The rsvp, p.1
The RSVP, page 1
THE RSVP
LAUREN BLAKELY
CONTENTS
Copyright
Also By Lauren Blakely
Author’s Note
About The RSVP
Did you know?
The RSVP
The Crush
Prologue
1. The Man in Purple
2. All Your Broken Bones
3. Is It Obvious?
4. Lucky New York
5. This Color Would Look Good on You
The RSVP
1. Maybe Now
2. Shirt Memories
3. My Dirty Little Secret
4. Much to the Chagrin
5. Some More Some Time
6. Maybe Accomplices
7. Debriefing The Crew
8. Definitely Mostly The Line
9. Happy Birthday To Me
10. The Double Text
11. And I Give In
12. That Extra Inch
13. Big Desk
14. Everything To Lose
15. Check Mate
16. Like Cherry
17. Everyone Wants Something
18. The Virgin Society
19. Very Different Somethings
20. Things We Ignore
21. Tiger
22. A Champagne Kiss
23. A Thank You Gift
24. Just Some Book
25. My Boycott Grave
26. Can I Tell You?
27. Lost and Found
28. Brown Paper, That’s All
29. You Are Just
30. Don’t Fall
31. Anyone in Particular?
32. Innocent and Seductive
33. An Indecent Kiss
34. Partners in Crime
35. Pedestals and Princesses
36. Ten Times
37. My Gift
38. Find me in the Rain
39. Win Some, Lose Some
40. Special Guest
41. How To Rob The Bank
42. The Best-Laid Plans
43. Someone
44. Lovely Little Lie
45. Ride or Die
46. And the Award Goes To…
47. My Diner Dreams
48. Definitely Found
49. Opening Number
50. Unfinished Business
Epilogue
Final Epilogue
Sneak Peeks
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Blakely
LaurenBlakely.com
Cover Design by © TE Black
Photo: Wander Aguiar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ALSO BY LAUREN BLAKELY
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
The Dating Games Series
The Virgin Next Door
Two A Day
The Good Guy Challenge
My So-Called Sex Life
Happy Endings Series
Come Again
Shut Up and Kiss Me
Kismet
My Single-Versary
Ballers And Babes
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
A Wild Card Kiss
Rules of Love Series
The Virgin Rule Book
The Virgin Game Plan
The Virgin Replay
The Virgin Scorecard
Hopelessly Bromantic Duet (MM)
Hopelessly Bromantic
Here Comes My Man
Men of Summer Series (MM)
Scoring With Him
Winning With Him
All In With Him
The Guys Who Got Away Series
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend
The What If Guy
Thanks for Last Night
The Dream Guy Next Door
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
The Extravagant Series
One Night Only
One Exquisite Touch
My One-Week Husband
MM Standalone Novels
A Guy Walks Into My Bar
One Time Only
The Bromance Zone
The Best Men (Co-written with Sarina Bowen)
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
PS It’s Always Been You
Special Delivery
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
The Caught Up in Love Series
The Pretending Plot
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan
The Private Rehearsal
Seductive Nights Series
Night After Night
After This Night
One More Night
A Wildly Seductive Night
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Several years ago, I released a book titled 21 Stolen Kisses. For many reasons, that book has been retired completely and has been off sale since early 2021. It will remain off sale forever. However, some of the getting-to-know-you scenes in that book served as the inspiration for character traits for Bridger and Harlow — such as their love of Broadway shows, the Skittle Toes, the bike crash into the cab, and the shirt obsession. All of those aspects of the prior story have been massively revised to fit this brand new storyline with all new characters.
ABOUT THE RSVP
Our days are full of secrets. Our nights are for seduction…
For the last year, I’ve wanted someone I can’t have.
The man my father built his latest multimillion dollar business with.
He’s a decade older than I am, and he’s entirely forbidden.
The fact that he’s never given me a second glance only makes me long for him more.
But the other night, across the room at a gala, everything changed. His broody gaze lingered on me and grew darker.
So I’m officially done being the good girl.
Tomorrow I turn 21. As a gift to myself, I plan to seduce my father’s business partner.
Happy birthday to me.
DID YOU KNOW?
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THE RSVP
Dear Reader,
Harlow and Bridger’s forbidden romance begins with a prelude, THE CRUSH. If you already read THE CRUSH when it was released on its own, go ahead and start at THE RSVP! If not, then start right here and turn the page. The prequel is a key part of their romance — you don’t want to miss it!
Xoxo
Lauren
THE CRUSH
PROLOGUE
Harlow
I didn’t hit the car on purpose. I wasn’t that obsessed. I wouldn’t have called it an obsession at all.
Besides, I’m not that devious.
I’d say I’m more crafty.
But a year ago, I was neither devious nor crafty. I was just a girl with the start of a crush.
Everything that happened that night was just the luck of the draw.
I wound up a little bruised—fine, a little broken—and intoxicated by a man I couldn’t have.
1
THE MAN IN PURPLE
Harlow
Several Months Ago
The office door clicks open. I look up from the French news site on my laptop and sit straighter at the dining room table.
This is my chance to check him out. I’m home for the summer, so I’ve been grabbing as many opportunities as I can. Furtively, I turn my gaze as my new crush exits my father’s plush home office, then strides across the polished hardwood floors of the living room, wingtips clicking.
Sounding like money.
Looking like a magazine ad.
I’ve been stealing glances at Bridger for the last week, ever since I returned home from the NYU dorms. I’ve known him for years, but when I saw him a few weeks ago at a dinner my father hosted, my pulse surged and my skin tingled.
And a crush was born.
So, yeah, I love studying in the middle of my home, prepping for my next semester abroad. Just in case I can catch a glimpse of him.
And I’ll have another one right now, thank you very much. From my vantage point at the imposing oak table, I peek at the man’s gorgeous profile as he leaves, hoping he turns toward me soon so I can steal a glance at his outrageously blue eyes. I want to know what’s behind them.
My father ruins the view, though, walking right behind him, a glass of Scotch in his hand, saying goodbye to the man he built his media empire with over the last five years. “Sorry to cut this meeting short,” my dad says wryly. Everything sounds wry in his English accent. Part of his charm, some say.
His American daughter isn’t fooled by his British charm.
Bridger laughs lightly as they walk through the living room, empty-handed. “No, you’re not, Ian.”
Dad wiggles a brow. “Fine, I’m not sorry.”
At least have the decency to pretend.
Bridger nears the door, and I’m just not that interested in the subjunctive tense this second.
Not with Bridger wearing that tailored purple shirt that hugs his arms, those trim charcoal slacks that hint at a strong body, and no tie.
Never a tie.
Bridger’s tieless look is so…tingly.
“We’ll catch up tomorrow on the Spanish deal,” he says, scrubbing his hand along his chin. Stubble lines his fine jawline. A faint dusting of dark brown hair, a seven o’clock shadow.
What would it feel like along my fingers? Against my face?
A shiver slides down my spine, and I suppress a murmur.
“Tomorrow for all things Spanish deal. But not too early, you know,” my dad says.
What? No wink? How else would one know what you’ll be up to?
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but instead I seize the chance to inject myself into their business conversation, flashing a knowing smile Bridger’s way. “Dad doesn’t like to wake early,” I say, innocently.
Like I don’t know the real reason Dad will sleep in.
Like the real reason isn’t coming over in a few minutes.
Cassie. Or Lianne. Or Marie. Or whoever the latest lady is that my dad’s banging behind his fiancée’s back.
Slowly, like maybe we’re both in on the joke, Bridger turns my way. My pulse kicks. His eyes are dark blue, the color of the dawn before day takes over. They hold mine for a beat, then he looks away quickly. I’m hopeful enough to want to believe he’s entertaining the same thoughts about dangerous kisses.
But I’m smart enough to know he’s not.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, then he’s out the door.
Not even a smile. He’s just gone. But what did I expect? I’m simply his business partner’s college-age daughter, ten years his junior.
I turn back to my laptop, ready to study.
Except…
With Bridger on his way, my father turns to me, checks his watch, then hums, like he’s gearing up to make a request.
Whatever, Dad. You’re not going to shock me.
I close my laptop before he speaks.
“Harlow, love, do you think you could study in your room?”
Translation—be a good girl, put your earbuds in, blast some music, and pretend you hear nothing while I fuck someone who’s not my fiancée.
I fake a smile. “Of course,” I say, swallowing down a spoonful of disgust.
“You’re such a darling,” he says.
I flash a bigger smile. “Thanks.”
Then, he disappears up the stairs. Naturally. He must go beautify himself before the lady shows up.
She’ll probably be here in less than ten minutes. Like I am going to stay in my room for the next several hours. I’m not even going to stay in this house.
There’s a big city out there for me to escape into.
I grab my backpack from the dining room floor, stuff my laptop in it, and sling it over my shoulder. Maybe when I reach Big Cup, I’ll tell Dad I left.
But then again, maybe I won’t. Chances are he won’t notice or care.
When I stuff my phone into the pouch of my backpack, the sound of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 blasts from Dad’s phone on the coffee table in the living room.
It’s his fiancée calling. Joan’s in Vermont teaching a symposium on classical music. Poor Joan. I like her well enough, considering I’ve only lived with her for the last two summer breaks.
His cell rattles again, the violin announcing her interest in talking to her fiancé. Not my problem. Not my problem. Not at all my problem.
I ignore it as I pad quietly to the door. It opens into an outside alcove. My bike’s in there. I’m almost free from alibi duty.
Footsteps shuffle upstairs. “Harlow, love,” he calls out.
I tense.
Don’t do it. Don’t ask.
“Can you grab Joan’s call and tell her I’m in a meeting with Bridger?”
And he’s asked.
I burn, but I say nothing as I reach for the knob, stuffing in my earbuds. Useful prop. But soon, I’ll need Sondheim, Larsen or Miranda to cleanse my ears.
For now, the violin becomes more urgent. So does my need to go. I turn the knob.
The sound of footsteps grows louder. “Harlow, can you answer that, please?”
Flames lick higher in me as I weigh my options. Pretend I didn’t hear? Just leave? Or something else. Like, hey, how about a no?
I hardly even live here anymore. I did enough of this in high school. Why do I have to do it during college breaks too?
“Harlow,” he calls once more from the top of the stairs, standing by the banister now.
The violin insists.
He shouts my name. Too loud to ignore. Hand on the knob, I carelessly turn my gaze to him, adopting a confused look as I point to my earbuds. After I take one out, I ask, “What did you say?”
