Blackmailed by the Jerk

By Isla Chiu

I have a secret.

I kind of faked my perfect SAT score to get a full scholarship at Middleson University. It worked, but now I have one major problem—Rick, a wealthy jerk who looks like Zac Efron and who’s blackmailing me with my lie. What does the jerk want in exchange for his silence?

My body...

WORD COUNT: 8,400

Excerpt:

I’m in a good mood till I spot something in the corner. Or more precisely, someone. Rick is here, and he’s staring at me. He looks like such a privileged d**khead with his pink polo shirt, chino pants, the sunglasses on his head, and the smirk on his handsome—but begging to be punched—face. I glare at him.

“Who’s that?” Felicity asks. “Do you know him?”

Oh, he’s this guy who’s blackmailing me because he knows I cheated to get a full ride to Middleson University. “He’s some jerk I’m hooking up with,” I mutter.

“Why are you hooking up with a jerk?”

“It’s complicated.” When Rick begins walking toward us, I say, “Jesus Christ. Excuse me.” I march up to him and hiss, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s one-dollar beer night,” he says casually.

“You’re rich. You don’t need to take advantage of cheap beer.”

He shrugs. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be studying.”

I flush. “I needed a study break.”

He wraps a possessive arm around my waist, whispering into my ear, “Why don’t we have a ‘study break’ at my place?”

A deep sigh leaves me. Because his suggestion is not really a suggestion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isla Chiu
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005978648

Isla Chiu

When I manage to tear myself away from taking Buzzfeed quizzes and watching unhealthy amounts of TV, I write romance and smut. My works feature alpha males, sexy times, and/or my sarcastic sense of humor. I hail from Cleveland, aka the best freaking city in the world, and believe LeBron James is the perfect human being. Despite all of my efforts, I have never truly been able to quit caffeine. My favorites include Taylor Swift, Florence + the Machine, and SHINee. I love to hate/hate to love k-dramas. If I say I’m on a diet, I’m just lying to you and myself. One of these days, I'm going to get hypertension from an excess of salt, both literal and figurative. If I'm awkward around you, I probably don't know what to say to you and/or I think you're hot. And despite what anyone says, Forrest Gump so deserved that Oscar over Pulp Fiction.

Book preview

Green-eyed Zac Efron is a Jerk

Ifrown, watching the guy out of the corner of my eye. Yeah, he’s definitely staring at me. And why is there a smirk on his face? Is he looking at my boobs? If I had a quarter for every time a guy drooled like an idiot over my boobs... But Frat Bro doesn’t seem like he’s salivating over the twins. I’ve decided to call him Frat Bro, though I know nothing about him and there’s a chance he might have zero association with a fraternity. He looks like a frat bro with his resemblance to Zac Efron in that terrible movie Neighbors , the punchable arrogant expression on his face, and the sunglasses on top of his head.

Resisting the urge to scowl at the (attractive) stranger, I pack up my things. No use continuing to study in the library now. Damn him for messing with my concentration. But as I head toward the exit, Frat Bro follows me. What the hell? I wish I was more physically active, so that I would have a chance of outrunning this guy. But his legs are long and he probably plays some douche-bag sport like lacrosse; my short, not exactly athletic body is no match for him. Gripping the pepper spray in my purse, I whip around, glaring at Frat Bro. Up close, he really looks like Zac Efron, only with green eyes. I curse myself. Seriously, Mei? Taking the time to notice the color of his eyes? His eyes may be pretty, but he is a creep who is following me, so I should focus on that. Not his freaking green eyes. What do you want? I ask, glancing at my surroundings. No witnesses, damn it.

I want to talk, Mei, he says as he comes closer to me until his body is only inches away from mine. He’s taller than Zac Efron. Judging by the way he towers over me, I guess he has to be at least six feet tall.

How do you know my name? Has he been stalking me? My grip on my pepper spray tightens.

I know a lot about you, he says. Including the fact that you faked your perfect SAT score.

I shouldn’t panic. Panic never does any good.

Of course, I panic.

But I try to play it cool.

I force a laugh. You think I faked my SAT score? I don’t have the first clue about doing something like that.

Don’t play innocent, Mei.

I’m not playing—

I have proof.

The panic is rushing into my every cell. You...you don’t have proof.

He lifts an eyebrow. "Are you that confident? Should we see what the