Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The most eligible bachelor in New York City just asked me to be his fake fiancé.
Gavin King is six and a half feet of delectable billionaire with a devil’s smile that says he knows exactly what he’s going to do to me later. Because he has.
Three years ago, I caught him in the shower and promptly fell into his bed. But neither of us were relationship material. Not to mention I’d just broken up with his best friend.
Now, I’m back in the city and he has a plan:
Go to his cousin’s wedding.
Convince his family that he’s not an eternal bachelor.
Post a huge elaborate break up later.
With those big puppy dog eyes begging me to agree, claiming I’m the only one who can pull it off, I say yes. What could go wrong? Other than pulling it off so successfully that the line between real and fake blurs.
When my family flips the whole script, I can’t see a way out. And I’m starting to wonder if I even want one.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PART I
THE GIRL WITH THE LAVENDER HAIR
1
WHITLEY
I negotiated lavender hair into my contract.
Well, not just lavender. All the colors of the rainbow. I’d gotten used to wearing my hair however I wanted in California. I intended to continue to do so now that I was coming back to New York City.
If I was honest, I might have been looking for a way to get out of the contract. Something that would make my boss roll his eyes and tell me I’d gone too far. This hadn’t been the reason. Even if he hated agreeing to it. I was one of the best practicing plastic surgeons in the country. He was paying me a small fortune to move back to the city after I made an even bigger name for myself in LA.
But I’d left New York for a damn good reason.
And I had to face that reason tonight.
I was swabbing more mascara onto my already-long lashes when my phone rang on the bathroom counter. I pressed the video button, and my best friend, Anna English, appeared on the screen.
“Where the hell are you?” English asked.
She looked frantic, and my friend never looked frantic. She was a celebrity publicist and could handle drugged-out rockstars like it was her job, which admittedly it was. It was another thing to have to manage her future mother-in-law.
“Leaving now.”
“Oh my god, are you still at the hotel?”
I grabbed my overflowing Chanel bag and headed toward the exit. “I’m like three blocks away from The Plaza.”
“You’re still living on California time,” English grumbled. “In New York, three blocks will make you late.”
“You’re actually from California, girlfriend.” I snatched up a fuzzy white fur coat and exited my suite to the elevator. “Take a Xanax or something. I can handle monster-in-law when I get there.”
“Wait, what the fuck is that in your hand?”
“A coat?” I deadpanned.
English huffed, but I saw a smile creep out. “I told you to wear something sensible.”
“Oh, I heard you. Loud and clear.”
“You’re going to show up in something outrageous, aren’t you?”
“No one will be worried about you when I walk in looking like a train wreck, now will they?”
English laughed this time. It was a beautiful sound. “Fuck, I missed you. You’re going to be the best worst maid of honor there ever was.”
“At your service,” I said, stepping onto the elevator. I blew her a kiss. “See you in ten.”
“Fine. Hurry. I love you.”
I hung up and dropped the phone into my bag. Then, I slid the over-the-top fur coat on top of the slinky silver dress that I’d worn clubbing with my ex-girlfriend back in LA. She’d said it was the sluttiest thing in my closet, but I really thought that was underselling it. I’d paired it with strappy silver high heels that one of my clients had gifted to me as a thank-you for a nose job well done.
As I exited the elevator, I slipped on a pair of shiny aviators and sauntered through the overly bright lobby of Percy Tower.
A group of businessmen was laughing outside of the restaurant off to my left. Every single one of them turned to gape at me. A smile hit my lips. I still had it. Three years in California had made my pale skin a perfect sun-kissed tan. I’d had a personal trainer since I abjectly refused to work out unless someone forced me, and my body was toned in all the best ways. I liked a little appreciation from the peanut gallery to prove it had all been worth it.
Then, my smile slipped as I recognized one of the men.
In fact, the very man I’d been hoping to avoid for as long as possible.
Gavin King.
His look of interest turned to shock when he realized that the girl in the fur coat and lavender hair was me.
It had been three years since I’d laid eyes on Gavin King. Memory did not do him justice. His suit was black as night and tailored to his powerful build. He was somewhere in the six-and-a-half-feet range with burnished red-brown hair, styled with gel to stay out of those emerald-green eyes. He held himself like the wealthy Upper East Sider he was. Old oil money, mixed with a Harvard education, made him practically drip with arrogance.
But when our eyes met, I saw, underneath the charismatic playboy, he was haunted at the sight of me. I’d cracked the veneer of his mask, and he wasn’t fast enough to get it together.
I wanted to scurry away. To pack up my shit and leave, like I had three years ago when things got too complicated. But I was back. I was back, which meant I was going to have to face Gavin one way or another. I’d just wanted to do it on my terms.
Oh well.
When life gave you lemons, add a little vodka and soda.