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Money Back Guarantee
Money Back Guarantee
Money Back Guarantee
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Money Back Guarantee

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Slade Martin is under attack. An electronic thief absconded with all his liquid personal wealth and someone on his board of directors is plotting a hostile takeover. The obvious culprit isn't the guilty party, and Slade gets help to find the real perpetrator from a surprise source – the lovely and capable Iris D'Vance.  

Iris D'Vance is determined to not repeat her mistakes with men – until she meets Slade Martin, and decides all bets are off. Accepting the invitation to sit on the board of Slade's charitable foundation lands her in the middle corporate intrigue. Slade needs her help and makes her an offer she can't turn down.

Slade and Iris join forces to unravel the plot to ruin Slade and discover their interest in each other runs deeper than sharing altruistic works. When the person behind Slade's woes is found, it's Iris who's in danger. Slade has to act fast to bring her home safe and make good on his money back guarantee.

*  *  *

Slade stalked off the elevator, his prey dead center in the crosshairs. Primed and loaded, one word from Ms. Iris D'Vance, and he'd let the hammer fall. Damn her. He sucked in a deep breath to replace the air that whooshed out of his lungs as her appearance burned onto his corneas.

Damn her for standing in front of the windows with the sunlight coming in behind her. Every luscious curve was visible through the backlit fabric of her dress. He'd not seen anything that amazing in…well, he'd never seen anything that amazing. His temper bled away, replaced by a surge of lust. Maybe he needed to rethink his approach, and fast, before she got away with old man Farnsmore.

Iris turned slightly and spotted him. Her eyes widened, she stiffened, then her composure slid back into place. It didn't matter. Slade had seen the sudden interest in her eyes. He held out his hand to her for a friendly handshake.

"Ms. D'Vance, I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot upstairs. I get a little nervous before board meetings."

Iris accepted his hand. Her lips parted. He closed his fingers around hers, noting how cold hers were as he lifted them to his lips.

"I'm sorry. That was forward of me. I hope you'll forgive me."

Her chin lifted, and her lovely hazel eyes took on a new, hard glint.

"I'm sure that well-rehearsed and very tired line still works on some women, but I assure you, I'm not one of them, Mr. Martin."

Slade very grudgingly gave her high marks for honesty. He'd asked for that, and she'd given it to him.

"No, it doesn't work, obviously. I'll have to practice it."

"Not on me, Mr. Martin. Now if you'll excuse me, there's my ride."

Dismissed, for God's sake. Torpedoed.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 29, 2016
ISBN9781524276799
Money Back Guarantee

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    Money Back Guarantee - Rayne Forrest

    5 Kisses for Money Back Guarantee from Two Lips Reviews

    This fantasy, set in tomorrow's New York and Boston, is a good model for what a relationship should be! Want some summer fun? Read Money Back Guarantee. And then read it again. – reviewer Sasha

    Chapter 1

    Landing one of the coveted spots on the governing body of the CRM Foundation was a feather in anyone’s cap. Iris D’Vance was pleased to accept the seat, and the responsibilities that came with it. The immediate downside? It did wreak havoc with her wardrobe, which consisted of garments from every upscale designer in Old Towne Manhattan. Hence, her dilemma.

    How would she be perceived, sitting on the Board of Trustees of the most respected non-profit foundation in the northern hemi-sphere in a suit that cost almost ten thousand credits?

    Not very well, or so her common sense told her. Not that most of her clothes flaunted her wealth, but within that circle, people would know. And yet, she had to dress as befitted her appointment.

    She finally settled on a simple, albeit old-fashioned, princess styled black dress and a single strand of pearls. Simple, elegant, and not too expensive.

    Well, the pearls had a high value, but that’s because they had belonged to her great-great-grandmother and were a hundred and fifty years old. You couldn’t even buy pearls on the open market any longer, not since the oyster die-off of 2097.

    Iris slipped her wallet into a black and white purse that matched her open-toed pumps, and called for her limo.

    A chime sounded. Good. Her car had arrived. She took the elevator down to the portico level, silently thanking the former owner of her multi-level townhouse for installing such a convenience behind the back of the historical society. Iris appreciated people who had a little rebel in their soul.

    The latest financial report on the Celia and Robert Martin Foundation lay on the seat in the car for her to read on the way to Boston. She settled in and flipped the booklet open, reading aloud the high points to help her remember them.

    The CRM Foundation was started by son Slade Martin to honor his parents. Slade got his start helping older neighbors with household chores. One neighbor paid him with old art pieces that young Slade eventually sold at a tidy profit, banking the money. At his parent’s urging, he took ten percent and gave it to charity. As his bank account grew due to hard work, he gave more. CRM now has a multi-million-credit endowment, complete with gold bullion to hedge against inflation, and does good deeds all over the colonized universe. End of lesson. Iris closed the folder and tossed it into the corner of her seat.

    If this were such a prestigious appointment, why did it suddenly feel like such a chore?

    Iris gave plenty to charity, every year, and she did so without the help of some foundation. No doubt that was the reason she’d been offered a position on the board. She gave money to causes, and someone at CRM, probably Slade Martin himself, thought they could get more from her.

    Let them try. Iris kept her spending on a strict budget so she’d always have enough income to fund her charitable works.

    The driver buzzed her, telling her they had reached their destination. Iris looked out the window at the impressive ten-story, black granite building, and spoke to the quiet interior of the limo.

    I suppose you have to look the part to attract big donations. She leaned over and retrieved the booklet, flipping it open. It says here the building was bequeathed to the foundation by one of its benefactors. She sighed.

    That makes me feel better about it for some reason. I’d hate to be involved in an organization that squandered other people’s money.

    Great, she was talking to herself again, a sure sign she was nervous, even though she told herself she wasn’t.

    The limo glided to a stop, settling to the sparkling blacktop. Her door opened and a gloved hand reached inside. Iris took it and allowed the doorman to help her out. She straightened her dress, squared her shoulders, and walked inside.

    Iris gave her name to the receptionist and quickly found herself ushered to the elevators. In seconds, she arrived on the top floor. The doors whisked open without a sound. Iris stared at the bright, sunlit area before her, appreciating the effort that had gone into making the conference level inviting and welcoming, and yet completely conducive to business.

    The elevator attendant touched her elbow. Ma’am?

    Oh, yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gawking and you need to go. Iris stepped out of the car.

    The man smiled and tipped his hat, then the doors glided closed just as silently as they’d opened. Iris’ gaze settled on the group of people seated around a large, oblong table made of genuine oak. That cost a pretty penny these days.

    A tall, dark-haired man stood at its head. His blue gaze smoldered with poorly concealed anger.

    Miss D’Vance, so glad you finally deigned to join us.

    His deep voice dripped sarcasm. That had to be none other than Slade Martin himself. Nothing she’d read about him mentioned he was drop-dead, sexy gorgeous. Iris tried to think of any other man she knew who stood over six-feet tall, or which one had such broad shoulders. She knew nary a one.

    Okay, so he was quite a specimen of masculinity, the likes of which she’d never seen before. Her body tightened as gooseflesh skittered over her skin. Iris pushed the feelings away.

    Early on in her life she’d learned to not let it show when she met an interesting man. Too often that interest had turned bitter upon learning her money was more attractive than she. Her chin lifted.

    I was told the meeting would begin promptly at ten o’clock. I’m early.

    A muscle worked in his jaw. He made a careless gesture toward the one empty chair. At least it was not next to his.

    Will you please take your seat, Miss D’Vance?

    Iris drew on every ounce of dignity she possessed as she walked to her seat. The older man in the chair next to hers rose and politely pulled hers out for her. She murmured her thanks to him as Slade glowered at them. She smiled at him.

    I hope I’m not out of line asking that introductions be made.

    The gentleman who’d seated her spoke up. No, no, my dear, not at all. As you say, we’re all here early. I’m Reggie Farnsmore. He offered Iris his hand. She shook it. One by one, people around the table said their names, all but Slade, of course. He acted like the ass she pegged him for.

    Now, if Miss D’Vance is ready, may we get down to business?

    Iris nodded. And not just any nod, either. She inclined her head like royalty granting a vassal a favor. Slade’s look blackened, and she had a slight twinge of regret over goading him.

    Very slight.

    The terminal mounted in the table in front of her activated and she hurriedly scanned the information as Slade spoke, getting back to business.

    Two hours later, Iris grudgingly gave Slade high marks for running an efficient and organized meeting. As the newest member of the board, she’d abstained from the two polls, not knowing enough about the projects in question. Slade accepted her decisions without comment, but he’d not glared at her, either, and Iris considered that evidence that he approved.

    The meeting adjourned and people gathered around her, welcoming her and chatting amiably. Iris smiled and did her best to be friendly, but she kept one eye on Slade. He didn’t seem inclined to speak.

    What a shame. Slade didn’t need her money, something that calmed some of the fear she had about men in general. He was just too good-looking, too...too...manly...not to notice.

    Iris squared her shoulders and turned back to Reggie. She would ignore Slade Martin, no matter how difficult, because she didn’t need someone that arrogant in her life. Iris smiled at her newest friend.

    Of course I’ll have lunch with you, Reggie. Wherever you choose will be fine as I don’t know Boston very well.

    The old gentleman beamed as he led her to the elevators. She’d made him happy and that felt good. Iris turned as she stepped into the car. For one brief moment, her gaze collided with the angry blue glare of Slade Martin, then the doors whisked closed between them.

    What could she have possibility done to him? She didn’t even know him!

    Iris shivered as some sixth sense, or instinct, whispered that she would know him someday, and know him well. Funny how she didn’t object to that notion at all.

    * * * *

    Slade Martin slammed his office door behind him. Damn Reginald Farnsmore! That woman on CRM’s board

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