The Pact from Max Monroe has a new earlier release date.
Grab a pen and jot this down…YOU’RE SUPER BUSY ON NOVEMBER 13th. Seriously. Flynn Winslow is going to dirty talk your panties off ALL WEEKEND, so it’s best if you schedule out some time with yourself (or your partner!) right now!
The Pact is coming Saturday November 13!
“I need a ride,” I said to a sexy stranger on a Harley.
Three hours later? A six-foot-tall Marilyn Monroe was officiating our Vegas wedding at the Happy Chapel.
But it’s not love—it’s business—a marriage pact made out of desperation so my career doesn’t go up in flames.
Sure, Flynn Winslow is a hot, broody, mysterious man that women all over the globe would sell their souls to land for real, but I have my eyes on the prize and our marriage arrangement will end in three months with no strings attached.
Or will it all go out the window when I have to move in with Mr. Mysterious and our fake marriage starts to feel remarkably real?
I wish it were as easy as telling myself, Do not fall in love with your fake husband, Daisy, but apparently, when feelings get involved, not everything that happens in Vegas knows how to stay in Vegas.
The Pact: A Teasing Inside Look
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry!” A female voice grabs my attention, and I glance toward the entrance doors of the Wynn to find a blur of wild curls running like a banshee. She bumps into several people trying to get outside, and more apologies blurt from her lips as she almost takes out an older gentleman wearing a cowboy hat.
The man is none too pleased, but his annoyance doesn’t stop her. Out onto the pavement of the driveway, she stumbles a bit on her sky-high heels as she continues her fast-track path to who knows where.
She comes to a halting stop in the center of the entrance driveway, in the middle of cars and only a few feet from my bike, and looks around maniacally with her big green eyes.
What is she doing?
Her breaths come out in harsh pants, and she chaotically brushes pieces of her wild mane of curls out of her face.
“You okay?” I find myself asking, and she snaps her eyes toward mine.
She stares at me like I just asked her to solve an advanced calculus problem, and I lift the visor up on my helmet to repeat my question. “You okay?”
She shakes her head and digs her teeth into the meat of her full, red-painted lips. But just as she opens her mouth to respond, a man in a well-fitted suit comes bursting out of the entrance doors, yelling, “Daisy!”
The beautiful but possibly insane woman shuts her eyes on a heavy sigh, and by the sag in her shoulders and frown on her lips, I have a feeling she’s the Daisy he’s calling for.
“Daisy! Honey! Wait up!”
“Fuck,” she mutters, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Crazy Daisy wants nothing to do with this guy.
Maybe he’s the reason for her abrupt departure and reckless sprint out of the casino?
This guy could be her boyfriend. Fiancé. Husband. I don’t fucking know what. But whoever he is, she wants distance. That much is apparent.
And even though I’m supposed to meet my brothers at one of the Wynn’s bars in about ten minutes, the urge to help her is too strong to ignore.
It’s a rare thing for a guy like me, to be honest. I don’t meddle in other people’s shit, but the panicked look on her face makes me want to give her the escape she needs.
But before I know it, before I can even offer the help, she takes it for herself.
One leg over the seat of my bike and her arms around my waist, she leans into my back harshly and declares her intentions without pause. “I need a ride.”
Warning: This quiet, dirty-talking, mystery man is going to ruin you for other men… 🔥🔥🔥.