From New York Times bestselling author CD Reiss, comes the sexy and passionate title…PRINCE ROMAN, a new novella brought to you by 1001 Dark Nights! Grab your copy of this amazing novella today!
About PRINCE ROMAN:
Rules for my new job:
1) Do not have sex with a man in the office (again).
2) Do not break Rule #1
I’m playing it cool, clean, and professional…until I meet Roman Bianchi. He’s not an insecure nerd or an ego-hole like the other kings of Silicon Valley. He’s charming and handsome. He’s fun, funny, and smart.
He’s also in the office across the hall.
Two broken rules waiting to happen.
I can’t lose this job over some guy.
But Roman’s not just some guy. Under that suit and cocky smile, he’s a prince.
If you’ve read my 1,001 Dark Nights reviews, you know that I usually rave about them. Well…I can’t really do that this time. I enjoyed Prince Roman, don’t get me wrong, but for a novella it took me a long time to read. The thing is, I can’t really put my finger on why. It’s not a bad story, the characters are well written and they have the conflict and spark I usually look for, and the steamy scenes were nice and steamy, but for some reason I didn’t connect with this book. I wanted to, because I love the 1,001 Dark Nights novellas. I don’t have anything negative to say about Prince Roman other than I can’t rave about it like I normally would…
As a lover, I hadn’t had a future with Taylor, but I’d been attracted to him. Suits, cleanliness, and attention to detail got me off. Ego-holeness didn’t.
The only reason I’d ever had a date in Silicon Valley was the pure odds that something had to make sense with someone. After all, I was a highly desired specimen, so rare in the wild that I attracted attention wherever I went. Numbers had been crunched. Articles had been written. The odds of my existence were infinitesimal. In this particular corner of California, I was a unicorn.
Meaning, I was a single female of child-bearing age.
I had my pick.
The guy with the mutton chops he thought were neat-o, or the dude in the Van Halen T-shirt that had the porousness and smell of Swiss cheese. The guy who couldn’t stop talking about World of Warcraft or the one who mentioned he went to grad school “in Cambridge” four times in four minutes. The experts on beer, custom-tuned guitars, gastropubbing, and social awkwardness. I’d dated boys in men’s bodies, humorless geniuses, closet Nazis, and unapologetic sexists who could rattle off the most convenient stats, studies, biological “facts,” and “cultural norms” that proved a woman’s place was in human resources doing anything but hiring other women.
Taylor had been a pretty good deal, everything considered. He at least showed me enough coding and IT to make me valuable in system implementation.
“But never again,” I said to Masy on the walk from the parking lot on the first day. The weather was standard-issue California perfect but seemed just a touch more perfect on the way into my new job. It was going to stay that way. “No more intra-office fucking.”
“Trust me,” she said, popping her lips off the green straw sticking out of her frothy coffee, “you’re safe from dating anyone at Neuronet. It’s like a cross-section of the worst of them.” My best friend, roommate, and fellow single-female unicorn worked in the marketing department. She’d mentioned the VP opening in HR systems when it opened up. Neuronet was as excited to meet me as I was eager to work with them.
About CD Reiss:
C.D. Reiss is a USA Today bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up, she’s at the well, hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere, but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
Critics have dubbed the books “poetic,” “literary,” and “hauntingly atmospheric,” which is flattering enough for her to put it in a bio, but embarrassing enough for her not to tell her husband, or he might think she’s some sort of braggart who’s too good to chop a cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.