Free Rug Burns (Reviving Haven Book 2) by Cory Cyr Page A

hills. I never discussed my finances with Haven. I kept to myself the fact that I was filthy rich and set for life. She would have perished if I told her the residence cost me a million five, which wasn’t bad for a home in that area. My own place. Now I was an actual homeowner.
    I’d taken the real estate test and gotten my license. My end goal was to purchase my own company, but for now, I was finally working at an agency, learning the ropes, and I’d already sold one home. I was good. Really exceptional—especially with the men. I was the only woman in this current agency and quite happy about that. When I wasn’t working, I was “playing.” The more I gave, the more I got. At least listing wise.
    Haven had gotten an unpaid internship at a small publishing house. I never understood doing all that labor free, but her parents kicked in money every month. Her income didn’t matter to me, but she wanted to pull her own weight.
    I lied. Through my fucking teeth. She thought we were renting. So I took her generous seven hundred dollars a month and put it in a savings account—for her. I hoped when she needed it, the money would be there to help her. She wasn’t like me, though. I was a free and wild spirit. I have no doubt my parents thought it was adorable at sixteen. But even now, I could sense their disapproval.
    I enjoyed my job, but I also loved the Hollywood nightlife. I was familiar with the best clubs and the highest profile men. While I appreciated all men, it was a major adrenaline rush to be noticed by someone famous. I gravitated toward the rich executives, but I wasn’t immune to the charms of a rock star here and there. My little black book was turning into the Britannia encyclopedia.
    While I was having a wicked life, Haven became a workaholic. We both had goals. Mine included blowing the cream of the crop, and Haven’s were up for discussion.
    Everything was perfect until the night she came home and told me she was in love.

7
     
    His name was Jared Stanton. He’d come into her tiny publishing house for a luncheon. Actually, from what she described, it was more like a buyout. He owned Stanton Publishing, one of the biggest companies on the West Coast. Obviously, he wanted to absorb all the smaller houses. It was an easy way to get rid of any future competition. I might have given tons of head, but I indeed did have my own head when it came to certain business practices. And I knew without a doubt what was taking place.
    He set his sights not only on the small publishing house, but on my best friend. I knew the minute I met him he was a prick. Seven years older than her, and he’d been around. I could smell a womanizer. Personally, it was a characteristic I admired, but not in the man my BFF was head over heels in love with. The minute his eyes met mine, I saw a challenge. I should have called him out that first night for the pig he was, but I let it slide. I never saw Haven as happy as she was at that moment, and I didn’t want to be the one who threw a wrench into her nirvana.
    The air between Jared and me was always thick with animosity. I knew he would hurt her, and he thought I would defile her with my lifestyle. He’d actually profiled me. At one point, I swore he attempted his version of seduction—with me. I would never blow him, even if he were the last prick on the planet. He pretended to be cultured and seasoned—an expert in all and a master of nothing. God, I loathed him.
    I hated the fact that I wasn’t able to save her from him. It still makes me retch when I think of what she went through. She never confessed everything, but I knew. And the verdict was in. He should die or at least be hung by his tiny nuts on pay-per-view.
    Haven was ecstatic when she told me he’d asked her to move in. She knew my opinion of Jared. I never came right out and said he was trash, but she knew I hated him. I think, in her mind, she pretended it was jealousy. Haven was so blinded by what she assumed