Are You The One?

You can read Are You The One? free below.

Blurb:

A BWWM, pregnancy, billionaire romance story.

Brittany Spencer’s move to California was supposed to be the beginning of her dream to become a journalist.

Then she runs into George Adams II, a billionaire whose arrogance is as big as his fortune.

Their first meeting? A total clash.

Their second encounter ends with an impulsive kiss…

And during their third meeting, he turns out to be the most obnoxious blind date ever!

Despite the rocky start, there’s something about George that Brittany can’t quite shake off.

Their connection is undeniable, swinging between passion and coldness.

Just as Brittany tries to figure out her feelings, she discovers she’s pregnant.

Now, what’s Brittany going to do with George?

And with all their ups and downs, can she and George find a way to make things work for the sake of their unexpected baby?

Discover now in this interracial pregnancy romance novel by Tyra Small.

Chapter 1

Brittany Spencer ripped the letter in half and tossed it in the trashcan with a frown. She poured herself a cup of coffee, added three sugars and a generous amount of cream, and leaned against the tile counter with a sigh.

Tara wrapped in a towel and her long red hair in another, darted in the kitchen.

“What are you doing? We have to leave in twenty minutes,” she said pouring herself a cup, black, and taking a sip.

“I’m not going,” Brit said with a grimace.

“Um the rent is due in two weeks. Yes, you are,” Tara laughed.

“I got another rejection letter,” Brit said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. But you know these things take time. Which one was it for?” she reasoned.

“The Los Angeles Arts & Events weekly,” Brit replied with a grimace.

“On the bright side it wasn’t the L.A. Times,” Tara said.

“That’s my point. Not even they want me. I haven’t even gotten a response from the Times. Tara I am twenty-five years old. I graduated four years ago and for the past almost two I have worked with you at that stupid gallery.”

“Brit you’re being ridiculous. The art gallery is just temporary. It’s better than the nothing happens town we escaped from.”

“I know. I just thought I would be doing something fabulous by now. Working at a high profile newspaper or magazine. I’m beginning to feel like it will never happen.”   

“One day I’ll be cast in something other than a local commercial and you will write the hardest hitting Pulitzer prize winning article. Just have faith.”

“I can only hope,” Brit sighed.

“You’re an excellent writer. You’ll find a job really soon. But if you don’t hurry up you’ll lose the one you have,” she said rushing off to get dressed.

Brittany sighed. Tara was right she knew. She headed to her room where she pulled out the gallery’s uniform of choice. Stark white silk blouse, black pencil skirt and black heels. She was feeling defiant after her fifth rejection letter this year so she left her hair loose rather than the sleek ponytail she normally wore.

Brit looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know how she ended up in this situation. She was fresh out of graduating college back east and had accepted a position at her town’s local newspaper. Then two years ago with circulation down, everyone was moving away to online news sources, the publication was forced to shut down. She wasn’t having any luck finding a job in Boston or New York, not with so many journalists vying for the same job.

She decided to take a job as a waitress in the local diner with Tara, her best friend and roommate. Tara wasn’t having much luck pursuing her acting career, although she was very talented. One day after a particularly long shift with little tips to show for it, Tara had convinced her to move to L.A. 

It started out as a joke but the more they discussed it the more of a possibility it seemed. So she and Tara sold the majority of their things, including Tara’s car, and Brit cashed in her 401k. A few weeks later they packed up her 2012 Volkswagen Beetle and made the long trek across the country. They found a nice apartment at a reasonable price and began going to interviews and casting calls. Brit also had a promising start with a few gigs as a contributor at a small publication.

Tara landed a few print ads and two local commercials. The only problem was L.A. was a haven for beautiful women, not that she wasn’t gorgeous because she was. Standing at five eight she had the perfect body, small waist, ample bre*sts, long legs, natural dirty blonde hair and green eyes. Her skin was flawless, and sun-kissed year around. The issue was so many other women had her look. In fact, booking agents called her ordinary. Brit who often tagged along to Tara’s casting calls was frequently asked if she was also a model. She certainly had the look for it. She was five seven, slim. She wasn’t blessed with Tara’s assets when it came to bre*sts, in fact she only wore a B cup, but she had wide hips and a plump derriere. She wore her hair natural, curly and thick, thousands of honey-colored spirals that rarely behaved unless she tamed them with leave-in conditioner and pulled it back into a ponytail. She had smooth caramel colored skin and a long neck with a very defined clavicle. She was pretty but she did little to play up her features. She rarely wore makeup instead opting for a few coats of mascara and a clear gloss on her full lips. She didn’t tell Tara but sometimes she was approached to audition, but she just wasn’t interested in acting or modeling.

At first Tara was discouraged by all the rejections but Brit convinced her that she should hire an agent in order to get good auditions. The agent was overpriced and insisted that Tara color her hair, a vibrant red in an attempt to stand out. A month later Tara had booked a local grocery store and car dealership ad spots but nothing since.  Four months later, their cash running dangerously low, they realized that things had not panned out as they expected. And so with their options running out they had accepted jobs as hostesses, or glorified waitresses, at an upscale art gallery. It wasn’t what they dreamed about but it did pay the bills.

Brit slipped on some simple gold studs, hung up her towel that she had thrown across the bed after her shower, made the bed and was ready to go. She was halfway out the door when she remembered to spritz a little perfume on.

Thirty minutes later they were stuck in traffic, running late to work. The second time this week.

“Stefan is going to kill us. The event is today,” Tara lamented.

“Why? The same five boring people show up for the free wine, walk around and buy nothing. I’m sure he could handle that himself,” Brit said wryly.   

Tara rolled her eyes.

“Oh I love this song,” Tara said suddenly turning up the radio.