Home > Mr. Trouble: A London Billionaire Standalone

Mr. Trouble: A London Billionaire Standalone
Author: Nana Malone


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Jarred Maloney cracked open one eye, immediately shutting it as the shaft of sun blazed through to his pounding head. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth something horrid. What the hell happened?

“I see you are awake now.”

He cracked open his eyes again, focusing it on the sound of the voice. A very angry voice. It sounded suspiciously like Turner. His best friend did a great angry and broody. Had he passed out at his flat again? Sure enough, Turner was seated in the corner of the room, looking crisp and clean like he always did. Turner was a lawyer and a damn good one, but on occasion he was known to break loose. Jarred had the pictures to prove it. “Hey, Turn,” he said, wincing as his voice grated on his own headache.

“Jesus Jarred,” Turner said, his words coming out in a heartfelt sigh. “What happened last night?”

Jarred opened his eyes all of the way then, realizing that he wasn’t at Turner’s flat at all, but a hotel room instead. Well, he thought it was a hotel room. “Will you pull the curtains?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded pleading and pitiful.

Turner chuckled and pointed at the window where the damn light was coming from. “Well if the curtains were still attached to the wall, I could.”

Holding up his hand to block the sunlight, Jarred saw that the curtains were dangling from the curtain rod that looked like it was barely attached to the wall itself. Fuck him. How the hell had that happened?

“I assume you had a good time last night,” Turner was saying as Jarred rubbed a hand over his face, which still felt numb from the alcohol. “I couldn’t understand a word you were saying on your messages.”

“I left you messages?”

Turner nodded. “Ten to be exact. Thank God I am smart enough to put the thing on silent or we would be having this discussion hours ago.”

“What did I say?”

He shrugged. “Something about crazy women and inviting me to join, what did you call it? Your love den. Bloody hell Jarred, do you not know what you did last night?”

Amused, Jarred went to push himself up in the bed, his hand colliding with something warm. Make that soft and warm. He frowned.

“Oh yeah, you aren’t alone either,” Turner offered helpfully.

Jarred grinned and looked over, seeing two women snuggled up to each other. A blonde and a brunette, two of his favorites. Well, all women were his favorites. Tall, short, slim, athletic, curvy. Too bad he couldn’t remember a damn thing that happened last night. “I take it from your pinched face you didn’t join?” Jarred asked, looking over at Turner.

Turner arched a brow, looking nothing like the bloke who had drunkenly climbed the London Bridge in the middle of the night and pissed off the side to prove that he could. Jarred had the pictures to prove that as well. But, that was before Uni, when Turner got all serious. Jarred had never understood Turner’s change. After all, life was about living, right? “I’ll pass,” he finally said, looking down at his watch. “You’re going to be late for your appointment.”

“Isn’t my appointment with you?” Jarred grumbled, taking one long look at the women beside him. Was his mate really going to make him abandon this bed for him?

“You’re still late.”

Fuck. Apparently so. With a sigh, Jarred pulled back the covers and stood, the room spinning around him violently. Bile rose up in his throat and he forced it back down. Jarred wasn’t going to throw up in front of Turner, again. If he did, he would never hear the end of it. Not like Jarred was going to hear the end of this.

Naked, he looked around the room to get his mind off of the elephants doing salsa in his head and the tornado that had taken up residence in his gut. That was a hole in the wall, looking suspiciously like someone had been pushed hard against it. A flash of memory intruded on the dancing elephants. Him, with the brunette wrapped around his waist, shagging her hard, up against the wall.

Bottles littered the floor, various kinds of liquor and beer that he enjoyed from time to time. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and Jarred bent down to pick up his pants. He felt like shit and Turner was dragging his ass out of the bed. What sense did that make? More importantly, why was he allowing Turner to boss him around?

Oh yeah, he was the one that made sure Jarred got his trust fund checks monthly to keep this lifestyle up.

“Are you just going to stand there with your knob out all day or are you actually going to get dressed?”

Jarred shot him a wry smile as he thrust his legs in his jeans, buttoning them before hunting for his shirt. “What’s so important that we need to talk about anyway?”

Turner pushed himself out of the chair and smoothed out his dress pants, shaking out any wrinkles that might have occurred before grabbing his suit coat. “I already told you; I want to discuss it at the office.”

Jarred shook his head, the alcohol that he imbibed the night before sloshing around in his stomach uncomfortably. When Turner had called him the other day and said he had something important to discuss, Jarred had wondered why he wouldn’t just tell him then. He still didn’t understand why Turner was being so secretive about this entire conversation, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to breathe a word of it until they were sitting downtown.

One of the women in the bed stirred and Jarred looked back, taking in the creamy expanse of her back in the process. Turner was being an ass this morning making him leave like this. There were still hours of fun in that bed and Turner was being stupid to not want some of that action. With reluctance, Jarred got dressed and Turner walked him downstairs, allowing him to stop off to grab a cup of coffee in the process to counter the effects of the alcohol. When they walked outside, a chill hung in the air, tearing through the thin material of Jarred’s dress shirt. The weather was starting to turn now, the days growing shorter and the temperature a far cry from the warmth of the summer. Jarred glanced around, recognizing some of the landmarks, though he still didn’t know how he had ended up over here in East London. A few blocks to the left was the O2 Arena. The hotel was one on the fringes of the city, one that wasn’t particularly frequented by the wealthy of London. But it was near some of the clubs he enjoyed, which only made sense that he would go there instead of his own flat. One of his rules since Susan left, was never take anyone back to his flat.

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