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Tis the Season For Revenge by Morgan Elizabeth

Tis the Season for Revenge

by Morgan Elizabeth


Book 1 in the Seasons of Revenge Series

Abbie Keller thought that Richard Bartholemew Benson the Third would be her forever.

In their four years of dating, she never doubted that she wouldn’t end up with his grandmother’s engagement ring on her finger. Sure, she had to change a few things about herself to fit that mold, like dying her hair, dressing more conservatively, and finding golf enjoyable (honestly the most difficult of the changes), but she was sure that at the end of it all, it would be worth it.

That is, until he leaves her crying outside her apartment wearing a Halloween costume, having broken it off with her because she’s just not serious enough. She was just fun, he tells her - and now that Richard has becoming a partner at his law firm in his sights, he needs to focus on work.

So she does what every girl does when she’s broken up with: she calls her friends, gets drunk, dyes her hair, and formulates her plan for revenge. It just so happens that the universe supports her efforts and gives her the perfect match to prove to her ex that he made a huge mistake: his boss.

Abbie starts dating the founding partner of Richard’s law firm, Damien Martinez, with one thing in mind: convincing him to invite her to the huge annual Christmas party as his date.

But when the relationship starts to become something more than casual dating and Abbie sees that the tough New York lawyer has a soft side, will she be able to follow through with her plan of deceit?



Emotional abuse from ex


Do you like Legally Blonde, but you don't love that Reese's character tries to change herself to get that douche back?

Then you will love, and I mean love, Tis the Season for Revenge.

Now, while enjoyed Legally Blonde when it first came out, it's not a favorite of mine. So when I started reading this book, and the amount of things in that first chapter that screamed Legally Blonde, I almost lost interest. I think it was around the time that Abbie called her friends over, got drunk, and made an epic plan of revenge that I became ... intrigued. Not just because I love a good revenge plot when the person deserves it, but because I'm a huge fan of women not choosing to not change anything about themselves for a guy. And sure ... Elle in Legally Blonde ends up loving law school, and becomes incredibly successful. She finds a better guy, and becomes valevictorian of her class, rubbing it into her stupid ex's face. But initially, she plans to change who she is to please him, which ... ugh. Abbie realizes pretty quickly that her ex was a dick, that she changed so much to please him, and it was never enough, and look at how miserable she is now. She decides to reclaim who she is while getting back at him for stealing those years.

And I love that.

The story itself is great. It's a dual POV and both characters arcs are so much fun to read. The tension you feel as you get towards the end of the book, when all will be revealed, is palpable. Everything just ... works. It's funny. It's entertaining. You can't help but root for the characters. It's sexy as hell.

Like seriously.

It's steamy.

It might be my favorite holiday romance this year. I will definitely be reading the rest of the series.

If you like a holiday-ish, steamy romance, between an alpha that is all about building his girl up, and a woman taking charge of her life, and becoming her again, you will love this book. Hell, if you liked Legally Blonde, you will like this book.

I changed things I loved about myself because of a piece of shit man who thought I was too much.

Too much for him. Too much for the life he wanted. Too much for some boring fucking lawyers. Too much to spend his life with.

And you know what?

Fuck that.

Fuck that.

Fuck him!

Because the reality is, he wasn’t enough.

And he’s right: I am too much. I am too much for him because he always should have deserved less.

Abbie: “Just think about it. Think about the look on Richard’s face when he’s sitting in the Rainbow Room at the party he’s gone to for six years straight—longer, since I think he went before, with his grandfather. At the party he always told me I wouldn’t want to go to because it was too boring. The party where he’s hoping they’ll finally announce him as partner this year.”

I smile to myself because as the vision grows in my mind, I like it more and more. It’s brilliant, really.

Abbie: “And when his boss walks in, the woman he strung around for years is on his arm. The woman who he told she was just fun. The woman he said wasn’t serious enough to be around such almighty important people. And as his date, I won’t leave his side. When he wants to talk to Mr. Martinez, to kiss his ass like always, he’ll have to come over to me, look me in the eye, and know he fucked up. That I’m not just a good time, not just a space-filler—”

Cam: “I’m sorry, he called you what?”

I don’t have time to fill Cam in on the ugly words Richard shouted at me in the car. I’m on a roll.

Abbie: “I’m exactly what he needs, and he could have had it. Instead, he threw me away. Us away. And you know what? Fuck that. Fuck him. I don’t want him and his small dick, anyway.”

Damien: “Oh, trust me, we all know you stay late, Richard. And why.”

My eyes drift to Misty, the paralegal with whom he’s been having an affair for months.

Damien: “You do know there are cameras in the building we all have access to, yes?”

I say, and a few snickers come from the room. I narrow my eyes on him, noticing the overhead lighting catching on the specks of his clothing.

Damien: “And why do you have . . . Is that glitter?”

I ask, stepping forward and realizing a few specks are different colors, some pink and some blue.

Damien: “Was arts and crafts time too messy today? Maybe you should stick to the colored pencils.”

A few laughs erupt as Richard’s face goes red. I don’t like to call people out like this, to embarrass them in public this way, especially if they work for me. But as a lawyer, Richard should know that if you can’t handle it, don’t dish it out.

Damien: “Huh?”

Richard: “I uh . . .”

He looks around the room, and you can almost feel the waves of unease pouring off him. Embarrassment.

Richard: “An ex put glitter in my vents,”

he says under his breath. I stare at him, noting a small amount of glitter all over him—his hair, a few fine pieces stuck to his face, and in the seams of his black suit. It’s even in the laces of his shoes.

I bet it will take weeks to live a life that’s glitter free if his ex really put it in the vents. Now that’s the CCTV footage I’d love to see—Richard getting into his ugly ass car and cranking the heat to cut the November chill, only to be doused in glitter. Good for her.

Damien: “Huh. I bet you deserved it,”

I say, dismissing him, turning around, and walking.

Richard: “My grandfather—”

His face is turning red either from frustration or embarrassment.

I don’t care. I have much better things to worry about.

Damien: “Knows my thoughts. Your grandfather—my partner—knows we will not be moving forward with anything regarding your future at this firm without my approval. So you better change your attitude, stop disrespecting people in this office, and start winning some fucking cases. Stop fucking your paralegal and worry about your clients instead.”

I stare at him and can almost see him shrink before my eyes with embarrassment.


As he should.

Damien: “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. Make sure you stay late to make up the time you wasted arguing with me and eye fucking the interns.”

Abbie: “Isn’t that a perk for men? A woman who loses her inhibitions?”

I ask, raising an eyebrow and smiling. He laughs again, and, damn, he’s got an excellent laugh.

Damien: “Losing her inhibitions? Yeah, that’s a plus. But the women I date? They don’t need to drink for that to happen. It just . . . does.”

His smile is feline, sly.

Damien: “I don’t have time for fun,”

he replies, a self-deprecating smile on his face.

Damien: “Life of a lawyer means the fun gets pushed to the side.”

Abbie: “No time for fun? What do you call this, then?”

I say with a small smile, my Tyra Banks energy on full blast.

Damien: “This is a re-prioritization. A spur of the moment decision I’m really fucking happy I made,”

And then Damien turns back to me and crooks a finger.

I don’t think a single motion has ever been so sexy. There has never been a single motion that made my entire body go up in invisible flames.

This man—fourteen years my elder, boss of my ex, lawyer superstar—just crooked his finger at me and melted my damn panties off.

Damien: “There. That’ll do. Next time, you wear a jacket, yes?”

Next time.

Abbie: “Will there be a next time?”

He smiles.

Damien: “Things go my way, baby, there will be.”

And fuck, is she gorgeous. All hourglass curves wrapped in a tight pink dress, sky-high heels, and loose blond curls down her back. The office all jokes that I have a type, and to be honest, I do.

And Abigail Keller is my fucking type.

Damien: “God, you look so pretty, all laid out for me like my own feast,”

I say, running that finger up and down the line where I know she’s already soaking. My finger moves to the line between the fabric and her skin, running its way down where her thigh meets her pussy, confirming she is soaked.

Damien: “I can’t wait a second longer to see what you taste like.”

Abbie: “That’s not . . . Damien—”

Damien: “I’m going to eat this pussy, Abigail,”

Damien: “Has anyone ever licked you here?”

I ask, a finger running down the center of her, grabbing wet as it does. When I reach the top, I circle her swollen clit softly, and her entire body quakes, a small whimper leaving her lips.

Damien: “Answer me.”

She shakes her head.

Damien: “No one?”

I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

Damien: “It’s . . . Men don’t like that.”

I stop everything, staring at her to decide if she’s being serious. Her lip is between her teeth again, that self-assured veil falling down and revealing that insecure side I saw before.

Gotta work on that.

Damien: “Boys might not, baby. But men? Men love to make a woman scream their name while their head is between her legs.”

Damien: “A relationship is like the law. It needs balance. If it’s out of balance, if one person sees themselves as less valuable, if another sees themselves as more valuable, the balance isn’t there.”

His dark eyes are boring into mine with his words, and any words I could say are stuck in my chest.

Damien: “You are not less than me. I am not less than you. We are humans who do what we can to help people.”

Abbie: “Your funeral. If I kick you in the balls in my sleep and you can’t walk straight tomorrow, not my fault.”

Damien just smiles, pressing his lips to mine again, but not in that soft, sweet way.

Damien: “Yeah, well, let’s see if I can tire you out. Help you sleep well. Maybe we can make it so you’re the one who can’t walk straight tomorrow,”

Damien: “No man sends a woman home in a cab after a night like we had. He feeds her, caffeinates her, and walks her to her door. He lets her know he had a fucking amazing time, and he secures that he’ll get to see her next time.”

Damien: “Drop that look, rubia. I don’t date. I downloaded that stupid app on a whim and my dream girl dropped in my lap. You’ll go home wearing clothes you’ll swim in, but they’ll be mine, and you’ll be warm. Next time, you bring clothes.”

Damien: “But what if I want an excuse to see you?”

he asks, his voice now low and gravelly. God, this man has a good fucking voice.

Abbie: “Set the time and we can make it happen, Mister Martinez.”

My voice is lower now.

Abbie: “Calm the fuck down, Kat,”

I whisper under my breath at her, trying to play it cool.

Abbie: “He’s just a man. A man bringing in a client to get a makeover. That is all.”

Kat: “That is not a man, Abigail. That is a god,”

Damien: “Nice to meet you, Kat,”

he says and politely puts his hand out, which Kat shakes. But while she smiles at Damien, her head almost instantly turns to mine, smiling even bigger with wide eyes.

Abbie: “Jesus, Kat. He’s not blind. He can see you,”

Damien laughs.

Abbie: “He didn’t hit me,”

I say and pause, feeling weird. Sharon must notice, must understand, because she reassures me.

Sharon: “Just because it wasn’t flesh on flesh doesn’t mean it’s not painful,”

she says. I look at her, and her eyes are locked to me and watering. It’s like she knows without words. She smiles that tight smile you give people when you want to hold back emotions but also want them to know you understand.

Abbie: “He . . . wasn’t kind. I thought he was. And it took me until recently to realize I lost a big part of myself when I was with him. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.”

I look up to see Kat’s eyes on me, watering as well, and goddammit, this is not how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be a fun afternoon for a sweet woman before a shitty moment in court.

Abbie: “I got lucky. He ended things. But I think if he hadn’t, I could have been lost to the world forever. I’m coming back to myself now, slowly. But I think if I’d had someone like you? A mom who showed me how a strong woman acts? It would have been sooner.”

And while she is holding the phone up, a new photo of who I assume is Cami flipping off the camera and the words “Wish you were here, bitch” and “At least you’ll be getting the good dick tonight” pops up.

Damien: “Am I the good dick?”

I ask, smiling and leaning back in my seat.

Abbie: “What?”

she asks then moves the phone to look at it.

Abbie: “Oh, Jesus Christ. Fucking Cam. Ignore that. Please, for the love of god, ignore that.”

Damien: “What brings joy should never be embarrassing,”

Her face melts into a look I can’t quite understand for once. She waits for a beat, staring at me and moving closer until I can feel her body heat on me.

Abbie: “What brings you joy, Damien?”

Damien: “Right now? It’s standing right in front of me.”

Abbie: “Anything she liked, I liked times a million and made it my entire personality.”

My hand hits the pink pajamas, and I whip them out with a triumphant smile.

Abbie: “Hence pink,”

Damien: “Ah, got it. How about going for a former player in New York?”

he asks, and a chill runs down my spine. He moves, coming closer until I’m forced to stand straight, wrap my arms around his neck, and touch my nose to his. His breath plays along my lips.

Abbie: “Former player?”

I ask, the words barely audible, but he hears them. Of course he does. He’s Damien. I’m learning that when it comes to me, he’s always at full attention.

Damien: “Thinking of changing my ways. Settling down.”

His lips press to mine gently as my heart pounds in my chest.

Damien: “Why bother, you know? Found a fucking perfect one. Why mess with that?”

The man chuckles at me in my time of need.

Damien: “God, so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?”

he asks then moves until his hips line up with my lifted ones.

Damien: "So desperate for the only person who can give you relief.”

I moan miserably, trying to shift my hips to get him inside, to get friction, to get . . . anything.

Damien: “That’s what you get, Abigail,”

he says, his voice tense.

Damien: “I’ve spent every day for two weeks desperate for you. Dying for your body, needing to be inside of you.”

He notches the head and I moan.

Damien: “Needing this body.”

Abbie: “Damien, please—”

Damien: “This is what you get for turning me into a desperate man,”

he says then thrusts in, filling me to the hilt.

Damien: “This is what you get for consuming my thoughts.”

His hands move to my hips as he thrusts again, using the added leverage to somehow get deeper.

Damien: “When I saw you with those kids today, I thought for sure this was the end of us.”

The end of us.

The end of us.

His words ring in my mind because where was the beginning of us? The beginning of us started in ways I’m not proud of, and I don’t know how to dig myself out.

Abbie: “Why?”

Damien: “You love those kids.”

Abbie: “That’s not always enough,”

I say, a hint of irritation brewing.

Damien: “I know that. I agree. I just . . . It’s rare. A woman as kind and beautiful as you on the same page as me.”

Abbie: “Yeah, well, I’m one in a million,”

I say sarcastically, rolling away. His arm on my waist stops me, turning me to face him and brushing my hair from my face.

Damien: “You are, rubia. I see it every time I’m with you. I don’t need kids or anything else for that matter to be happy with you. It’s just you. You make me happy. I’ll do what it takes to prove it to you.”

Instead of getting out of the car, Damien puts a hand up, smoothing it over my exposed collarbone in the off the shoulder sweater I’m wearing and slowly moving it up to my neck. He stays there, resting, and I smile at him.

Abbie: “You like doing that, don’t you?”

Damien: “Hmm?”

Abbie: “My neck. You hold it a lot, even when we’re not . . . you know,”

I say and goddamn if I don’t blush. He smiles that wiseass, cocky man smile that makes me wish I knew him when he was younger and possibly cockier before answering.

Damien: “Yeah, I like that. Your heartbeat is there. Like the feel of it on my palm. I’ve never met anyone so alive, Abigail,”

Abbie: “Damien, I need to tell you something,”

Damien: “Is it that you’re not, in fact, single?”

he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Abbie:“No, but—”

Damien: “Is it that you’ve got kids hidden away somewhere?”

Abbie:“No, I—”

Damien: “Is it that you’re a serial killer or a gold digger or on the run?”

He’s smiling big now, and I can’t help but laugh.

Damien: “Then we’re all good. Not tonight. I want this. Me and you and easy. Tell me another night when I’m not full of home cooking and lying in bed with my dream woman, yeah?”

Damien: “You’ll be there with me, as my date.”

She doesn’t speak, but her little tongue comes out to wet her lips. My own tip up with a smile.

Damien: “Make all those old assholes jealous, having a gorgeous blonde on my arm,”

I say, and again, her body tightens, but there’s no breeze this time.

Abbie:"You just want me there because I’m a pretty, young, blonde thing?”

Damien: “Absolutely, “

I say with a smile.

Damien: “But also because I can’t think of a single thing that would make that night more enjoyable than to spend the night with the literal personification of sunshine and happiness.”

Abbie: “Yeah, Damien. That sounds perfect. But I’m paying for dinner,”

she says with that obnoxious but sweet layer of iron will in her voice.

Damien: “The fuck you are,”

I say with a laugh, pulling out and heading toward Long Island.

Damien: “I’ll see you in a bit, rubia.”

And then I hang up, ignoring all of her subsequent calls and texts, which start by telling me I better not pay for my own celebration dinner and end in her telling me to get garlic knots and cannoli.

So I brought wine and pizza and garlic knots and cannoli to my girl’s place and we celebrated in style.

It was the best win of my entire career.

Kat: “If he’s going to hate you, he’s going to hate you. But honestly, he seems like the type to understand.”

Abbie: “No one is understanding of being used, Katrina. Trust me.”

Kat: “He calls you naranja?”

she asks, her voice low and . . . concerned, and I stare at her, confused.

Abbie: “What?”

Kat: “Naranja. He calls you that?”

Abbie: “What are you talking about?”

I grab my phone from her hands, the grip loose, and look at the message from Damien.

I’ll be at your place at four. Is that good, naranja?

Abbie: “Oh. Yeah. We had this entire conversation about how I’m not a fall, and that orange is so not my color, but he still calls me it. I think he’s just making fun of me because, ya know, pink,”

I say, moving a hand down my outfit with a pink top, the requisite black pants, and a pair of pink heels. I look back at my best friend, and I can nearly see the Powerpuff Girls’ hearts in her eyes. Shit.

Kat: “He’s Latino.”

Abbie: “Yes,”

Kat: “Media naranja.

I blink at her.

Kat: “It means half an orange.”

I continue to blink at her then look back at my phone, assuming my friend has officially lost her mind.

Abbie: “Got it.”

I tap out a reply to Damien, confirming that time is good for me while side-eyeing Kat.

Kat: “It’s a saying,”

I stop and look at her, a strange feeling creeping over my skin like little needles of awareness.

Abbie: “Why do I feel like whatever you’re about to say is going to fuck with my head.”

Kat: “There’s a lot of reasons why it’s used. Some people think it’s because of Ancient Greek translations; others say it’s because no two oranges are identical.”

I keep staring at her, waiting for her to get to the point.

Kat: “But basically, in Spanish it means my other half. Or my better half. But most frequently, it’s used in place of something like soulmate.”

The world stops spinning. The low Christmas music playing over the loudspeaker quiets. The hustle and bustle of last-minute shoppers disappears.

Abbie: “I’m sorry, what?”

Kat: “He calls you naranja. It’s not because he thinks it’s funny that you like pink and hate the color orange, Abbie.”

More blinking.

Kat: “He’s calling you his soulmate when he says it.”

Damien: “What are the other two?”

Abbie: “What?”

Damien: “The other two things you lied about.”

Abbie: “Oh. Uh. I don’t like whiskey.”

He smiles, a big one this time, and shit, that hope sparks again.

Damien: “No shit.”

Abbie: “I knew who you were when you first popped up on that app. Richard hates you, by the way. Whines about you all the time.”

The edges of Damien’s lips tip up.

Abbie: “So you came on that damn app, and I said fuck it. I was drunk with Kat and Cam, but I distinctly remember saying, ‘I’m gonna fuck his boss.’”

Repeating those words makes Damien laugh, his head tipping back with a boom. I keep talking, a smile on my lips.

Abbie: “So we made a plan. Turns out, I already fit your type,”

I say and widen my eyes.

Abbie: “Short and blonde and curvy?”

He smiles too.

Abbie: “I just . . . I wanted to prove to him I could do better. He said he couldn’t stay with me because I didn’t fit the firm’s image. That I wasn’t serious enough. I wanted to prove to him that . . . I could.”

Damien: “This tells me everything I need to know. The way your pulse is panicked. The look in your eyes right now. The way you’re holding me, the way you ran. Though, naranja, you try running into traffic like that again, I’m spanking you when we get home.”

Damien: "I am falling head over heels for you, and even if you weren’t with me, I’d drag you along.”

My heart speeds, and Damien’s lips tip up.

Damien: “Yeah, baby. I feel that.”

Abbie: “Oh.”

Damien: “Yeah, oh. Now can I kiss you, and then can we grab our jackets and head back to my place so I can fuck you properly?”

Another skip of my heart, another tip of his lips.

Abbie: “Why don’t you have your coat?”

I ask, my brain finally working enough to ask.

Damien: “Baby, you were never leaving without me tonight. I needed air. I went for a walk. I was headed back when you found me.”

My mouth drops open, and his hand tightens just a hair at the look.

Damien: “You’re getting it. I told you I’m falling, and I’m taking you with me.”

With his words, all I can do is stare at him, letting a small smile play on my own lips.

Abbie: “You don’t have to drag me anywhere, Damien. I’m already there.”

Damien: “You consume me. I don’t know how you did it, but I have fallen madly, deeply, in love with you. Every moment of every day is consumed by thoughts of you, planning the future, dying to be with you.”

Abbie: “I think I like it up here,”

Damien: “Even when you’re on top, rubia, remember that I’m in control. Now fuck your man’s cock.”

Damien: “I lied before about what I want you wearing tonight.”

My brow comes together, confused.

Abbie: “Is the dress not—”

Damien: “The dress is spectacular. But tonight, when we’re home, I’m going to fuck you wearing that necklace, those shoes, and your ring.”

I look down at my hand on his chest, nails tipped in pink, brand new ring twinkling in the lights.

Abbie: “Deal,”

I say with a smile.


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