"Blonde, redhead, black hair, blue eyes, black hair, green eyes, dark hair, pale skin, curly hair . . . when is this going to stop!"
"Miss, please keep your voice down!"
Aurora blushed and ducked her head, only to realize she was standing in the middle of a massive pile of romance novels.
Aurora had read romance novels before. The good ones had an intelligent, well rounded heroine, and a gorgeous male with muscles, at least eight inches, and a personality. There was only one problem: in every book the heroine was always a blonde, or a redhead, or had dark hair and brightly colored eyes. As someone living in a society where blondes had more fun, redheads were exotic, and dark hair and brown eyes were boring, she'd hoped that there would be at least one book in which someone as plain as she would have a chance at catching the gorgeous hunk of every fantasy.
Not that she was plain.
Aurora had long legs, good cheekbones, decent breasts, and full lips. Her eyes were almond shaped and a shade of brown so dark they shifted between chocolate and black, depending on the light and her mood. Her skin had one of those chameleon tones that shifted from a pale yellow to a rich golden brown depending on the season. Aurora chalked it up to her mixed heritage, a combination of Russian and Filipino. It was something she was proud of, despite years of being labeled a half breed.
The victim of a bad relationship, Aurora hoped to find a fantasy to help her forget the combination of lousy sex, boring conversation, and emotional abuse that her association with Alexander David Pompeii, her deadbeat ex boyfriend, had been.
There she stood, in the middle of the nearest bookstore, hoping to find a romance novel that had someone like her in the story. Someone with straight brown hair and brown eyes, who was too much of an egalitarian to put up with the "the man is always right" crap she found in so many historical romances.
She'd been in the store over an hour and had yet to find anything.
If it hadn't been for the anal retentive store clerk, she'd still be screaming in frustration.
Aurora found the whole situation incredibly depressing.
As she bent to pick up the discarded books, Aurora resigned herself to another night with a bag of candy bars. It was a dirty shame.
She was just putting the last romance novel on the shelf when she felt a hand on her shoulder. The shock of it, the warmth of the hand combined with its strength had her stifling a shriek. Aurora cursed herself and with a calming breath, she turned around.
The man before her had Aurora's eyes nearly popping from her head.
She looked down at the book in her hand and back up at the man. Standing in front of her was the spitting image of the guy on the cover. Aurora didn't know how to react, but as she was in an informal setting, she did what came naturally.
She bust out laughing.
"It's not that funny," the man said with a cynical twist of his lips. The hair was a bit shorter, and he seemed taller, the shoulders broader, but there was no denying it. This man was stereotypical romantic fantasy.
"Oh yes it is," she said amidst peals of laughter.
"I did some modeling in college," he said wryly. "I didn't realize what the pictures were for. If anything, you should be embarrassed for wanting to read those books in the first place!"
Aurora managed to calm down enough to look at him with her most businesslike stare. The man had an air of arrogant derision that instantly put her off.
"I'm sorry, who are you, and what business is it of yours what my literary preferences are?"
"I'd hardly call that crap literature," the man said dryly. "Are you Aurora Nemesis?"
"I am."
"And you are acquainted with Nicholas Lazarus," his voice was deep, his speech cultured.
"His office called me this morning. Why is it of any interest to you?" she asked coldly.
The man was striking, with rich dark brown hair, deep, stormy green eyes, and broad shoulders neatly packed into a dark grey business suit that emphasized his impressive height. There was something about him that made her want to pull his tie loose just to see what he looked like all mussed up, but his condescending demeanor instantly put her off. The man stank of money and breeding, which to her meant sexism, homophobia, and contempt for people of mixed blood.
"He's my friend," he replied as though it explained everything.
"I see."
Darcy was here in the interest of his best friend, the good natured but nervous head of Lazarus Biotech. He'd been duped into marrying a gold digger, and after a year of misery, he had finally mustered the courage to divorce his cheating, airhead wife. There were no children from the match because Paris Waldorf the Second didn't want to spoil her figure. There was however, the matter of money.
The Waldorfs were one of North America's founding families, but extravagance and poor financial handling put them on the road to poverty. The family matriarch, Paris Waldorf the first, arranged the advantageous marriage of Nick Lazarus to the Waldorf's idiot daughter. It had taken weeks of training to instruct her on how to seem like the kind, well rounded person Nick went for, and the ploy had worked. Nick had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. They'd been married less than a week before Paris the Second showed her true nature: stupid, shallow, spoiled, and like the village bicycle, everyone, male and female, had a ride.
It took just over a year for Nick to muster the courage to leave her. The Waldorf matriarch was outraged and her army of lawyers was preparing for war. The attorneys, Darcy knew, weren't being paid for their labors. They'd been promised the spoils from Nick's company. Nick wanted a champion; someone cold hearted, conniving and devious; someone who'd fight to the death with his mother in law, not caring who got destroyed in his wake. Nick asked Darcy, and Darcy asked an old friend of the family, Judge Goldberg.
The Judge, to Darcy's surprise, named a young woman, Aurora Nemesis.
"She's a killer, guaranteed. She'll chew Mrs. Waldorf up and spit her out. There'll be nothing left but her Birken bag," the Judge had told him, and with a smile he passed Darcy her contact info.
So this, he'd thought cynically, was Miss Aurora Nemesis. She wasn't at all what Darcy was expecting. The judge had described her as cold and severe, with the type of no nonsense disposition ideal for dealing with his friend's domineering "soon to be ex" mother in law. Darcy expected someone short and dowdy with glasses, a butch hairdo, and thick hairy legs. He pictured someone who never laughed, never did anything for pleasure, and wore a business suit like a military uniform.
The woman before him wasn't like that at all.
