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    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #2
    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #2
    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #2
    Ebook96 pages48 minutes

    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #2

    By Cheryl Bradshaw

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    About this ebook

    From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cheryl Bradshaw: 

    Rae. Sasha. Callie. Kenna. Four lifelong friends. Four women looking for love. 

    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams #2, Sasha's Story 

    After one too many years spent living with her lying, cheating husband Damon, Sasha finally gets the courage to file for divorce. Only problem? Damon isn't about to let her go. As his obsession grows, Sasha turns to dashing Irish attorney Gideon O'Shea for help, but Damon isn't about to concede. He'll do anything to keep her. ANYTHING. 

    The Vegas Dreams series includes four novellas: 

    Sweet Dreams (Rae's Story) 
    Scandalous Dreams (Sasha's Story)
    Stolen Dreams (Callie's Story) *COMING 2016* 
    Summer Dreams (Kenna's Story) *COMING 2016*

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPixie Publishing
    Release dateJul 31, 2016
    ISBN9781533758118
    Scandalous Dreams: Vegas Dreams, #2
    Author

    Cheryl Bradshaw

    Born and raised in Southern California, Cheryl Bradshaw became interested in writing at a young age, but it was almost two decades before she put pen to paper. In 2009 Bradshaw wrote Black Diamond Death (Book One: Sloane Monroe series). Within six weeks it entered the top 100 in two different categories and remained in the top 100 for over a year. Since that time, Bradshaw has written three additional novels in the series, and is now hard at work on the fourth. In 2013, Bradshaw introduced a new pranormal thriller series: Addison Lockhart, the first book titled Grayson Manor Haunting. Bradshaw is the founder of IWU on Facebook, a writers group with over 1,800 members. In August 2012, Bradshaw was named one of Twitter's seven best authors to follow.

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      Book preview

      Scandalous Dreams - Cheryl Bradshaw

      VEGAS DREAMS NOVELLA SERIES BY CHERYL BRADSHAW:

      Sweet Dreams – Rae’s Story (Book 1)

      Shattered Dreams – Sasha’s Story (Book 2)

      COMING SOON:

      Stolen Dreams – Callie’s Story (Book 3, July)

      Summer Dreams – Kenna’s Story (Book 4, September)

      My name is Sasha. No nickname, in between last names. And this is my story.

      My quest for love began four months ago in the worst way possible—standing in line at the county clerk’s office holding a pile of self-printed divorce documents in my trembling, not-so-hot little hands. My options, the statutory grounds for divorce in Las Vegas, were threefold:

      Option One: Incompatibility.

      Option Two: Insanity, for two years prior to the action.

      Option Three: Spouses living separate and apart for more than one year.

      Option Four, the one I wanted, the one I deserved to tick with a big, fat, juicy checkmark, didn’t exist. If it had, it would have said:

      OPTION FOUR: LYING, CHEATING SCUMBAG

      And bingo, we would have had ourselves a winner.

      Given my present predicament, my initial thought had been to choose insanity, because in my mind, Damon (my soon-to-be ex) was certifiable, having spent a generous portion of our marriage in every other marital bed but mine.

      Too bad insanity didn’t work that way.

      I couldn’t select Option Three because, at the time, we’d only been apart for several months. That left one choice—incompatibility, defined as:

      Unable to exist together in harmony.

      Contrary or opposed in character.

      And the granddaddy of them all: Unable to belong to the object simultaneously.

      Since Damon had the extraordinary talent of belonging to several objects simultaneously, this one didn’t seem to apply either. I had to choose something though, so I selected incompatibility and baby-stepped my way up to the counter, silently affirming to myself that this was necessary—I could do this.

      I forced a smile at the fifty-something, gray-haired woman on the other side of the counter. She didn’t smile back. She didn’t even look back. Instead, she focused on the dusty, metal clock on the wall while pressing her thumb to the tips of her fingers like she was counting down how much time remained before she could take her long-awaited lunch break. I guess I couldn’t blame her—it seemed like a shitty job as far as jobs go.

      I, umm ... want to file these, I croaked.

      My throat was scratchy, making it near impossible to get the words out.   

      Separation or divorce? she grumbled.

      Divorce.

      She snatched the paperwork from my hands, riffled through the pages. Has your husband agreed to the divorce?

      I wasn’t aware he needed to agree to it before I—

      She did a blatant eye roll, making sure I physically witnessed just how short-tempered she was with me.

      You filled out the wrong paperwork. Her tone indicated it was something she repeated multiple times each day. It also indicated the paralyzing need she had to point out my stupidity.

      This is a Joint Petition. You need to fill out a Complaint for Divorce. If he’s going to fight you—on anything—honey, take my advice, get a lawyer.

      Can I fill out the right forms myself with a—

      She tossed the papers back to me and peered over my shoulder, indicating the free advice portion of her day was over, and shouted. Next!

      And just like that, we were done, and I was screwed, just not in the way I deserved to be.

      Damon was a lawyer. He worked for one of the best firms in town. He had connections,

      and those connections meant if he wanted custody of our two girls, he’d find a way to get it. Not that he wanted custody. Even when we were together, he was never home. But he’d ask for it anyway, just to show me he could.

      At first, I believed our divorce could be an amicable one. I pictured the two of us sitting down together like a couple of mature adults, or one mature adult and one adult version of a child. He’d sign, I’d sign. It would be over and I could pretend my marriage to world-class womanizer Damon Chase never happened. Well, all except for our two kids, the family dog, and the lifetime of photos we’d taken together on the days he elected for family life instead of a night out on the town with one of his whores.

      Ten years.

      Ten long years of the lines becoming so blurred, I couldn’t differentiate a lie from the truth anymore.

      Damon was nothing if not skilled in the art of deception. I never actually caught him engaged in sexual activity with one of the hordes of other women he pimped himself out to on a nightly basis. He was smart. He was sneaky. He had two cell phones. One I knew about, and the other to accommodate his I’m-staying-late-at-the-office-honey-but-I’m-really-not bootie calls.

      Every electronic device Damon owned was password protected. His phone, his laptop, his tablet, all of it. His reasoning? It was imperative in order to protect the privacy of his clients, in case, perchance, something of his was ever stolen. And this little naïve housewife had believed it—every spoon-fed, sugar-coated fib.

      Until one day.

      Because ladies, no matter how hard a person tries to conceal a secret life, it’s impossible not to slip up from time to time. Secrets have a way of seeping out when you least expect them to. Karma wouldn’t be karma if they didn’t.

      Two Days Earlier

      It had been six months since I left my husband, and I still didn’t have a lawyer. What I did have was several late-night liaisons. I’d been licked, flicked, and whipped—well, almost whipped, once. Most single women would probably relish the lifestyle. I didn’t. Men didn’t make love to me. They had sex with me. When it was over, we both went our separate ways, in a very twain will not ever meet again scenario.

      At present I found myself beneath the sheets of a king-size bed, in a fancy hotel room

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