Tangled

Cover

Title Page

Tangled

...

Emma Chase

...

Omnific Publishing

Dallas

Praise for Tangled

Praise for
Tangled

“
Tangled
is panty-dropping, outrageously funny, and overwhelmingly lovely. I finished it in nearly one sitting because I had to know more of Drew and Kate and their tit-for-tat, anti-romance story.
Tangled
is not a must-read; it’s a drop-everything-except-your-spare-batteries and read.”

~
Angie, Smut Book Club

“Emma Chase is a bold new voice in romance. Her characters are vibrant with so much humour and depth that it will keep you enthralled and captivated. You will be lured in with her use of wit and charm. A brilliant 5 star read!!!!”

~
Neda, The Subclub books

“
Tangled
more than earns a brilliant, out-of-this-world hysterical, swoon-worthy five stars. Emma Chase has written a highly recommended story with unforgettable characters that are absolutely beyond comparison, and I cannot wait to get my hands on more of her work. It’s one of the best reads of 2013, hands down.”

~
Tessa, BooksWineFood.com

“
Tangled
is by far one of the best books that I have ever read, and Drew Evans is hands down my favorite leading man. It was absolutely amazing! 5 Stars Plus!”

~
Liz, Romance Addiction

“
Tangled
by Emma Chase is a 5 heart read. It’s perfection in a book. RAWR hot, hilariously funny, and a romance so good you won’t want it to end. Thank Emma for your next, unforgettable book boyfriend.”

~
Tamie & Elena, Bookish Temptations

“I don’t remember when was the last time I enjoyed book as much as
Tangled
by Emma Chase. This witty and hilarious insight into man’s head is perfect for all who like entertaining stories with well-thought-out plotline and sexy hero. I fell in love with Drew Evans’s playful and cocky attitude and I will never forget him. Definitely a must read! 5/5 STARS.”

~
Lucia, Reading is My Breathing

“Emma Chase has created characters in
Tangled
that are insanely hilarious! Her character, Drew, had my sides splitting and in stitches over his witty and undeniably competitive personality! It is hands down the funniest and most creative book told by the male point-of-view! You will not be able to put this book down!”

~
Stephanie, Romance Addict Book Blog

Copyright Information

Tangled, Copyright © 2013 by Emma Chase

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

...

Omnific Publishing

10000 North Central Expressway, Dallas, TX 75231

www.omnificpublishing.com

...

First Omnific eBook edition, May 2013

First Omnific trade paperback edition, May 2013

...

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

...

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

...

Chase, Emma.

Tangled / Emma Chase – 1st ed

ISBN: 978-1-623420-15-4

1. Romance—Fiction. 2. Office Romance—Fiction. 3. University—Romance. 4. Male Narrator—Romance. I. Title

...

Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw
Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

Dedication

To Joe,
for showing me what real love is
and for giving me glimpses every day
into the complicated workings of the male thought process.

Chapter 1

D
O
Y
OU
S
EE
T
HAT
U
NSHOWERED
, unshaven heap on the couch? The guy in the dirty gray T-shirt and ripped sweatpants?

That’s me, Drew Evans.

I’m not usually like this. I mean, that really isn’t me.

In real life, I’m well-groomed, my chin is clean-shaven, and my black hair is slicked back at the sides in a way I’ve been told makes me look dangerous but professional. My suits are handmade. I wear shoes that cost more than your rent.

My apartment? Yeah, the one I’m in right now. The shades are drawn, and the furniture glows with a bluish hue from the television. The tables and floor are littered with beer bottles, pizza boxes, and empty ice cream tubs.

That’s not my real apartment. The one I usually live in is spotless; I have a girl come by twice a week. And it has every modern convenience, every big-boy toy you can think of: surround sound, satellite speakers, and a big-screen plasma that would make any man fall on his knees and beg for more. The decor is modern—lots of black and stainless steel—and anyone who enters knows a man lives there.

So, like I said—what you’re seeing right now isn’t the real me. I have the flu.

Influenza.

Have you ever noticed some of the worst sicknesses in history have a lyrical sound to them? Words like
malaria
,
diarrhea
,
cholera
. Do you think they do that on purpose? To make it a nice way to say you feel like something that dropped out of your dog’s ass?

Influenza
. Has a nice ring to it, if you say it enough.

At least I’m pretty sure that’s what I have. That’s why I’ve been holed up in my apartment the last seven days. That’s why I turned my phone off, why I’ve gotten off the couch only to use the bathroom or to bring in the food I order from the delivery guy.

How long does the flu last anyway? Ten days? A month? Mine started a week ago. My alarm went off at five a.m., like always. But instead of rising from the bed to go to the office where I’m a star, I threw the clock across the room, smashing it to kingdom come.

It was annoying anyway. Stupid clock. Stupid beep-beep-beeping.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. When I did eventually drag my ass out of bed, I felt weak and nauseous. My chest ached; my head hurt. See—the flu, right? I couldn’t sleep any more, so I planted myself here, on my trusty couch. It was so comfortable I decided to stay right here. All week. Watching Will Ferrell’s greatest hits on the plasma.

Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy
’s on right now. I’ve watched it three times today, but I haven’t laughed yet. Not once. Maybe the fourth time’s the charm, huh?

Now there’s a pounding at my door.

Frigging doorman. What the hell is he here for? He’s going to be sorry when he gets my Christmas tip this year, you can bet your ass.

I ignore the pounding, though it comes again.

And again.

“Drew! Drew, I know you’re in there! Open the goddamn door!”

Oh no.

It’s The Bitch. Otherwise known as my sister, Alexandra.

When I say the word
bitch
I mean it in the most affectionate way possible, I swear. But it’s what she is. Demanding, opinionated, relentless. I’m going to kill my doorman.

“If you don’t open this door, Drew, I’m calling the police to break it down, I swear to God!”

See what I mean?

I grasp the pillow that’s been resting on my lap since the flu started. I push my face into it and inhale deeply. It smells like vanilla and lavender. Crisp and clean and addictive.

“Drew! Do you hear me?”

I pull the pillow over my head. Not because it smells like…her…but to block out the pounding that continues at my door.

“I’m taking out my phone! I’m dialing!” Alexandra’s voice is whiny with warning, and I know she’s not screwing around.

I sigh deeply and force myself to get up from the couch. The walk to the door takes time; each step of my stiff, aching legs is an effort.

Frigging flu.

I open the door and brace myself for the wrath of The Bitch. She’s holding the latest iPhone up to her ear with one perfectly manicured hand. Her blond hair is pulled back in a simple but elegant knot, and a dark green purse hangs from her shoulder, the same shade as her skirt—Lexi’s all about the matching.

Behind her, looking appropriately contrite in a wrinkled navy suit, is my best friend and coworker, Matthew Fisher.

I forgive you, Doorman. It’s Matthew who must die.

“Jesus Christ!” Alexandra yells in horror. “What the hell happened to you?”

I told you this isn’t the real me.

I don’t answer her. I don’t have the energy. I just leave the door open and fall face first onto my couch. It’s soft and warm, but firm.

I love you, couch—have I ever told you that? Well, I’m telling you now.

Though my eyes are buried in the pillow, I sense Alexandra and Matthew walking slowly into the apartment. I imagine the shock on their faces at its condition. I peek out from my cocoon and see that my mind’s eye was spot on.

“Drew?” I hear her ask, but this time there’s concern woven throughout the one short syllable.

Then she’s pissed again. “For God’s sake, Matthew, why didn’t you call me sooner? How could you let this happen?”

“I haven’t seen him, Lex!” Matthew says quickly. See—he’s afraid of The Bitch too. “I came every day. He wouldn’t open the door for me.”

I sense the couch dip as she sits beside me. “Drew?” she says softly. I feel her hand run gently through the back of my hair. “Honey?”

Her voice is so achingly worried, she reminds me of my mother. When I was a boy and sick at home, Mom would come in my room with hot chocolate and soup on a tray. She would kiss my forehead to see if it still burned with fever. She always made me feel better. The memory and Alexandra’s similar actions bring moisture to my closed eyes.

Am I a mess or what?

“I’m fine, Alexandra.” I tell her, though I’m not sure if she hears me. My voice is lost in the sweet-scented pillow. “I have the flu.”