STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1) Read Online Free

waiting to see if your highness will be willing to sit on a regular oak bench as opposed to African blackwood.”
    How dare he!
    Handing Pope Francis to my dad, making sure not to ruffle the rosary he wears around his neck—the blessed saint—I hold my hand to my chest and push back the tears that threaten to destroy my perfectly applied makeup. “I will have to suffer . . . for the people.”
    The Persian pattern standing next to Jonathan chuckles and my defenses immediately rise. Pointing at her, I say, “She is fired. Her attitude and barbaric appearance are not welcome here.”
    That shocks the twisted fig and erases the smile that recently resided on her face. Desperation laces her eyes, and I can’t help but enjoy the way her entire aura begs me to reconsider.
    “Unfortunately, Miss Chambers, you can’t just fire Paisley. That is not your decision, and unless you have a reasonable reason for her to be let go, you will have to learn to get along with her. She is here to help you.”
    “Fine,” I huff, turning away from him. “Daddy, escort me to the set. I need Pope Francis near me. You know how nervous I get when everyone is trying to soak in my beauty.”
    “Anything for you, angel puss.”
    I walk arm in arm with my dad over to the rink-a-dink photo-shoot set the network put together for me, all the while thinking about ways I can make the pattern loathe working with me until she quits. I don’t think it would be too hard. She seems pretty shakable.
    She will soon find out that she is going to wish I could fire her. Her life has now become a living hell.
    I can only hope Pope Francis will pray for her.

Chapter Three
    **REESE**
     
     
    Was this really what my life is spiraling down to? Me in a Speedo, my hair styled to Bellini’s standards, oil glistening on my chest, and a beach ball as a prop?
    I stare at myself in the mirror. Loathing, self-hatred, depression. Yup, they’re all there.
    “Is this necessary?” I ask Ashley, my publicist. “I look like a total douchebag.”
    Ashley looks up from her phone, her lifeline, and smiles wide, letting me know in fact, I do look like a douchebag. “It’s not that bad, the beach ball is a little much but the Speedo looks good.”
    “It’s leopard print,” I deadpan.
    A snort escapes her before she covers her nose. “It’s very becoming of you,” she lies and then looks closer at me. “Jesus, how much oil did they put on you? I’m pretty sure I can see my reflection in your abs.”
    I take a look at my stomach, flexing it as my head falls forward. I might be older than my peers, but I still have one hell of a body . . . one that is slathered in oil currently.
    “The girl who put it on was rather handsy. Pretty sure she spent extra time lathering me up.” I wipe my face with my hand in frustration and ask, “Ashley, is this really necessary?”
    “The photo shoot?” she asks, her attention back on her phone. “Of course. They need pictures for the next season of Rollin’ In The Bacon . You know how production companies are, they always want promotional material.”
    “I’m not talking about the show. I’m talking about the fake relationship you set me up with. In case you haven’t noticed, the woman is insane. She believes her dog is a disciple sent from God, she shames anyone who comes near her, and she seriously thinks this little publicity stunt you set up with her publicist is real.” I lean forward just to make sure Ashley is the only one to hear me. “She tried to kiss me the other day. She knows this isn’t real, right?”
    Ashley nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders. “I can neither confirm nor deny what she knows.”
    “Ashley,” I snap. “I’m a highly regarded Olympian—”
    “Who is on his way out. Don’t forget this is your last Olympics, Reese. The media is already over the top with this being your send-off swim. We need to leverage this as much as possible for sponsors and partnerships once you hang up your little