Dollar Signs: Do You Only See My Money?

opposites attract
kickass heroine
office/work place
self discover
colleagues to lovers


Hanleigh Bradley loves books more than nearly anything in the world; whether its reading them or writing them, Hanleigh just can't get enough. She's read more books than she can count and owns more books than some libraries.


It’s hard to fall in love when all people see is money.

Eden Clancy might be an heiress, she might have all the money she would ever need but it comes at a cost. When people look at her, they don’t actually see her, unable to look beyond the designer handbags and the luxurious car she drives.

Sitting in a restaurant she hates, eating food she can’t stand to please a guy that left her with the bill and a broken heart, Eden decides something has got to change.

When her grandma suggests going to work at the family business, Clancy’s Comforts, Eden groans. The last thing she wants is to deal with more people only interested in her because of her last name and wealth.

But Grandma’s got it all planned out; a fake identity, giving up her car, handbags and credit cards, and a new job as an assistant. It’s completely balmy but Eden finds herself agreeing to her Grandma’s terms.

The only problem... Noah Grisham, Eden’s new boss.

He might have the prettiest face Eden has ever seen but his temper definitely doesn’t match. He’s moody, downright rude, and quite frankly offensive.

For the first time in her life, someone is seeing beyond her money, but he still manages to completely misunderstand her.

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Chapter 1: Buying Things You Don't Want
“Let's break up." Did he really just say that? It's hard to believe that he could actually be that much of a jerk. Then again, maybe it's not that surprising. This always happens. Just when I begin to think he's different. Just when I begin to trust. He proves me wrong. What I don't understand is why it always has to be in a public place. If you're going to dump a person you should at least have the decency to do it privately. But no. They always seem to pick the best restaurant in the most affluent part of the city, the most expensive dish and the priciest wine. And only when they've finished their desert, do they tell me that it's over. That they're done. That we're through. Which would be fine, if it wasn't for the fact they always leave me with the bill. Every time. It's like they're trying to get their money's worth or something. “Okay. Let's do that," I say with a surprising amount of tenacity. I have no intentions of letting him know that I'm hurt; my shoulders tense, my breath catching but I will not cry. I refuse. I won't do it. I won't let him see that. In the past, I might have asked why but after a few break ups the answers all sound too similar. And it's not like he'd actually tell me the truth, people rarely do that. It doesn't really matter either does it? An explanation won't give me my time back. Or make me feel any better about it. “You should move out," he says, his face completely serious. He doesn't realise how absurd he sounds. That I would move out when I'm the one paying the bills. “Excuse me?" I count to five, my shoulders shaking as I try to control myself. I can't react. I can't scream at him like a banshee though it's tempting. I can't cry or cause a scene because in the end, it will be me that looks bad. My name that will be plastered all over the tabloids. “It makes sense. You can just go home." “Fine," I say between gritted teeth instead of saying what I want to say, that he could 'just go home.' I glance around me, holding back tears. There are so many people in this restaurant. I can't believe he's doing this. I thought we were serious. I even introduced him to my grandma. I took him home and paraded him about like he was the best thing to ever happened to me. He made promises. Real promises that I believed. Trusted. He was supposed to be different. Taking my phone from my purse, I type out a quick text to my grandmother's assistant. He's probably the most efficient person I've ever met. He'll have everything resolved before the end of the night. And I'm not just talking about getting my stuff moved back but the legal quandary that is our lease agreement. “I'm glad you could be reasonable about this." The jerk has some nerve, either that or he needs to purchase a dictionary. He clearly doesn't know the definition of the word reasonable. I consider educating him on the matter but really what would that achieve. I'd just get more angry and the chances of me actually keeping whatever composure I'm clinging to would plummet. “There's just no point staying together," he carries on. “We're so different. You're too…" His hesitance is so fake. The pretentious pig knows exactly what he wants to say but he's got a flare for the dramatic all of a sudden. “You're too boring. I thought this would be fun. I thought you'd be fun." Translation: I thought you'd spend money. When people look at me, I don't really know what they see. Maybe someone else altogether? Or maybe they're just blinded by money. One thing is for sure; they never see me. I move to stand, preparing to leave but his eyes go wide with panic as he scrambles to his feet. “Goodbye Eden," he says, tucking his chair under the table before striding across the restaurant and out into the street without looking back. Returning to my seat, I crumple slightly. He's gone. It took all of ten minutes to end a relationship that's lasted almost two years. Just ten minutes. That seems insane. I can feel tears lining my lashes but I brush them away, unwilling to let the other people in the restaurant know that I've just had my heart trashed. As I ask for the bill, I remember something my grandma used to say back when I'd foolishly thought you could buy friendships. At least then I had the excuse that I was a child. Now not so much. 'Too many people spend money they earned to buy things they don't want to impress people they don't like.' It's almost laughable that I still haven't learnt that particular lesson. Here I am in a restaurant I hate, eating food I can't stand to please a guy who left me with the bloody bill. More fool me, I guess. Pulling out a credit card, I wait to pay, gulping down the last of my wine. The waitress thanks me and I almost tell her that I won't be back but I can't bring myself to be that much of a b*tch. It's not her fault I just got dumped. Smiling at her, I drop a twenty down on the table. “Thank you," I reply. “The food was delicious." Then I pull on my coat, wrapping up as warm as I can before leaving the warmth of the restaurant and stepping out onto the bustling street.

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