Wife for a While by Lorna Baldwin
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Here is a short sample from the book:
My last appointment of the day had the promise of being odd. Dante was safely back at home with Dorothea, and Leroy was mourning the loss of his balls at home. Somehow, I’d managed to keep Lydia Savoy as a client, and after a week the smell of bunny urine was finally starting to go away. All the same, an odd appointment wasn’t something I was particularly enthused to deal with.
You see, ten times out of ten, women book appointments with wedding planners, lugging their husbands-to-be along with significant difficulty. You could almost taste the sweat on their brows from pushing so hard.
But this appointment was made by the husband’s secretary. Well, that wasn’t too weird, especially for the neighborhood his address came from. It was clear he came from money, which was thrilling for me. But when I asked who I should be expecting, it turned out that only the groom would be coming in for the meeting.
That wasn’t just unheard of; it had literally never happened.
But it was an appointment with a (hopefully) paying client. And despite having nearly back-to-back appointments on top of Ms. Savoy’s endlessly changing opinions on flower arrangements and menu options, I was going to do my best to look like I’d eaten my Wheaties that morning. I wore my smartest suit that day, desperately needing to impress someone with deep pockets.
If you looked at my calendar, you’d think the wedding business was booming. But of all those appointments, all those first-time consultations, only a small handful ever stepped foot in my office again.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t sell myself, or wasn’t good at what I did, or didn’t offer a competitive rate. It was because a quarter of them didn’t actually know what a wedding planner was, another quarter only made the appointment because it was free and they thought I might drop some of my trade secrets during the meeting, and another quarter barely had the money to spend on a wedding, never mind a wedding planner, but wanted to bask in the fantasy that they did.
Of that last quarter, some of them probably didn’t like me, some of them probably found someone else they liked better, and some of them broke up before the wedding plans even started forming. What was left over didn’t bring in enough money to let me shop at Trader Joe’s, never mind Whole Foods.
So deep pockets were a blessing I wouldn’t dare take for granted.
If only I knew how deep those pockets were. In fact, I nearly forgot all about his deep pockets when I saw his deep blue eyes. They were pale blue, but so intense that they felt somehow infinite. Like they were a direct line to divinity itself.
And then, of course there was the rest of him. Jawline like Adonis, body like Thor, in an Armani suit that looked like it had been painted on that morning. His muscles pressed at the seams of his jacket, threatening to rip the threads out whenever he moved his arms.
“Mr. Spencer,” I said, standing in the door to the waiting room, licking my lips before plastering a smile on my face. “A pleasure to meet you.”
It took no small effort on my part to get my legs to carry me across the carpet, hand out and not shaking, to greet him. He rose without even a nod, giving me a perfunctory handshake (which was still firm as a lion’s jaw on an antelope’s neck).
“Please, follow me,” I said, feeling a little uncertain about his silence. “My office is just this way…”
You could hear the echo of my heels, dull as they hit the carpet, while we walked. The silence was a third party between us. I felt a lot like I had the year before, when I’d been audited. But the auditor had at least smiled at me, tried to make some small talk before I led him to business. Mr. Spencer was not so affable. And that made his good looks a little less intimidating. He was a hot box of rocks; that’s what I told myself to keep from quaking under his intense stare.
The fact that he appraised my small but elegant office before sitting down didn’t escape my notice. So there was something going on behind those blue eyes. It was just something I didn’t like very much.
But my smile didn’t change as I sat before him, hands folded, notebook open and pen ready.
“You know, Mr. Spencer, I hope you don’t take any undue offense, but it’s quite unusual to see the husband-to-be here alone,” I said, smiling. “Usually, it’s the bride who’s chomping at the bit to plan things. We don’t get a whole lot of grooms in here without a bride, and half her family, pulling him.”
“Yeah, well, we’re an unusual couple,” he growled, not responding at all to my attempts at cheeriness. My cheeks hurt. I wished I could just match his dour attitude. But I needed this client something fierce. If he was rich, this one wedding might get me through the rest of the year without having to declare bankruptcy. And rich people have rich friends at their weddings. I had to hope against hope that the answer to all my problems was sitting right across from me, looking like he walked right out of American Psycho.
“Hm,” I hummed, tapping my nails lightly on the desk. “An unusual couple deserves an unusual wedding, perhaps? Unusual in the best sense of the word, of course. Did you have anything specific in mind, for us to start with? You’ve set a date, I assume. Let me go through some of the work I’ll be doing for you, and we can…”
“Just…I just want to spend as much as I can,” he said, voice gravelly and rough, hands fisting. “Let’s get elephants to ride in on. Let’s get Dom Perrignon at every table – shit, no, every plate. I want surf and turf, dyed doves, the whole goddam thing. Get a corpse flower to bloom as we say our ‘I do’s’. Just…spend the money. The more, the better.”
Shit. Oh, shit. I was staring. My jaw was open. There was a good chance I was getting drool on my notebook. I couldn’t make my hand move, I couldn’t force my lips closed, and I sure as hell couldn’t think of anything to say.
Could I even pull this off? Where the hell was I going to get elephants? The catering companies I worked with sure as hell didn’t do surf and turf. What’s a corpse flower?
“Why?” I found myself saying, voice hoarse. “Why….uh, excuse me.”
I finally managed to pull my eyes from his baby blues and down to my notebook, where my fingers still held a pen that had no reason to move. What was I going to write down? Spend millions of dollars? What about run as fast as you fucking can, Jolene, this is bad news and you know it…
“I’d rather not discuss why,” he snapped.
“Of course,” I said. “I actually meant why you’ve come to me. Surely you…well, surely you know of more, ah, qualified event planners?”
Now, why did I ask that? I basically just admitted that I couldn’t give him what he wanted – I didn’t have the experience or the connections or…
But he was smirking. For the first time since stalking into my office, he was doing something other than scowling.
It wasn’t the most comforting of expressions, but it was a step up.
“You came highly recommended,” he said.
Highly recommended? Which of my clients could possibly be close enough to Mr. Spencer to recommend me?
“Can I ask who…”
“My landscaper,” he said, shifting his legs, crossing the opposite way now. He leaned his weight on one elbow, a finger lining his cheek; he looked like a model, sitting there in his Armani suit, posing for me.
Not posing for you, I corrected myself. Posing while you happen to be watching.
“Emmanuel Lima,” he went on. “You might remember…”
“Oh! Manny! Yes, he’s great. They’re lovely couple, they just had their first child, I believe,” I said, and for a moment I forgot where I was, who I was with. Manny and Evvy really were delightful. They were from my neighborhood. I saw them sometimes at the grocery story. When I helped plan their wedding for a quarter of my usual rate, making most of my money on commission, they thanked me with enough food that I didn’t run into them at the grocery store for a month – my fridge and freezer were that stocked.
“Yes, a good man, a good worker,” Mr. Spencer said. “And he said you’re good. So, what else do you need from me?”
“Oh,” I said, snapping back to the present moment. “Well, I’ll need your budget. I mean, you want to spend a lot, but I need to know exactly how much…”
“I’ll e-mail it.”
“Fantastic,” I said. “And generally, I like to know what food you prefer, if the bride has a certain color scheme she likes. Will you have a traditional wedding party, with bridesmaids and groomsmen? How about the venue – religious or not? And the reception…”
His face just kept getting tighter and tighter, until I thought it might actually implode on itself, his eyes and lips sucked into his nostrils.
“I know, it seems like a lot,” I said gently. “It can be quite helpful to have a partner to make these decisions. And that partner is typically the bride…”
“Listen,” he said, his tone a mix between a sigh and a grunt. He pressed his fingers to his temples. “There is no bride, alright?”
“Oh,” I said. I should have known. Handsome, good fashion sense, expendable income? “Well, your groom then…”
Now, he did smile. A real smile. I could almost feel my own tension easing as he flashed it in my direction. It was wild; I hadn’t noticed how high-strung he was making me until I got to bask in the glow of his easy, handsome, dimpled smile.
Bask in the glow? What the hell, girl…keep your panties on, be professional.
“No,” he said. “I don’t have a groom either. Though that would be a hell of a way to go about this whole ordeal. Actually, I’m going to take it into consideration…”
He pulled out his phone; I watched him type. He was actually leaving himself a note? What the hell was going on? No bride and no groom…as far as I knew, it was still illegal to marry your horse, dog, self, or car. Which left one big question mark in this equation.
“Okay, sir,” I said, laying my hands flat, not even pretending like I had notes to take anymore. “I have to ask. What is going on here? You can’t plan a wedding without…you know…an engagement.”
“Well, I did go to law school, and while I’m not a practicing attorney, I happen to know there’s no law against planning a wedding before the engagement takes place. Am I wrong?”
How the hell should I know? I didn’t go to law school. But he had to be right. It couldn’t be illegal. Just…illogical, irrational, irresponsible, and potentially a huge waste of my time. I pursed my lips and closed my notebook. I could set up a whole event, with all the stupid money-wasting additions he wanted, but the moment he canceled I’d lose more than half my commission. Cancellation fees aside, I got paid when the caterers and photographer and venue got paid.
“What?” he said, shifting towards the front of his seat. “I can see what you’re doing. You’re about to say no, you won’t do it.”
I arched an eyebrow. Bet your damn Armani-clad ass I am, I thought.
“Don’t,” he said. “I promise, I’ll pay you more than enough that you won’t be worried about commissions. And the wedding will happen.”
Now, it was my turn to be angsty. I threw my hands up with a sigh.
“What’s your angle!? Why are you trying to plan a wedding before you even know who you’ll be standing next to at the altar?”
“Because I have to,” he said, blue eyes looking cold even through their soft beauty. “If I’m not married before April 24th, I lose every cent of my fortune. Is that incentive enough to make sure I have a goddamn spectacle to show how much I truly love my bride? Most people would say yes.”
Well. There I had it…I guess. I took a moment to fully understand what I’d just been told. Then I spoke without thinking about it, anyway.
“How much are you offering?”
He quirked an eyebrow and his lips twitched upwards slightly.
“For the right woman? Quite a lot, I’d think. Why, would you like to throw your hat in the ring? Because you’d certainly be a contender.”
My cheeks went hot and I dropped my gaze. Somewhere inside me, a woman was basically leaping for joy over getting such a compliment from such a handsome – and, yes, wealthy – man.
“I meant, how much are you offering me to plan the wedding,” I said. “Flat fee?”
“Oh,” he said, and waved his hand. Did he seem a little disappointed? It had to be my imagination. “Whatever you think is fair. You can just include the amount in the contract. Somewhere upwards of fifteen?”
“Well, that is a pretty significant offer,” I said, hiding my disappointment. “It’s certainly on the high end. Fifteen hundred is…”
“Thousand,” he said, almost-smiling once more. “I was talking about fifteen thousand.”
Now, my jaw dropped straight off my face. Fifteen. Fifteen thousand. Fifteen thousand dollars. To plan a single wedding. Before commissions.
If he was paying that much to plan the wedding, I could only imagine what he’d pay for a woman to actually attend it!
A woman other than me, of course.
“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my shock. “Of course. Well, then, yes. I’d love to plan your wedding. And I hope you find a woman worth that kind of money.”
I think I did an admirable job of keeping my cool, all things considered. Mr. Spencer rose, keeping that barely-there grin on his face. He stuck his hand out and I rose to meet it, trying to give him my firmest shake – his was significantly firmer. His hands were warm, clean, soft. They’d feel good on a body.
Now, where did that thought come from?
“She doesn’t have to be worth anything,” he said. “She just has to agree to my terms. If you think of anyone who might be up to it…”
“Uh,” I croaked, not liking the road we were headed down. My resistance didn’t seem to register.
“…or if you change your mind about your role in all this, feel free to give me a call,” he said. “You have my number, of course. I can’t imagine someone like you would overlook the mutual benefits of an arrangement with someone like me.”
Uh. What? Someone like me? Did he mean one of us poor folk? Either way…
“Thanks,” I said sharply. “I’ll take it into consideration.”
I only said that because he was an asshole I couldn’t afford to lose. But all the intrigue he’d built up before disappeared right quick. “She doesn’t have to be worth anything”? “Someone like you”? Let’s say it together: asshole.
“Then I’ll be taking my leave. I’ll be in touch soon to talk shop.”
“Yes,” I repeated. “Of course.”
He stared at me for a moment and I realized we were still holding hands. I dropped his like a hot potato. Or an offer to be a bride-for-hire.
“Right,” he said, and then he was gone, the door shutting quietly behind him. I fairly collapsed into my office chair, its hinges protesting as I forced my full weight against it.
Well, I thought. Maybe I’ll make it through this year after all.
That depended, of course, on whether or not I could even make it through this job. Which was something I had my doubts about.
A mysterious man. A bride-for-hire. And fifteen grand on the line. When did I sign up for things to get this interesting?
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Junior technician Ensie Thalanquin is the odd girl out in the Aerial squad. Building flying machines should be an exciting life, but years of being alternately teased and ignored by her fellow Petronauts have turned it into a grind.
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I’m an author, actor and dad living outside Washington, DC with my wife, baby girl, and a brawling pair of cats.
My current projects are the humorous fantasy series “Mechanized Wizardry” and a related series of medium/short length pieces called “Petronaut Tales.” The Petronaut Tales are set in the same fantasy world, but give me license to play with new characters and genres, including romance.
With “Aloft,” I was inspired to write a romance about characters who weren’t especially beautiful, and who spent most of the lives feeling overlooked and out of place. Meeting each other is what lifts them up to do great things, even through adversity and danger.
Why not write about a passion-fest between two supermodels? Because most of the world’s passion-fests are between ordinary folks. I wanted to explore the reactions of two characters who didn’t ever imagine themselves capable of feeling a love that strong, let alone inspiring it in someone else. And I wanted to show how love can make people stronger, which was easier to do with characters starting from a lower-status place.
Sample from Book:
Ensie smoothed out the dog-eared corner of the blueprints for the dozenth time. She shifted her weight on the bench, feeling the warmth of the sun on the back of her neck. She was too poor to own a watch, but she resisted the temptation to duck out into the hallway again and check the sepia-faced clock mounted on the wall. It had been 10:20 on the spot when she’d checked it moments ago. That meant that, by now, twenty-five minutes at most had passed since she’d left Mister Upforth and the rest of his team. And Upforth had said Cooper—or was it Carper?—would meet her in fifteen minutes. But the drafting room might be hard to find, for a civilian who’d never seen the Aerial compound before. And there had been an awful lot of wood left in that cart for just one person to move quickly. Even someone so tall, with those big arms and broad shoulders…
“You need to get a hold of yourself,” she said aloud, pressing her palm against the desk. She closed her eyes.
You’re an Aerial technician. Your ‘naut wants a consultation from a civilian firm. You’ve been trusted with getting information vital to the success of your project. This is Business with a capital B. Not some kind of private—
—and don’t you dare even finish that thought, because seriously: this is Business.
She scratched the space between her too-thick eyebrows as she looked at the door.
And even if it wasn’t Business, the morose thought crept through her defenses, it’s not as if anything’s going to happen. Any friendly vibes you’re getting are because he’s good at his job. Do you really think that there’s anything about you that would inspire unprofessional thoughts in a civilian guy like him? When he’s meeting all the other wisecracking Aerial girls and the Parade squad knockouts on the same day? Count yourself lucky you’re getting to talk to him at all. You’re just—
The door inched open. Ensie leapt to her feet behind the desk. There he was.
“There you are,” she said, rubbing her hands against her hips.
“So sorry,” he mumbled, turning sideways to come through the narrow door. He sounded a little out of breath. “I… I thought I heard you say ‘third building on the right,’ but I must have misheard. That’s actually the, uh, fuel center, I learned, where you guys are doing some crazy things with petrolatum…”
“Oh, gosh, you went to the refinery?”
“Yeah, through a back door. Got a little turned around with the fumes. But then someone—I forgot his name—pointed me here…”
“Spheres, I led you to the refinery without a mask! I am so sorry. I don’t know why I… I meant to say ‘first building on your—’”
“You did. I’m sure you did. I just heard it wrong—”
“No, no, I’m sure I said… I don’t know what I said!”
“Listen, with these ears, all bets are off. It’s a miracle I’m here at all.”
“It is.”
They stood facing each other with their hands flat against their hips. The sunlight illuminated the lower halves of their bodies.
“I’m Ensie,” she said, for no reason.
Why, oh why, oh why do I speak?
He smiled at her. His teeth were a little small and his gums were a little long, so when he smiled he looked like a kid, with a child’s whole-hearted good humor. “That makes, what, the third time we’ve done introductions?”
“I’m sure, probably,” she laughed. She touched her fingertips to the desk and found herself leaning towards him. “My third time, at least. And somehow I’m still not sure what your name is! Carper? Cooper? Caper?”
“Cooper Carper, actually.”
She felt herself smiling like a porpoise. She ordered her lips to stand down. Business. “Nice to meet you, Mister Carper,” she said, very professionally.
“You too, technician.”
She tilted her head at him. ‘Technician?’ Who are you, Sir Tomas? “You can call me Ensie.”
“Well, then,” he said, pressing the door closed behind him with a click, “you can call me Cooper.”
Business!
“I’m on a project now for a concept craft called the Flicker,” she said, brushing the blueprints with her hands as she stared fixedly at the parchment. Cooper came over to the side of the desk to look. His hands floated in space for a moment as he considered resting a big palm on top of the desk to lean over the plans, as she was doing, which would have brought their heads very close together. But instead his hands interlocked behind his back in a sort of parade rest and he just bent his head to look down. Ensie tried not to watch him as she folded the dog-eared corner back into place for the thirteenth time.
She laid out the specifications for the grasshopper-like craft, discussing fuel projections, the airflow models they’d run, and the properties of the alloys they’d debated for the hollow, curved wings. Cooper’s head bobbed up and down, and he offered a succession of mmm’s and I see’s at appropriate times. As she heard herself talk, she fidgeted with the bottom edge of the desk and only allowed herself quick glances up at his face. It was hard to tell if he was following the run-down at all, which gave her a heavy feeling in her stomach.
Burn me. Maybe Mister Upforth had a good reason for wanting that woman Skye to be the one to talk to me…
“So,” he said at last, shifting his weight. She looked up at him. “What exactly do you need us for?”
“Just wanted to, uh, forge a partnership with Upforth’s for a consultation on our ranine apparatus. That’s all.”
Cooper nodded. His forehead was wrinkled with vigorous thought. Ensie folded her hands together and tried not to let her disappointment show. He had the look of someone at an absolute loss for the right thing to say. Please, please, don’t be stupid.
“Honestly?” Cooper said.
“Mmm-hmm?” she said, tucking one of her bangs back into her hairnet.
For a long moment, he just looked at the plans. Then he shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. His hands reappeared from behind his back and he leaned down so quickly their foreheads almost brushed.
“Mister Upforth’s going to kill me,” he said, “but I don’t think you need us at all. The ranine designs you already deploy don’t have any trouble getting a Bulwark Petronaut off the ground, do they? And a Bulwark ‘naut in full armor’s gotta be eighty percent of the weight of this Flicker; maybe even the same, if their suits are steel and this alloy of yours is as light as all that. And I can’t imagine your test pilots are bulked-up the way Bulwark grunts are. I mean, who flies your things?”
“Knighted ‘nauts and expert techs, mostly,” Ensie said, her eyes widening. There was a whole new energy to him.
“So, right! When I think of a burly man or woman in armor jumping through the air no problem, and then I envision someone on the svelte side—like you—piloting a Flicker that, all things being equal, is the same weight but with, you know, better airflow?”
“Hang on,” she said.
“Sure. Sorry. I know I don’t have the right terminology—”
“Did you say, uh.”
She pressed her lips together. Business! But there was no hope.
“Did you say I’m ‘on the svelte side?’”
Cooper’s looked down at her. His face went gray with horror.
“I hope that word means what I think it means,” he whispered.
She looked to the far wall. Cute? Petite? Is that what you meant? She longed to ask him that like a Parade squad nymph would say it, drifting towards him with an archly raised eyebrow and a lazy, kissable half-smile. But just playacting through the line in her head set a swarm of nervous giggles buzzing around in her throat, perilously close to her voice box, and it was all she could do to keep a lid on them.
“You’re.” Was that my voice? The word was a mortifying squeak.
Ensie swallowed and tried again. “You’re right that the aerodynamic profile of the Flicker sure beats an armored ‘naut,” she said, folding the corner of the blueprints back for the fourteenth time. “And weights are comparable. But the jumping action we’re thinking of is on a different scale.”
“Ah, okay. Higher elevations.”
“Yes, but more importantly, jumping’s the primary locomotion for the Flicker. A ‘naut can leap around from time to time, sure, but most of what they do is run. A totally different use of the coils and their, uh, built-in suspensions. Their legs.”
“Whereas the Flicker does nothing but jump,” Cooper said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Jump, and glide, and jump, and glide. You see? That’s why we need to make sure the coil box we build can handle tons of impacts, and launch with tons of force; but not so much force that the pilot loses control. See? It’s tricky.”
“It’s tricky,” he agreed. Cooper raised his hands. “To be honest, though, I’d trust you Aerials more to make it work right than I’d trust us.”
“But, uh.” Was he really going to walk out of her life because he was too honest to land his company a contract? Keep him. Keep him here! a hungry voice blared out somewhere inside her.
“You must have done something this size before,” she said, hurriedly.
“Oh, sure. We’ve worked big carriage suspensions. A motorized dais that raised and lowered, too, and had a bunch of dancers leaping around on it for, uh, a play or something.”
“See? So Upforth’s could lend experience with scale, while we figure out the whole ‘aloft’ part.”
“Ensie. I just want to be sure we wouldn’t waste your time.”
Ensie took a deep breath through her nose. “It would take a lot of time,” she said slowly. She curled her hands into little fists, rubbing her thumbs against her fingers as she looked up at him. No giggling. No giggling!
“We’d have to meet, uh… quite a few times, probably.”
Cooper looked down at her. His hands unlocked from behind his back and floated to his sides. “Quite a few times?” he said, quietly.
“Oh, yeah. A big project like this could take hours and hours of collaboration.”
He nodded. One of his large fingers pointed to the desk. “Here?”
As he tapped the surface of the desk, Ensie thought of purposes for the wide flat surface that had never even crossed her mind before. She’d never wanted to get started on a collaboration so badly.
“Or your workshop,” she said. “You know. Whichever sounds more productive.”
“Either sounds good to me.”
“Great.”
“Great. Can I say—”
“I just want to—”
They both spoke up simultaneously, and leaned a little closer at the same time. It brought them many centimeters closer than either had meant independently. Ensie froze there. He was so close that her hairnet was almost brushing the center of his chest. She turned her face up to him and saw something very interesting in his eyes.
“You first,” she whispered.
Cooper took a long moment before speaking. “Can I just tell you that I’m looking forward to working with you?”
“Likewise…” Ensie shifted her hand so their fingertips on the desk were touching. “Cooper.”
He shifted his hand on top of hers. Warm pressure, skin-to-skin, flooded up her arm and into her chest. The contours of his rough palm were fascinating as she explored them through the fine hairs and delicate nerves of the back of her hand. Her vision went a little blurry as she dedicated all her brainpower to experiencing his touch against her skin.
A massive noise clattered through the hallway just outside. Ensie recoiled before she recognized the sound of the tool cart for what it was. Cooper started too, raising his hand up and away. He flushed the color of an overripe apple and he refused to meet her eyes as the tech outside pushed the noisy cart from one workroom to the next.
“I.” Ensie brushed the nonexistent dust off the blueprints again, trying to get her voice under control again. Cooper slowly put his hands behind his back.
“That, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me, and I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him.
“I shouldn’t have… I mean, I didn’t mean anything by, by touching you.”
“You didn’t?”
“Well, I… it’s not… There’s a time and a place, that’s all. Unprofessional,” he rambled, shaking his head.
Ensie felt the grain of the desk beneath her hand. “I made you think unprofessional thoughts,” she murmured.
Their eyes met.
“It’ll never happen again,” he said, something low coloring his voice.
Ensie raised one eyebrow in an unspoken ‘really?’ she would have been very proud of if she had been able to see herself.
Sunlight flooded the room as their lips pressed together.
It’s Not My Favorite by Rue
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Gwenn uncovers a photo that brings her imaginary world careening into reality. She’s forced to ask herself if wealthy artist, Daniel Gregory is the answer she’s been seeking or a grand delusion.
Break-ups, meltdowns, family secrets, wild nights and finally a journey of self-discovery to exotic New Zealand keep Gwenn and Rachel stumbling toward independence.
So grab your parka and join the Hutchinson girls, as they experience the Lake Effect in Duluth, Minnesota!
Seth (Cyborgs: More Than Machines, #5) by Eve Langlais
His mission: Blend in with the humans. Save the cyborgs. And of course, seduce the girl.
An excellent athlete who is highly intelligent, charismatic–without
modesty–and handsome too, Seth has it all except for the girl. But not
for long. Like it or not, he’s determined to win her heart–and get in
her pants. So what if it means letting the military replace a few parts
and becoming the world’s first cybernetic spy? Cool missions, a hot
chick, awesome toys, it all sounds like a dream come true until the
military decides to terminate their billion dollar project.
But they didn’t count on their project soldier fighting back.
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