A Billionaire for Lunar New Year

By Isla Chiu

Because I’m scared and my frayed denim jacket doesn’t really offer proper protection against winter, I shiver.

In a voice that I would describe as a soft growl (if such a thing is possible), he says, “Let’s get you warm.”

Causing my eyes to fall out of their sockets, he pulls me into the Amethyst.

When I get a good look at the stranger’s face, my idiotic brain thinks, Hello, silver fox. Though he must be old enough to be my dad, I can’t help feeling an attraction to him. With his chiseled jawline, smoldering green eyes, and tall and muscular body, he could be on the cover of a romance novel.

WORD COUNT: 3,800

A sexy short story about a young woman and a handsome billionaire!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isla Chiu
• Release date: Feb 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005555740

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 problematic favorites include Taylor Swift and Gone with the Wind. 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

A Billionaire for Lunar New Year

I LOOK AT THE DUMPSTER behind the apartment building. Am I really going to put my hand in there and get my dinner from the trash? Undoubtedly, I’m desperate. But am I that desperate?

My stomach growls, a painful reminder that the last time I ate was 24 hours ago and all I had was a store-brand chocolate bar.

Longing fills me as I stare at the dumpster. Five minutes ago, a lady in a Burberry coat took a bite of her chicken sandwich. The sandwich must have offended her fancy taste-buds because she tossed it into the trash after approximately a second of tasting it. I bet the sandwich wouldn’t have offended my taste-buds; I’m a commoner and not a picky eater.

But am I willing to eat a rich woman’s garbage?

My stomach growls again, this time sounding like a monster with anger management issues. Oh, fuck it. I’m too hungry to care about looking pathetic. And don’t people always say, One person’s trash is another person’s treasure?

I wrinkle my nose as I approach the dumpster. Unfortunately, rich people’s garbage doesn’t smell any better than regular people’s. After I exhale without breathing