The Last Eligible Billionaire Audiobook

The Last Eligible Billionaire Audiobook
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The Last Eligible Billionaire Audiobook 🎧 Pippa Grant

He’s the son of a billionaire. A supreme grump. People’s hater. People are something I despise even more. And there’s my new phony boyfriend.
My mission is simple: pretend to be Hayes’ one true love in order to keep his matchmaking relatives, as well as any other interested ladies, away from the grumpy, walled-off heir to my favorite movie empire. In exchange, he won’t ruin my life over a teeny tiny little misunderstanding.
But the more I get past his defenses, the more I realize that, while we may come from different worlds, we have a lot more in common than either of us realized. There might be the true love of my life beneath all the glitz, glamour, and dollar signs.

However, you know what they say about pretending to date a billionaire: it’s all fun and games until the scandals start.

The Last Eligible Billionaire is a swoon-worthy, laugh-out-loud romance featuring a botched wax job, a woman in over her head, a man in over his heart, and the sweetest misguided dog to ever play matchmaker…or at the very least make sure these two anti-love birds never have clothes when they get out of the shower. It is self-contained and contains grand romantic gestures.

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There’S exactly one thing: a man wants, after two weddings, a funeral, a clandestine overnight drive and an unfortunate incident with roadkill, and it is not more drama. It is never more drama or more people or a complete and total disaster in, what’s supposed to be a haven. Yet, instead of falling into bed at my private retreat on a small island off the coast of maine, with the french doors of my bedroom balcony open to let in the sound of the ocean waves rolling to shore. While i escape into a mindless oblivion to recover from the past few weeks, i’ve arrived to a problem, someone has broken into my estate, just as surely as the sun is breaking over the clouds off the horizon, as it rises over the water, the back door to The main house is unlocked, the lights are on dirty dishes and clothing are scattered all over the covered. Porch someone’s piled paint stained rags outside the laundry room and the refrigerator is gaping open.

Worse, there’s cheesecake in my refrigerator cheesecake pink wine. No, i don’t care what kind it is not if it’s pink, three bags of peanut butter cups, two styrofoam containers of god, only knows what a massive raw steak, a bottle of tabasco sauce and a stick of butter all inside the refrigerator. That should have its doors closed, but doesn’t i stick my hand into the fridge room temperature? The wine bottle isn’t even sweating anymore, which means the doors have been open so long. The damn refrigerator has ceased to function at all worse.

This means whoever broke into my house ruined cheesecake. How is it that the cheesecake is the most egregious of my intruder’s sins, my headaches, my body is stiff and sore. I might have a touch of whiplash. I definitely smell faintly of skunk, i’m exhausted and someone an unauthorized someone who should not be in my sanctuary. After all, the lengths i went to in order to reach this place anonymously and undetected is letting cheesecake go bad in my open refrigerator.

This should not be the most appalling error of the morning. Yet here we are, i’m rapidly becoming irrationally angry over spoiled cheesecake, go on a post-divorce retreat and spoil yourself in a place without internet or sell signal. So your mother can’t reach you for a couple weeks. I told myself look: there’s a lovely beach mansion rental, miraculously in your budget that just came available. It must be fate.

I told myself, and it was for two glorious days now now, i’m interrogating an intruder, while my dog holds him against a closet wall with no cell service to call the police and the full knowledge that my dog will most likely stop growling any second now, because He is truly the world’s worst guard dog and the last bit of leverage i have against this mansion invading murderer will be gone. Who are you and don’t pull any of that arrogant? You should know who i am because i’m so important baloney. I order the man currently held hostage by my dog between clothing racks in a corner of the massive closet. What kind of a bathroom has four different doors this one?

That’S what kind of bathroom – and it was cool yesterday when i was renting a beach mansion with a bathroom so large. It has two closets and a private hidden sitting room. But today, when i needed to make a spur-of-the-moment decision about which of the four doors to lunge toward, i went the wrong way and now i’m trapped in a closet with an intruder who’s glaring at me like i’m in the wrong. I have two weapons at my disposal: one’s the hair dryer, which is only scary if you’ve ever had one short circuit and almost kept your hair on fire while using it and the other is my phone which gets no signal in this house. Thank you obscure wireless plan and which i’m finally able to silence inside the pocket of this robe killing ariana grande’s voice, probably as surely as this man is about to murder me, my name is hayes rutherford, and this is my house.

His voice is quiet and controlled, and he has a commanding air about him. That might be the tux side note who breaks into an island mansion in a tux, or it might be that anyone named haze, rutherford innately, carries around an air of importance. Why does that name sound familiar, and why does the fact that he claims that’s his name immediately. Assure me that he’s not going to kill me there’s exactly one thing: a man wants after two weddings, a funeral, a clandestine overnight drive and an unfortunate incident with roadkill, and it is not

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