manhattan’s biggest jerks.

I glance to the left when I hear a door creak open.

“Calliope?” The woman who lives down the hall from me peeks out from around her partially open apartment door. “Is everything all right, dear?”

When we first met in the lobby, I introduced myself as Callie Morrow. She took it upon herself to ask if that was short for Calliope. Not wanting to start off on the wrong foot, I decided not to lie, so I admitted that was my name.

She hasn’t stopped calling me that since.

“Everything is fine, Mrs. Sweeney,” I call out to her. “I have a job interview, and I missed the elevator.”

“You can take the stairs,” she suggests.

I’m all for that, but we’re on the twenty-second floor, and I’m wearing a snug skirt. “I’ll wait for the elevator.”

I trudge past her, still holding tightly to my left shoe. I finally shimmy my foot into it once I’m at the elevator. I push the call button twice. Once to send it sailing back up here as soon as Mr. Big Jerk gets off in the lobby, and a second time while pretending I’m poking him in the eye.

If Mrs. Sweeney didn’t have her eagle eyes on me, I’d be partaking in a round of boxing with the air at the moment to ease all of the pent-up frustration I feel.

She ventures out of her apartment far enough to give me a view of her lilac tracksuit and matching sneakers. It pairs perfectly with the gray curls on her head.

Mrs. Sweeney’s fashion sense is on point.

When I’m eighty-nine, I hope I look as fabulous as she does.

She gives me a look from head to toe, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That outfit you’re wearing screams professional woman looking for a full-time, high-paying job with benefits and room for advancement, Calliope.”

That’s saying a lot.

I chose a black pencil skirt and plain white blouse because it’s what every female executive at Mirnan Mortgage wears. I did a deep dive on their social media pages last night to get a feel for the company.

It’s not my dream job, but bartending won’t fulfill all of my financial goals.

That’s my current gig since I lost my junior marketing position with a party supplies company when a competitor bought them out.

I’ve worked at the bar on and off for the past three years since I turned twenty-one. When I found myself without a job last month, the bar’s owner offered me two extra shifts per week. I’m grateful, but I have a degree in marketing that I want to put to use.


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