Free The Billionaire's Alibi: The Proposition by Maddy Raven Page A

knew just how to exploit that. She had to protect her secret—her family’s secret—at any cost. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable and selling herself to the Harpers.
    “What do you say, Alexa?” Rebecca watched her expectantly, a smile lingering on the corners of her mouth. “Will you be my son’s alibi?”
    Alexa looked away. Inhale 1… 2… 3… exhale 1… 2… 3…
    “Alexa?” Rebecca inquired kindly. “Did you hear me?”
    She looked up. “How long do I have before you need my answer?”
    “The cops are almost here for your statement. Time is of the essence.”
    Alexa’s eyes darted past Rebecca to the window. Her heart started to race. Police cars travelled the driveway along the manicured lawn, their sirens off but their lights still flashing in rotation.
    “Alexa.” Rebecca’s voice hinted at her impatience. “I need an answer.”
    She stared at the vehicles as they pulled up to the house; outside the room, she heard the front door open and the shuffle of uniformed bodies being ushered in. Alexa looked up at Rebecca.
    “Yes,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
    “Excellent,” Rebecca said. “Now, here’s what you’re going to tell the police…”
     
    *****
     
    What happens next?
     
    Puzzled over Rebecca's motives, or her sources, or both?
     
    Curious about how Will will take his mother's news?
     
    Wondering what Rebecca will make Alexa do next?
     
    Get the answers to these questions and more in The Billionaire's Alibi: The Contract (The Billionaire's Alibi #2) .
     

 
    A PREVIEW FROM BEAUTY AWAKENED: THE QUEEN AND THE HONEY
    IT is 7:49pm on a Monday night when I see him, finally. He doesn’t come every day, but when he does come to sketch, he sits in a specific wooden chair at a specific wooden table on the seventh floor of the Harold Washington Library in Chicago. I’ve seen him there so many times, never far from where I’m sitting, sketching my own designs. But I’ve never worked up the nerve to speak to him, as much as I want to.
    He parts his hair on the far left and it swoops across his forehead like a dove’s wing. His hair is blonder than mine and not as golden, but more like the color of sunlight itself. He has long, soft eyelashes, nude lips, and crisp, blue-green eyes the color of the ocean. His straight-angled nose is the perfect size for his long, oval face. His thick biceps pop under the sleeves of his polo shirt. I normally hate men in polo shirts, but he manages to pull it off without looking like a tool, or a frat boy. He’s a dreamer, despite the way he dresses. I like that about him.
    His pen slides with fluidity across the page, making movements that are simple and soft, never abrupt or intrusive. When he hunches over his sketchpad, his hair falls across his eyes and I pretend I can’t see him peeking at me. But he does.
    It’s my twenty-seventh birthday today, and I can’t get his image out of my mind. The drawing in front of me is a half-finished sketch of a party dress for my debut line of clothing. Next to the party dress, there is a sketch of a man who looks a lot like my boyfriend. We’ve been together for nearly six years, and he still hasn’t proposed. But he lets me live at his apartment while I pursue my dream of becoming a fashion designer. Plus, according to what I sketched, he looks good in a suit.
    I promised myself several weeks ago that if I saw the blonde stranger today, on my birthday, I wouldn’t let him disappear without getting his name. My biggest fear is that one day I’ll show up and he won’t, and I will have never spoken to him, never taken a chance on him. I never take the chances I should. I want this year to be different.
    I’ve never really dated as an adult, and I’ve only had sex with two men in my entire life. To be fair, one was my high school sweetheart. We broke up in college after the fabric wore thin on our long-distance relationship. That’s when I met my current boyfriend,