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About the author:
There are few things Birdie Paxton enjoys more than bathing under the summer sun while sipping on a mimosa in one of the many quirky bottomless brunch joints of her native London. One of these rare things though is to sit at a Covent Garden cafe with her old Dell laptop and write her next Romance story (and compulsively look up and fantasize about the occasional hunk strolling past her)
What inspired you to write your book?
I wanted to write my own take on the steamy billionaire romance story, with twists and reveals inspired by my own life, while letting my imagination run wild. I also would lie if I said that I didn't take inspiration from the Fifty Shades series!
Here is a short sample from the book:
I was hardly convinced that dating two random art students would solve our celibacy woes, but slowly I warmed up to the idea after she mentioned that the well-intentioned chaps intended to take us to Hakkasan for Dim Sum Sunday. So there we sat, in the upscale Mayfair restaurant, dying to get stuck in their famed five-course feast, taste buds ready to salivate. The clock had just struck eleven A.M. but I was already insanely famished, having skipped breakfast in anticipation of what promised to be a Cantonese orgy full of exotic flavors and tantalizing aromas. I had no intention of washing down my steam dumplings and crispy duck salad with tap water, so I went for the “signature” breakfast, which came top-and-tailed with two cocktails and a half bottle of champagne for an extra £20. Thank you Aiden!
The two blokes were obviously in it for the kill. Hakkasan was arguably the best restaurant in town, and the bill would rise upward of £300–for bloody breakfast. Too bad nothing would happen. The moment I had shaken Aiden’s hand in the doorway of the restaurant, it was clear to me that we wouldn’t have a thing and live happily ever after, and I felt somewhat unsettled at the thought of refusing the advances I knew were coming. By all accounts, Aiden and Piotre were handsome fellas, with strong jawlines and abs of steel and ripped chest and all the good stuff, but they reminded me more of hapless Californian surfers scouring the ocean for meaning than the dependable Don Juan I was desperately longing for.