by Cora York
Counterfeit Kisses © 2020 by Cora York All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Cora York
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cora York
Visit my website at www.corayork.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: April 2020
Quick Reads for Fast Lives
Counterfeit Kisses
Cora York
Tessa
After my ex drains my bank account and spreads vicious lies about my business, I need a big event to help salvage my ruined reputation. And I get just that chance when megastar Violet Hale announces her plans to marry in Ireland. My pitch about the fated love I share with my perfect fiancé wins over Violet and scores me the contract. It’s a shame Mr. Perfect is nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
But no one will ever discover my one little white lie...right?
Keegan
I despise liars and cheats.
When I discover Tessa Maken lied to win a contract that should have been mine, I force my way into her fabricated life and pose as her fated fiancé. When our counterfeit kisses turn real, and when my feelings begin to cloud my judgment, I have to choose between exposing Tessa as a fraud or trusting my traitorous heart…and her.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
One Year Later
About the Author
Dear Reader,
For the past few years, Counterfeit Kisses has languished in the depths of my laptop. I first began writing Tessa and Keegan’s story in 2013 and published a much different version than this one in 2016, but because I didn’t have confidence in my writing, I unpublished a short while later. I’ve spent the past few months reworking and rewriting Counterfeit Kisses. I had wondered if I should wait until Christmas to republish since it’s set during the holidays, but I was way too excited to wait. Plus, I think we could all do with some heartwarming and fuzzy romance just about now.
I hope Tessa and Keegan’s story makes you smile.
Cora
April 2020 xxx
Chapter One
Keegan
Christ. What a complete waste of time. My head pounded as if I’d spent all day throwing back double shots of cheap tequila. If only. I’d spent the last few hours scanning inane gossip blogs digging for information.
Movie star Violet Hale planned to marry pop brat Archer Parks somewhere in Ireland on Christmas Eve—only a week away. If all had gone to plan, Devlin Events would’ve won the contract. But things hadn’t gone to plan. Far from it. And I wanted to know why.
I rubbed my grit-filled eyes and glanced out of the office windows. Rays from the setting sun flickered behind Manhattan’s dimming skyline. The fiery view suited my mood.
How had my company lost one of the biggest celebrity contracts of the year, and how had Maken Memories, an insignificant Irish company, won it?
Nothing about how I’d lost the contract made sense. Per Google Tessa Maken, the owner of Maken Memories, had no offices or employees. No way could she pull off such a high-profile event.
Why had two international stars hired her to coordinate their wedding when she had no more than a few z-list events and small-town weddings to her name? It didn’t add up. One way or another, I’d find out how she’d succeeded where I’d failed.
All bids for the job were supposed to be anonymous. I’d only discovered I’d lost the contract when lowlife Shane Gorman had emailed saying we should chat about Tessa Maken winning the Hale-Parks wedding.
I grinned. Had the bastard’s nose healed since the last time we’d met?
If Shane said the sky was blue, I would check to make sure he wasn’t lying. But when a quick online search showed social media photos of him with his arm wrapped around a sexy brunette named Tessa, I decided I’d give him ten seconds.
For the twentieth time in five minutes, I checked my cell to make sure I hadn’t missed Shane’s call. I hadn’t. If my family knew I was in contact with the sleazy arsehole, they’d kick me into next week for not killing him.
Brody, my younger brother, wearing his usual construction site uniform of worn jeans and a torn red flannel shirt, strode into the office and dropped onto a chair on the opposite side of my pristine desk.
“Fancy a few beers at Lorcan’s?” Despite living in Brooklyn Heights for over fourteen years, Brody’s Northern Irish lilt was as strong as ever. It was as if he’d never left Derry’s narrow streets. “He’s expecting a few Christmas parties at the bar tonight. You know what that means?” Brody wiggled his eyebrows. “Drunk office workers looking for a hookup.”
“Can’t play wingman this evening. Too busy.” I minimized the gossip blogs cluttering my screen and put the monitor to sleep. Any other night, I’d have jumped at the chance to toss back a few beers at Lorcan’s. Our brother’s bar was always good for a laugh and for picking up women, but I wanted to figure out how I’d fucked up before doing anything, or anyone.
“What’s up, sad arse?” Brody asked. “It’s not like you to refuse a few pints.”
“Nothing.” I tapped my fingers against my phone. “I’m thinking.”
“Thinking? Don’t go giving yourself an aneurysm.”
“The Violet Hale wedding. I still don’t know how I lost the job.”
“Would you ever wise up and catch yourself on?” Brody leaned back in the leather chair and swung his steel-toed boots on top of my desk, sending dried flakes of mud crumbling onto the polished surface. “You’re not going to have to close the doors over one lost event.”
I reached over and shoved my brother’s feet off the desk. “I don’t understand how a Mickey Mouse company won the contract. Something about Tessa Maken doesn’t add up. I don’t trust her.”
“You don’t even know her. You can’t—” Brody raked his fingers through his dark crew cut. “She’s not Grace. Get over it.”
“I did. I have. A long time ago.” I eyed my brother, daring him to bring up Grace’s name again. Three years had passed, and while memories of our time together no longer sucker-punched my solar plexus, they still touched a nerve. “I have to find out how I lost the contract.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe this Maken woman is decent at her job?” Brody, not hiding his annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I doubt it.” I straightened the pens beside my ink blotter and blew out a breath. “There’s no way she can organize this wedding in a week. Even I’d find it tough, and I’m the best at what I do.”
“Chill, bro. Forget it and move on. Stop with the whole Magnum P.I. thing.”
I gripped a pen and clicked it repeatedly. “If I’d won the contract
, do you know how many high-profile events would’ve come my way? How many new clients and connections I’d have made? How much money?”
“There’ll be others. You’re not hurting for business. If you want my advice—”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad. You’re getting it. You’ve never organized a wedding before. Stick to corporate conferences. That’s where your bread-and-butter is, and it’s what you know. I can’t see you elbow deep in frilly dresses and cakes.”
“I’d have hired someone. It’s called delegation.”
Brody jumped to his feet and drummed his fingers against the edge of my desk. “Enough of this depressing crap. I’m off to the bar. If you decide to pull the stick out of your arse, stop by.”
“Say hello to Lorcan for me.” My cell rang. An international number flashed on the screen. Finally. I accepted the call, and said, “Be with you in a second.”
“Who’s that?” Brody nodded toward my phone.
“It’s personal.” I pressed mute. If my brother knew I was talking to the man who’d left our sister Erin at the altar and then wiped her bank account clean, we’d end up in a brawl.
Betraying my family this way was unforgivable, but I needed answers, and I’d get them any way I could. I swallowed back the guilt gnawing at my throat. Sometimes business won over family.
“Secrets?” Brody raised an eyebrow.
“If there’s anything you need to know, I’ll tell you.”
He shrugged and walked toward the door. “Stop obsessing.”
“I’m not obsessing. Just keeping an eye out for my business.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.” With a terse wave, Brody left the office.
I unmuted the call. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, it has.” Shane’s rough Southside Dublin accent hurt my ear so much I put the call on speaker. “How’s ya sista?”
My jaw clenched. If the piece of scum were in front of me, I’d break more than his nose. More like every bloody bone in his scrawny body. “You said you wanted to discuss Tessa Maken.”
He chuckled. “The lovely Ms. Maken is as devious as she is beautiful. Isn’t afraid to use her face, tits, or ass to get what she wants. One of the best swindlers I’ve come across.”
“Is that so?” Satisfaction rolled through me. Tessa had won the contract by being underhanded. I should have known.
“Compared to her, I’m an angel. She’s an extortionist. Knows every con in the book. Lies fall from her lips like crap from a cow with food poisoning.”
Feeling vindicated, I leaned back in my chair. “Why should I believe a word you say? You and the truth aren’t exactly friends.”
“After we hang up, check your inbox for a video of her pitch. Everything she says is bull. All researched and planned to build trust, confidence. She doesn’t have a fiancé. There’s no great love story.”
“Why not go to Violet and Archer yourself? The police?”
“The police? No way, man. Honor among thieves and all that. Besides, need to lay low for a few months. Biding my time is what I’m doing.” He gave a bitter sounding laugh. “She’s not as smart as she thinks she is. I can still get into her emails. When I read them and saw your name, thought you’d appreciate knowing she’d pulled one over on you.”
Irritation swished around my stomach. “All prospective vendors were anonymous. Why was my name in her emails?”
“Not as anonymous as you thought.” Shane laughed slowly as if loving every second of knowing something I didn’t. “I already told you, she’s good at what she does. She has a way of getting every piece of information she needs.”
“How does she think she’s going to get away with conning two international stars?”
“Hidden cameras in their bedroom and bathroom. Moles planted as wait staff. I’ve never met anyone like her in my life.”
I had. I knew her kind intimately. Money meant more to her than morals, and she’d do anything she could to get her hands on it. She saw people as stepping-stones, as things she could throw away once they’d fulfilled their use.
“What’s in this for you?” I woke up the computer screen and clicked my inbox.
“Think of this as an apology of sorts.”
I resisted the urge to snort. Shane wouldn’t know an apology if it pulled down his trousers and kicked him in the balls. “Save the bullshit, Gorman. What do you want?”
“All in good time. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up without another word.
Owing a favor to Shane was worse than owing a favor to the Russian mafia, but it might be worth it. A few seconds later, an email with a video attachment appeared. I pressed play and leaned back to watch.
Tessa’s face filled the screen. Wavy caramel hair streamed over her shoulders, and even in the pixelated excuse for a video, her aquamarine eyes shone with promised sensuality. Confidence oozed from her pores, and when she smiled, it was as if she was smiling directly at me. Everything about her was stunning. Hell, even a blind eunuch would look at her and fall to his knees in adoration.
Seduction was all part of her skill, all part of the con. She used it to deceive unsuspecting people.
If she was this beautiful on camera, what would she look like in real life? The picture panned out. A tailored black suit gave her a professional appearance, and the skyscraper heels on her do-me boots were so high her backside wiggled when she walked. A lock of hair fell into her eyes, and when she brushed it from her face, a ring with a diamond the size of a grape glinted in the sunshine.
She jabbered on and on about romance and all that shite. How hers and her fiancé’s love was fated. How the age-old surroundings of Oak Castle would be the perfect backdrop for Violet and Archer’s wedding.
Oak Castle? I sat up. Oak Castle was in County Donegal. About an hour’s drive from my parents’ house.
The castle gates had closed thirteen years ago, and the last time I drove past, the place looked as if it was on the verge of crumbling to dust.
If she could get the old chef who owned the place to open the doors, she was better than good. She was a mastermind.
I closed the video. More emails from Shane sat in my inbox. I clicked through them. Most were from pissed-off brides all accusing Tessa of stealing their money and ruining their big day. Some were from caterers demanding cash and threatening legal action. Tessa Maken was the worst kind of woman alive—breathtakingly beautiful and completely untrustworthy. Whatever her plan was, she wouldn’t get away with it.
I booked myself on the next red-eye to Dublin.
Chapter Two
Tessa
I sat in my rusted hatchback and rubbed smears of mud from my boots with a baby wipe. Making the right impression was hugely important because I was about to meet Barb Crawford, Violet Hale’s public relations manager.
Nerves danced in my stomach, but I’d done it. I’d won the job, and now all I had to do was make sure no one discovered my little white lie. If they did, I was screwed.
Violet had fallen in love with my pitch. Who wouldn’t? It epitomized head-over-heels dreamy love. And it was a great romantic story. Such a shame a story was all it would ever be.
Violet wanted to meet my fated fiancé, but I’d explained he was overseas on business and wouldn’t get home until New Year’s Eve. By then, Violet and Archer would have already ridden into the sunset, and I would be swimming in clients and contracts, all thoughts of my mysterious fiancé long forgotten.
Christmas Eve was in six days, and getting everything organized meant living on caffeine and anxiety. Not that I cared. Working twenty hours every day until Violet and Archer were married would be worth the exhaustion.
If an over-the-top mythical wedding was what Violet wanted, then she’d get it. All I had to do was continue plastering over the ever-widening cracks in my life for a few more days.
No one needed to know my world teetered on the verge of collapse. When this year was over, I’d build a fortress no one could knockdown. But before I
could move on with my life, this job had to succeed. Lawyers and the bank demanded money, my stomach grumbled for more than Ramen noodles, and the slumlord who’d sublet me an apartment threatened to change the locks if I didn’t pay the back rent I owed before the new year.
If I hadn’t won Violet and Archer’s wedding, I’d have had to file for bankruptcy and say goodbye to Ireland, which meant going back to Long Island and admitting to everyone Shane Gorman—aka Mr. Perfect—had deceived and defrauded me.
Facing that kind of humiliation wasn’t on top of my to-do list. Neither was failing. If it took the rest of my life, I’d pay back every single penny to every single person whose dreams my blind stupidity had ruined.
I hit my clenched fists off my thighs. Why for the love of God hadn’t I changed the bank account information when I’d cut Shane out of my life? Business 101: don’t give your con artist ex access to the company bank accounts and remember to change your passwords.
For the past few weeks, I’d changed my passwords every day, but I was sure he was still finding a way to hack his way in because some emails were always marked as read when I logged on.
How could I have been so gullible, so idiotic? Simple. His movie-star looks and silver tongue had hypnotized me. For eight months, his Oscar-worthy performance had fooled everyone in my life. By the time his mask had slipped and shown his true face, it was too late. All my profits and savings were gone along with him. For as long as I lived, I’d never trust another man, especially a good looking Irish one.
No one had a clue what rock Shane had hidden himself under. The police were investigating, but even they said there was little hope of finding an experienced grifter like him.
I could’ve fled Ireland and left everyone in the lurch, but I loved my ancestral home too much. The legends. The history. The people. No matter what happened, I’d fight to the death before I left the life I’d built, or the life I’d rebuild after I paid off all my debts.