Bad Boy Billionaire Actor

Bad Boy Billionaire Actor Blakely Rose Copyright © [Year of First Publication] by [Author or Pen Name] All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Epilogue Chapter 1 IzzyThe loudspeaker on the plane cracked with static for a solid forty seconds before the pilot even spoke. I looked at Rose, my two-year-old daughter, sleeping beside me and hoped she wouldn’t wake up. “Folks,” the pilot eventually said to the overly packed plane, “we’re about to begin our descent into Nashville, the home of country music, where the local time is approximately 6:40 PM. I will have us all on the ground in about ten, fifteen minutes.”The static stopped, the pilot’s voice disappeared, and just like that, I was almost back home again. I couldn’t believe my luck—well until that moment was a string of bad luck—but Rose slept almost the whole plane ride.A sense of relief washed over me. I didn’t relish having to start over at thirty year old, but damn it felt good to be home. Living in Canada for the past two years, there were so many things I missed about Nashville. I missed the music, I missed the fast-paced lifestyle, I missed the fashion, but most of all I missed the cowboys. Or at least I missed men wearing cowboy hats.I shook that thought away. I didn’t need to be thinking about men at all.What I wasn’t looking forward to was having to move my daughter into my baby sister’s house. Tori was amazing and selfless in agreeing without hesitation to let us move in with her, but I was the older sister. I should’ve been the one she could count on and not the other way around. She offered Rose and me a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on while I attempted to get back on my feet. I, Izzy Callum, was an educated, intelligent, and caring woman—not to mention a great mom—and already divorced. The divorce wasn’t my fault. My ex-husband being a total asshat wasn’t my fault either and the fact that he cleared out our joint bank account, the account I contributed to as much as he did, most definitely wasn’t my fault.The plane lurched and dropped, hitting a rough patch of turbulence. Rose started to stir, yawning and stretching in her seat. She was a much better flyer than I was and I didn’t know how that happened. Sure, we’d made the four and a half hour flight from Calgary, Canada to Nashville a couple of times in her little life, but Rose was like an old pro.There was a commotion toward the back of the plane but I didn’t give it much thought. Rose and I were seated at the front and I assumed people were getting antsy to deplane toward the back. It happened all the time and always made me laugh. It’s not like we can go anywhere, might as well wait and relax people.“Is there a doctor on board!?” a flight attendant called out. Her voice was calm and collected.Shit, I thought to myself. I shot up from my seat and headed toward the back of the plane, looking back every few steps to make sure Rose was still in her seat. Not that she could go very far anyway. “I’m a doctor!” I hollered back raising my hand.“This way,” the flight attendant said, motioning me forward.An older man was lying on the floor in front of the bathrooms with a woman passenger and a male flight attendant hovering over him.“What happened?” Quickly, I switched into doctor mode and assessed my patient.“We were just sitting in our seats and my husband said he didn’t feel well. The next thing I knew he grabbed at his chest, said he couldn’t breathe, and passed out. Oh please!” she sobbed. “Please, you have to help him!”I assessed that he was in his mid-sixties, unconscious, and there were no signs of an external threat. Cardiac arrest was the obvious diagnosis.“You. Call 9-1-1,” I said as I pointed to one of the flight attendants. Then I realized where I was. “Or whatever emergency services you can to meet us when we land.”“Yes.” She nodded. “On it.”“You,”—I pointed to the other attendant—“go get me the AED.”“Right away,” he answered before running off.I had to start CPR immediately if there was any hope of saving this man. I positioned my shoulders above my hands, placed the heel of my palm on the patient's breastbone at the center of his chest, my other hand on top of my firsthand, and interlocked my fingers.“Shouldn't we see if there’s another doctor on board?” another man standing near us asked. “A real one I mean?”I ignored him as I pumped the man’s chest using all my body weight. When I was in life-saving-mode little else mattered to me. I hardly took in the features of anyone else around me and I certainly wasn’t going to take the time to school some sexist asshole. “I called emergency services,” the first flight attendant said. “They’ll be waiting for us at the gate, they assured me.”“Ask the plane for another doctor,” the onlooking man repeated again.“But, this woman is a doctor,” she answered, obviously confused.“Yeah,” he went on, “but she’s probably a lady doctor who deals with lady issues. We need a man doctor.”I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon and I’m going to save this