Royal Parts: An Alpha Prince and BBW High Heat Romance

By Harlee Foster

She's a girl from a small town.
He's a prince from a small kingdom.
She's the first girl who turned him down.
He's the first guy who makes her want to risk everything.

Spencer:
Fresh out of college, I was hired by an agency that insures body parts.
I thought I would only work with celebrities and athletes who wanted to protect their faces and limbs from career-ending injuries, but then I got my first client: a prince who wanted to insure his royal manhood.
Prince Lowell is the most handsome man I've ever seen, and after I discover I'm his type, I want exactly what my boss says I can't have—if I want to keep my job.
I want to hop right on the prince's royal manhood and see if it's worth insuring.

Lo:
My insurance agent, Spencer Tayden, is exactly my type: young, curvy, and beautiful.
I want her from the moment I first lay eyes on her.
I'm used to getting what I want, but Spencer resists my advances because she doesn't want to be careless with her career.
That's fine with me.
I'm willing to do whatever it takes to show her this prince—and his royal parts—are worth the risk.

This is a short and sweet, insta love romance, with no cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlee Foster
• Release date: Sep 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393209508

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Copyright

Copyright © 2019 by Harlee Foster

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Disclaimer: Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

1. Spencer

G ood luck today, Spencer . My roommate, Miranda, threw those words over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

She was ready for the day, in a yellow sundress and sweat-resistant makeup, but I was still wearing the oversized T-shirt I had slept in.

Thanks! I said brightly, waiting for the door to shut.

The deadbolt slid into place and I hopped out of the chair at the breakfast bar, hurrying down the hall to our third bedroom.

It had a terrible view: a cracked brick wall straight ahead. And if I felt like looking down, I would see an overflowing dumpster or feasting rats that would make my nose wrinkle. But inside, there were countless beautiful things to look at with awe and wonder: stylish suits and dresses; fashionable shoes and accessories. Although it was hard to resist trying everything on (while strutting in front of Miranda’s full-length mirror) so much of her inventory looked as impractical as it was gorgeous. Like the sparkling six-inch, platform heels she was planning on showing to a former model, a client who was the tallest woman I had ever met. The top of her head would probably rub against the ceiling if she actually walked around in those things! But I loved the business dresses Miranda picked out for her clients. They were always a mix of trendy, sexy, and professional.

I took a dark purple one off a rack, went to the mirror, and held it up. It had short sleeves and a hemline above my knees. The fabric felt stiff, and it would be tight in the chest, but it would be the perfect fit for my curvy waist and thick thighs—and would go well with my fair hair, which always looked great with dark colors.

Thanks to student loans, and a move that had drained my savings account, I was so broke I could only afford a few acceptable outfits for my first month at my new job. So, I had become a sneaky borrower—grabbing outfits from my stylist roommate’s inventory after she left in the morning. Then I would take them to a one-hour dry cleaners after work—or after after-work drinks—and put them back where I had found them before Miranda walked in the door around two AM.

I didn’t know what I was going to do if her schedule suddenly became less hectic before I got my first paycheck. I needed her to be gone for most of the day so I could get away with this less-than-ideal-roommate behavior.

I kept telling myself Miranda would understand if she was in my cheap, uncomfortable shoes, as I left the apartment in the purple dress.

I held up my head high, as if I wasn’t practically a thief, and pretended my ballet bun didn’t feel heavy as I boarded the subway, with twenty minutes to spare until I would have to be at the office.

When I got off, I had time to scarf down a yogurt parfait before I entered the large building where the Nelson Griffin insurance agency was housed.

The agency’s floor was almost all the way up, only a couple levels below the roof. I had trouble controlling my breathing in the packed elevator as it moved up, up, up. My stomach churned in it every morning. I hated being several stories away from the ground.

I had gotten my degree in accounting at a small liberal arts college in a tight-knit community that was hours away from the nearest skyscraper, and before that I had been raised in a one-red-light town. I wasn’t used to spending my days in tall buildings with limited routes of escape. This was one of many things I was having trouble adjusting to in the city, but getting used to the people was the hardest part so far.

Sure, people in my hometown weren’t glamorous in their bargain jeans and lived in shabby houses that made my rat-view apartment seem like a palace,