So Wrong, It’s Wright: a Plus-size, Billionaire Romance bundle

Chapter 1 

Ruby

The bass thumps, vibrating in my chest as I tap the bar rhythmically, drumming my red fingernails while the bartender lines up eighteen shots. “Come on, come on!” Tonight will end up with someone on the floor or it won’t end at all. 

“Oh my god, Ruby. How many of these did you order?” Tahlia yells, the noise of the packed bar making normal conversation an impossibility.

I lean close to her ear and yell back. “Enough to make you forget about that asshole of a man who had the audacity to call himself your boyfriend.”

Tahlia purses her lips and frowns, her auburn hair falling forward over her shoulders. Today is her birthday. Twenty-five. And instead of having the time of her life, we’re drinking away her heartache after her douchebag of a boyfriend decided to dump her yesterday. Seriously, who dumps someone the day before their birthday? Asshats do. That’s who. 

“Oh darling, don’t say the B word around Tahli-pie,” Darren—our resident drag queen who goes by the moniker ‘Coco Munro’ on stage—says, clicking his manicured fingers at my twin brother, Theo, then pointing at the row of shots with a dangerously long stiletto nail. I look at my chipped polish and wish I was as well-groomed as Darren. 

“Let’s do this.” Theo steps forward, slinging a muscled arm around his boyfriend’s slender shoulders. I love Darren like a sister, but he’s prettier than me—even out of drag. He has the kind of body runway models starve themselves for and cheekbones for days. I need to drink just so I don’t feel like the Duff of the group when I stand beside him. When he morphs himself into a she, well, I don’t stand a chance. Coco Munro is so pretty, a straight man would consider switching teams just for a date with her. Me? I don’t get dates at all. With basic blonde hair, brown eyes, and more than my fair share of curves, I’m about as plain looking as one can get. Makeup helps. My feisty attitude doesn’t. Still, I’m not about to start changing. At twenty-six, I’m rather set in my ways, and I kinda like it like that. Men are overrated.

“Maybe I should just call him?” Tahlia suggests, sighing as we line up along the bar, our shots in front of us. “I mean, maybe he just got cold feet, or—”

“No!” Theo, Darren, and I seem to yell in unison. 

“OK.” Tahlia’s eyes startle and she tucks her phone straight back into her purse. 

“On the count of three,” I say, handing her a shot before picking up my own. We need to get this show on the road before she’s making excuses to leave and knocking on his door. From what I’ve learned over the years, watching my stunning best friend work her way through one disastrous relationship after another, is that the trick to helping her move on is to keep her distracted. “Ready?” 

Theo and Darren hold their shots in the air and give me a resolute nod. Tahlia sniffs hers and shrugs. “I guess.”  

“OK then,” I start, flicking my long hair over my shoulder. “One, two. Three!” 

***

“Hoooor.” The noise coming out of Tahlia’s body is akin to the sound a demon would make while being exorcised. For once during the course of our friendship, I’d say no to switching my oversized body with her tiny one. Mine holds liquor way better. 

“That’s it, baby. Get it all out,” Darren says soothingly, rubbing her back while she pukes on the ground next to a dumpster. Theo and I try to find a cab so we can get her home and into bed. 

“Did she drink more than us?” he asks, sucking on the end of a cigarette that he never lights. He used to be a massive smoker, but ever since he started dating Darren, he’s been trying to quit. He claims that holding one in his mouth helps with the cravings. 

“Less. She’s just a bit of a lightweight. Poor girl.” Seeing a flash of yellow round the corner, I step out into the street, ready to flag it down. But it stops about twenty yards away from us when someone gets in first. “Dammit.” I sigh as the light shuts off and it drives by the space where we stand, the dirty slush surrounding our cold feet, occupied.

“I’m OK. I can walk,” Tahlia says, her voice sounding hoarse as she emerges from the side of the building, leaning heavily on Darren.

“Are you sure? We’ll find a cab. Eventually,” I assure her, not really liking our chances at two o’clock on a Sunday morning. It isn’t that there aren’t any around.  New York is teeming with cabs.  The problem is they’re mostly taken, and the ones that aren’t don’t want to risk having some girl puke in the back.

“I’m sure. Walking will be faster anyway.” 

“Come on, then.” My brother slips his arm around her waist and holds her against his strong body. 

“Ugh, why aren’t you straight?” she gripes, loping along beside him. If you’ve ever seen that movie Twins with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in it, you’ll have an idea as to the difference between mine and Theo’s looks. My twin is tall and beautiful with slightly darker hair than I have, a sculpted body—that I don’t possess—and a thousand-watt smile. In high school, girls fell at his feet. But he was never one to swing their way. He didn’t date at all until college, which is when Darren entered his life. They met at a bar when Theo was only twenty-one and have been inseparable ever since. We should all have a love as pure as theirs. Sometimes, I think that’s why I’m still single. I’m waiting to find my Coco. 

“He can never be straight because he’s too bent up over me,” Darren jokes, walking alongside Theo with his hips swaying from side to side. He’s in a pair of jeans and a fitted tank top with five-inch heels on his feet, traversing the sidewalk as easily as if he was wearing a set of trainers. Meanwhile, I’m wobbling along in my two-inch heels that are biting into my feet and giving me blisters on my toes while I carry both Tahlia’s and my bags, sweating in forty-degree weather. I suck at this being feminine thing.

“Well, you’re lucky,” Tahlia says. “I keep thinking I’ll find my one but…” I can hear the hitch in her voice that tells me a distraction is needed and stat. I am not having her finish her birthday celebration by crying over the douchebag who dumped her.

Just as I’m about to tell a bad joke or burst into song, the sleek black body of a familiar-looking Porsche comes in to view, looking a lot like a panther crouching in the dark. 

“Tahlia.” I stop walking, the others quickly following suit. “Isn’t that Douchebag’s stupid car parked right over there?” 

Squinting against the dim lighting and the alcohol in her system, Tahlia looks at the car and shrugs. “I think so.” Terrence, the guy she was dating—stupid name—was an investment banker and loved to flash money around like he was the mayor of pimptown. Honestly, I always hated the guy. He was smarmy and talked down to people. But Tahlia has been my best friend since the first grade, so I put up with him for her. But now that he’s unceremoniously dumped her in the nastiest of ways, I can let my true feelings be known. 

“That’s his car,” I declare, starting across the street, my anger on behalf of my friend churning in the pit of my stomach. 

“What are you doing?” Theo calls out, a tone of warning in his voice that reminds me of our father. 

“Getting a little justice.” I reach into my bag and pull out my keys. 

“Ruby, I don’t think whatever you’re thinking of doing is a good idea,” Darren adds. 

Coming to a stop at the hood of the car, I grin. “It’s a perfect idea.” 

After that, their protests are drowned out by the sound of my key squeaking against the metal, it grates in my ears satisfyingly, and when I’m done, the words, ‘You are a’ glint brightly in the streetlights, positioned over the drawing of a giant cock and balls, now permanently etched into the pristine paint job of the Porsche. 

“You are a dick?” A male voice sounds to my left. 

“A giant dick,” I correct, my inebriation making me as cocky as my drawing. “Do you think I need to put the word ‘giant’ there to get my message across?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Wait. Are you a cop?” Suddenly concerned, my heart thuds in my ears as I tuck my keys out of sight. Taking in his messy blond hair and rumpled suit, he doesn’t look like a cop. But appearances can be deceiving. Just ask, Tahlia. She dates good-looking buttmunches all the time. 

“Not a cop,” Rumpled-hot-guy says as he presses his perfect lips together in a straight line. Seriously, what is it with these guys and their long lashes and full lips? I actually look like a Cabbage Patch doll if I don’t wear lipstick and mascara, and here he is looking like he rolled out of bed being beautiful just the way he is. 

“Homeless then? Fresh from a divorce and sleeping under your desk at work? Only own one outfit so that’s what you wear when awake or asleep?” 

“What?” 

“Your suit,” I say, indicating its crushed state with my index finger. “It’s rumpled.” My eyes bug out. “Wait! I know. You picked up tonight and you’re doing the hump and dash. Well, at least one of us is getting laid. Good for you, man. Good for you. But don’t let me stand in your way. Keep going before the girl—or guy, I don’t judge—finds you and wants something more. Commitment is hard, am I right?” 

He frowns and shakes his head. “Do I know you?” 

“I don’t think so. But you could know me. If you’re into curvy gals, of course.” I attempt to pop a hip and stand there looking sexy like I’ve seen other girls—and Darren—do. But I’m not sure it translates because his scowl deepens. OK. Not a fan of curves then. 

“Why did you write this?” He gestures to the Porsche.

“Well,” I start, spinning my keys around my finger because I’m quite proud of the detail I achieved in the ball section of my artwork. “There’s an interesting story there, and it involves the fuckwad who owns this car. He’s a cunt monkey—for want of a better term—and he deserves to be called out for it.”

“A cunt monkey?” Reaching up, he runs his fingers through his sexy, sexy hair. I’d like to run my fingers through it too. “Because?” 

I sigh. “Because he dumped my friend the night before her birthday.” 

The knowledge causes him to pull his head back in surprise. “I broke up with Jessica because she had a hard time keeping other men’s penises out of her. As far as I’m aware, it wasn’t anywhere near her birthday. Her birthday’s in June.” 

Blame it on the alcohol, but I’m confused. “What?” 

“I broke up with Jessica because—”

“I heard you.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “Who the hell is Jessica? What are you even talking about?” All I’m getting from this conversation is that he was dating some woman called Jessica who doesn’t sound very nice. I can’t understand who, in their right mind, could step out on a delicious-looking man like the specimen in front of me. I mean, look at that beautiful body. Look at the chiseled jaw, look at those sapphire eyes and how they glare at me. Wait. Oh god. He’s glaring at me. 

“Oh dear.” I take a step back and surreptitiously drop my keys back inside my bag. “This…this isn’t his car, is it?” I ask, gulping at the slow shake of his head. “This…this is your car.” 

He nods even slower, his arms folded across his broad chest as the penny drops with me.  My stomach sours as I realize what a monumental fuck up I’ve just achieved. This was an all-time high—bigger than that time in high school when I put a love letter in the wrong person’s locker. Turned out it belonged to the head cheerleader and not the adorable nerdy boy from chess club. By lunchtime, it was photocopied and stuck on every available surface. I was mortified and refused to show my face for days. I was still finding copies of that letter stuffed in my locker even months later. High school sucked. But this…this is worse. 

“I…I…I’ll pay to fix it.” Reaching in my bag, I dig out my business card with shaking hands, suddenly feeling very sober. “I mean, I can’t pay—not for a Porsche. You know, student loans are a killer and…um…I don’t really get paid that much. My job is pretty dead-end so I don’t see a promotion in my future. But, um, we can work something out. A payment plan…or…or something? I can quit eating…” My voice trails off as I hand him the slightly bent card. 

While he inspects it, I glance over my shoulder to where Theo is still waiting with Tahlia and Darren. I can’t see their expressions, but I know Darren is laughing since his hand is covering his mouth. I twist my mouth downward. Why didn’t you all stop me from doing something stupid? But the moment the thought enters my mind, I know I wouldn’t have listened to them, anyway. No. I had nobody to blame here but my spontaneous-blow-the-consequences self.

“You work at WHGC?” He flips the card between his fingers so the printed side is facing me. 

“I’m a lowly board operator. It’s the talent who gets all the cash, and with Spotify and Apple Music taking over, there’s not as much of that anymore. You wouldn’t believe the amount of damage those streaming apps have caused. I mean, they thought Pandora was a problem at first, but that was nothing compared to…” I trail off, wishing I’d shut up with every word that spews from my mouth. “I’m sorry, OK? I messed up here, but I’ll fix it. I promise you.”  

He makes a sound that either means he agrees or that he thinks I’m full of crap. I’m not sure which, but both would be a fair response in this situation. “I’ll be in touch, Miss Casey.” He tucks my card into his pocket and makes for the driver’s door.

“Shouldn’t I, um, get your details too?” 

“How about you just wait for my call?” he returns, his voice sounding a little like a growl that startles me and turns me on at the same time. Scary hot. 

Nodding, I stand back as he gets into his Porsche and drives off. I’ve really messed up this time. I can’t pay for a paint job to fix a Porsche! I’m barely making rent as it is. Crap. 

“You crazy bitch,” Darren calls out, laughing as I make my way back to them. 

Theo looks pissed. He’s giving me that big brother glare of disappointment that he has no right giving me, since he’s younger than me by nearly ten minutes.

“What? I’ll pay to fix it,” I snap, my arms held out defensively to the side. 

“Oh yeah, with what money?” 

Having no substantial retort, I go for the most grown-up response I have and poke my tongue out at him. 

“I can help pay,” Tahlia puts in. “You did it for me.” 

I reach out and give her arm a squeeze. “No, sweetie, that was all me. I’ll deal with it.” There’s no way she can afford it either. She lives in the same crappy building I do and earns even less than me writing about fashion accessories for Icon magazine. I guess that’s how she got so blind-sided by that jerk of an ex. I mean, who doesn’t want some wealthy Prince Charming-ish guy to come along and wave his magic money wand so all your struggles go away? I’d probably fall for it too. But in my case, the only hot rich guys asking for my number are also planning on taking my money too. When am I ever going to get a break? 

As we walk the rest of the way home, blisters form on my feet and a cloud of doom nestles over my shoulders. I sense a lawsuit and bankruptcy in my future. My life as I know it is now over—all because of a dick pic.