Laundro-Matt: A Passionate Erotic Romance

By Marianne Lowe

He’s Matthew Linus. He’s one of the top ten richest men in New York, in the top 50 of the world. He should not be standing in disguise in a 24 hour dingy laundromat, doing his own laundry like some ordinary citizen.
And then she comes in, wearing what are obviously her ‘laundry day’ clothes, big orange headphones, and a smile brighter than the sun.
Most of his clothes are ‘dry clean only’, but when did anyone actually listen to those tags, anyway?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marianne Lowe
• Release date: Jul 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005239428

Book preview

Marianne Lowe

Laundro-Matt

Copyright © 2020 by Marianne Lowe

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.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About the Author

Also by Marianne Lowe

Chapter 1

Chapter Separator

He’s Matthew Linus.

He’s Matthew Linus, one of the richest men in New York. The innovator, the billionaire, the man who’s managed to charm almost all of the high brow investors when no one else could. Co-founder of the First Order, philanthropist and benefactor to several organizations.

He’s Matthew Linus, and he’s standing in front of a 24 hour laundromat with a basket under his arm and a ridiculously itchy blond wig plopped on his head.

The events leading up to this quite frankly bizarre scenario are a bit blurred, honestly. He can recall his assistant – the fourth in the same amount of months – quitting just before his brunch with several investors tomorrow morning. He can recall rummaging through his closet to find the sweater that one very well regarded investor gave him to schmooze said investor out of another few billion, and finding the dark coffee stain on the cream fabric from a meeting the week before. He can recall reaching for the phone before remembering that no dry cleaners would be even open at this time of night.

The dim, dirty 24 hour laundromat is his best bet if he wants to get this deal tomorrow.

He sighs, glancing at his watch before stepping inside the small establishment. The door gives a little less-than-cheery ding, the batteries of the bell needing to be replaced desperately. He glances towards the old man he’s fairly certain is asleep on the bench, seemingly the only other human being in the laundromat.

He sets his basket down, having decided to do a few other pieces of clothing along with the sweater, and pushes his fake glasses up his nose as the old man in the corner snorts and shuffles, finishing with a snore.

Definitely asleep, then.

He pulls the sweater out, and is frowning at the rather dark coffee stain on the cream fabric when she enters the ‘mat.

She’s dancing, if one could even call it that. Dressed in what looks to be a pair of cream-colored terry shorts and a white tank top, she has a large pair of orange headphones covering her ears. He watches as she does some little butt-wiggle move that really shouldn’t be as cute as he finds it, and sets a small cloth hamper bag down. A brown messenger bag slides off her shoulder as she bends, hitting the floor with a hard ‘BANG’ and startling him so much that the cashmere sweater falls from his fingers back into the basket.

Apparently his little jump catches her attention, because she glances up at him through her dark lashes, and pushes one side of her headphones back behind her left ear. She grins sheepishly at him as she starts to pull out pieces of dark clothing, holding them to her chest.

Sorry, she apologizes, and he blinks at the sweet British accent that falls from her lips.

He just stares at her as she looks back down at her laundry and pulls out darks, throwing them into one of the machines. He watches as she pulls a Ziploc bag from the messenger bag and starts to put quarters in, pulling a bag of laundry pods from another pocket and tossing one into the machine before starting it.

She grabs a thick book from the messenger bag and hops up onto the table next to his basket, tugging the headphone back into place and swinging her legs as she starts to read.

Matthew stares at her for a few moments, watching her bare feet as she abandons her worn-out plastic flipflops, the footwear hitting the tile floor with two twin ‘slap’s.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the old man leaving with a wicker basket of what Matthew assumes are too-big khakis and ancient cardigans.

It’s just him, and her.

He looks back down to the sweater in his hands, frowning at the dark stain and running his fingers over it. It wouldn’t do to use bleach; the sweater itself is cream, it would destroy the color. He sighs softly, setting it aside as he pulls out the rest of his things. His dress shirts and suits he’d leave to his new assistant, whomever that may be once he hires a new one. But he can wash his casual clothes, at least, throw in a few pairs of underwear while he’s here.

He’s in the process of pulling his darker clothing from the basket when he feels a soft poke on his bicep. He jumps, dropping the pair of jeans as he turns to stare at the pretty girl.

Here, this’ll do it, she’s saying, leaning over and offering him a dark blue colored stick, the cap garishly orange.

Matthew stares at the stain stick. What?