by Lexi Aurora
THE REAL THING
A Fake Boyfriend Secret Baby Romance
By: Lexi Aurora
© Copyright 2018 by Lexi Aurora- All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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
PREVIEW: The Big Billionaire by Lexi Aurora
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
PREVIEW: Wrong for Me by Lexi Aurora
Chapter 1: Tyler
Chapter 2: Ali
Chapter 3: Tyler
All Books by Lexi Aurora
The Real Thing
Chapter One
Felicity Reynolds
“Please. Oh, please, let there be another way.”
Felicity Reynolds had always been a fan of fairy tales. In fairy tales, the heroine of the story always faced her fair share of trials and tribulations. Most of the time she faced her fair share and then some more. The great thing about these stories was that, in the end, she always came out on top. The stories revolved around the reversal of fortunes and how the poor, down on her luck protagonist would end the story as a freaking princess. Felicity always loved these stories for the possibilities she felt they represented but now, whispering please to herself because there was nobody else to listen, she was beginning to have doubts. She glanced through the dirty, plate-glass windows of the pawn shop and shut her eyes tightly, clenching her worn out purse to her chest.
"Please," she whispered again, sending the desperate word out into the universe. If her life were a story, this would be the moment when somebody appeared to change the course of her life. Be it a plump fairy claiming to have known her from birth or some dashing, if not altogether bright guy, this would be the catalyst for everything getting better. Except that, at twenty-four, Felicity was forced to concede that fairy tales had nothing at all to do with the real world in which she lived. In this world, she was more likely to get mugged than rescued for standing on a dodgy street corner with her eyes shut. When she opened them, there was nothing there but the same filthy windows and a group of teenage boys, who should have been in school, laughing at her on the street corner.
“Yo! Princess!” one of them shouted laughingly, his buddies punching him in the shoulder and snickering, “You lost or something?”
“No, I’m exactly where I need to be,” she shot back. She knew it was best not to answer, to ignore them completely, but she just couldn’t help herself. Things were hard enough without these little punks messing with her. Couldn’t they see that her entire world was falling apart? Wasn’t it obvious on her face? People should have the decency to leave a girl alone under these circumstances, even if they were asshole teenage boys.
“Oh yeah?” the kid continued, utterly oblivious to the line of thought running through Felicity’s head, “Could have fooled me, sweetheart. You look like you belong in the loony bin. For sure!”
His friends' snickering upgraded to full out brays of laughter at that one, like what their fearless leader had just said was the funniest thing any of them had ever heard. She waited to see if they would upgrade from making fun to a physical confrontation, but a passing cop car put an end to any possible threat. A quick, mocking salute and the ridiculous gang was on its way, presumably to torment some other woman having one of the more terrible days of her life. She took one last look up and down the street, then glanced up at the cloudy sky. It was the kind of clouds that foretold a massive storm, the kind that could make a normally busy city look almost empty. Normally Felicity wasn't a fan of storms, but today she was glad for its coming. It felt right for the sky to look so sad on the day she was hitting a personal rock bottom. A bright, cheerful sun would only have been offensive.
“Lady, are you planning on going inside or what?”
"Sorry?" Felicity asked, startled. She turned towards the voice, half-expecting another heckler; instead, she saw a small, stooped over old man whose face was about an inch and a half away from hers. His face was so wrinkled that his features were hardly distinguishable, but she could see enough to understand his expression: consternation, all the way. Although older than sin, it was clear that he had his shit together far better than her on this dreary afternoon.
“I asked you if you were going inside or if you’re just going to stand here all day. Some of us have business to conduct,” he said gruffly, his voice full of gravel – likely too many years with too many cigarettes.
“Oh, right. Sorry, I guess I’m-”
“Blocking the door with your trance,” the man interrupted, “right you are. Mind moving? Some of us have business to attend to.”
Without waiting, the man shoved her aside, not that he could pull off much of a shove being as slight as he was. The little bell above the door rang as he opened it and Felicity took a deep breath, then held it. She followed after him, keeping her breath locked in her chest as she crossed the shop's threshold. It was the same thing she did when passing by a cemetery or anything that struck her as possibly being bad luck. Maybe if she didn't breathe, she wouldn't get hurt. Maybe if she could hold her breath for long enough, none of it would turn out to be real and she would wake up in her bed, the whole pawn shop business only an unsettling dream.
"Look around, touch the merchandise at your own risk. Break anything, and it's yours, whether you want it or not," the shopkeeper called out curtly. The old man waved him off with a "bah humbug" gesture, but Felicity froze for a moment, looking around her cautiously. The shop was crammed so full of dusty things, it seemed veritably impossible not to bump into something. And the last thing she needed was to violate the ‘you break it, you buy it’ policy. Just the thought of owing more money than she already did was enough to initiate some serious heart palpitations and all thoughts of continuing to hold her breath evaporated. She considered approaching the counter and just getting done with the whole mess, but she couldn't quite stand the thought of parting with her treasure just yet. Besides, there was a man already standing at the counter doing business, and she had no desire to go near. Even from across the shop, she could tell that his suit had to be worth at least a thousand dollars. He didn't look like the kind of man who had any business being in a pawn shop and whatever the reason for his standing there, she didn't want him anywhere close when she conducted her business. That was one level of humiliation she could do without, thank you very much. Instead, she circled the store and pretended to shop for things she was nowhere near able to afford.
"Look, mister, I don't know what you want from me," the shopkeeper said to the man at the counter, eyeing Felicity briefly and then rolling his eyes when the little old man left without making a purchase. Felicity listened, half expecting the well-tailored man to lose it, but he smiled and nodded at the man behind the counter
.
“I’m not asking for any infallible guarantee. That would be a ridiculous thing for me to expect. I’d just like you to take a look and give me your professional opinion.”
The guy understood how to talk to people, that much was certain. As Felicity watched from the corner of her eye, she saw the owner visibly relax, sinking into the pleasure of being complimented so handily. His chest puffed up and when he spoke next, his voice was lower, everything about his posture contributing to the image of him being a genuinely important guy.
"And you're wanting to know what, exactly?" he asked, his tone completely different than it had been only moments before. The man in the expensive suit smiled and leaned in some more, the two of them now peering intently at the source of this mysterious conversation. Felicity couldn't help it. She was dying to know what they were talking about, what they were looking at. Life had beaten her down some, especially as of late, but her innate nature was a curious one. The pieces of the conversation she was hearing were enough to trigger it, and she longed to get a good look at what the two were talking about. The way they were both hunched over the countertop, she knew it had to be something good. She moved closer, cautiously and listened closely. It was a welcome distraction from the reason for her own business there.
“I would just like your opinion as to the authenticity of the thing. Your honest opinion.”
“If I didn’t think it was real, I wouldn’t have it for sale in my shop,” the owner answered, some of his original defensiveness creeping back into his voice.
“Yes, of course,” the dapper man answered, his own voice starting to sound strained, “and I’m sure you understand that it’s a lot of money, what you’re asking.”
“Of course it’s a lot of money. The real thing costs money,” the owner insisted.
“Yes, it does. And I don’t wish to spend exorbitant amounts on something that might prove to be a fake.”
“Looks like you’re shit out of luck then, friend,” the owner answered, popping his gnarled knuckles reflexively.
“The risk of fraud is high. You admit this, yes?” the man asked slowly, with what sounded to Felicity like carefully constructed patience.
“That’s the way things go, son.”
“So then let me propose a deal,” the man on the patron’s side of the counter continued.
"Let's hear it," the shopkeeper said suspiciously.
“Let me take the necklace for tonight.”
“Are you out of your ever-loving-?” the owner started, sounding genuinely angry for the first time.
"For a hefty deposit," the rich looking man interjected, charming as ever. There was something about that voice that made it virtually impossible to ignore either him or his wishes. The owner wavered, opened his mouth to disagree, then sighed. His shoulders sagged, and to Felicity, it was clear that the guy was caving. He nodded, and the two men huddled closer together. Apparently, the details of the deposit and whatever the plan for the jewelry was afterward was only to be spoken of in whispers. When he turned to go though, the guy with expensive suit looked pleased and was already on the phone, and from the sound of it, looking for a last-minute date. The little bell over the door signaled his retreat, and when Felicity looked at the sales counter, she found the owner looking directly back in her direction.
“You come here to browse, lady? Because most people don’t come here to browse,” he said, any trace of the friendliness shown earlier now long gone.
“No,” she answered, clearing her throat and cringing when her voice broke on such a simple word, “not to browse. I’ve got something I would like to sell.”
“Well, bring it up here, then. No point in you standing there like a statue.”
Felicity nodded, walking towards the counter as if her feet were moving through setting tar. The Imperial Death March played loudly in her head, and everything inside of her screamed to turn around and dash out from this ugly little shop. Instead, she marched up to the counter and put both her hands on the glass top. When she saw the smudges her fingertips created she removed her hands quickly, her face flushing with embarrassment. It was stupid to worry about smudges in a place that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in at least a decade, but her mother had brought her up to be clean and tidy. Old habits, as it turned out, really did die hard, as did old concerns. It had been nine years since she had lived with her mother, but she could still hear her instructions as if she were whispering them in her ear here and now.
“Plan on showing me what you’ve got?” the owner asked with a rough sigh.
"Yes," she answered uncertainly, her hand balled up tight inside of the pocket of her threadbare coat, "I do. It's just hard."
"To show something for sale? You call that hard?" he scoffed. If he wanted to make her feel ridiculous, he was doing a pretty wonderful job. Shame on top of shame. At some point, it had to get to be enough that she wouldn't feel the sting of it anymore. What that point might be, however, she shuddered to consider.
"No, I guess it's not, all things considered," she said quietly, finally pulling her hand out of her pocket and placing her treasure gingerly on the countertop. Even in such a miserable place as this one, the ring shone like it belonged in a museum exhibit of fantastic precious gems. She almost shoved it back inside of her pocket, but she was smart enough to know better. If she put the ring away, she would never be able to make herself get it back out again. Instead, she set it down gently on the counter and tried not to cringe when the shop owner's eyes glossed over with immediate lust.
"Will you look at this little gem," he said in a solicitous voice. "Don't see pieces like this one every day. You didn't filch it, did you? I don't take stolen goods."
"What? No! I didn't steal anything. It's mine," she answered indignantly. His eyes narrowed, and she could tell that he was fighting with himself over whether or not to believe her. Felicity didn't love the suspicion, but she wasn't entirely surprised. Her grandmother's ring really was spectacular to look at. It was one of those art-deco masterpieces, the kind that simply wasn't made any longer. It had been meticulously cared for over the years, and Felicity couldn't imagine it being any more brilliant at its inception than it was sitting before her now.
"Tell me where you got it, then," the owner challenged, unwilling to let the theft idea go. He'd probably seen more than his fair share of that kind of thing working where he did. More than likely, the skepticism of the expensive suit man hadn't put him in a particularly charitable mood either.
“It was my grandmother’s. I inherited it when she died,” she answered softly, ashamed even to say the words. The man raised an eyebrow and her shame intensified.
“Your gran’s, huh? What do you wanna give it up for? Letting a family heirloom go like this. Don’t make no sense to me.”
"I wouldn't do it if I had a choice," she insisted, "but I don't. I work as many shifts as I can get at the restaurant where I work, and I still can't pay all the bills. My sister's not well, and it costs a lot to keep her in the place where she is. Plus, I'm trying to go to school, and that takes money too. Money and time, neither of which I have any."
It all came out in a rush like she had been waiting for eons to tell this particular story, and maybe she had been. She thought maybe she would feel better once the telling was done but what she felt was empty. Throughout the transaction, her grandmother's ring changing possession for a handful of filthy-feeling money, Felicity could hardly hear a thing. It didn't really matter anyway because this wasn't her life. This was somebody else's life, or maybe a dream, and when she woke up, there would be a different solution. A solution that didn't mean giving up one of the only things that still mattered to her. She managed to make it out of the shop and leaning against one of the crumbling brick walls, she started to cry.
Chapter Two
Liam North
"That's not good enough, do you hear me? There's got to be somebody," Liam said through gritted teeth into his phone. He wasn't in the habit of being an
asshole to Percy, his assistant, but on days like today, it was hard. Patience was a virtue and being virtuous was something nobody had ever used as one of his descriptors. Percy was a decent assistant, sometimes a very good one, but he could be sensitive to Liam's tone of voice. That was shit that Liam didn't have time for, especially not now. He needed to find somebody, and he needed to find her fast.
"I understand, sir, I absolutely do," Percy answered so quickly that it came out in one long, indistinguishable thing. Liam shut his eyes, flexed his jaw, took a deep breath. Take a deep breath, om; the yoga crap his sister was always trying to get him to join played in his head again and again, like it was daring him to really lose his shit.
"Great, good. Glad to hear we're on the same page. So, then you're going to find me someone, right?" Liam asked in his most patient voice.
“I want to, sir, but there’s just nobody available,” Percy answered cautiously.
“See, that’s where we have a problem. There has to be a female in this city who doesn’t have plans tonight,” Liam shot back.
"Sure, of course, but none of the women on your Rolodex. Unless you're suggesting, I go out and grab some random woman off the street, I-"
Percy was trying to make a point, and sarcasm was something Liam wouldn't normally tolerate. Percy knew it too, and by the time he got towards the end of his sentence, he was losing some of his indignant steam. Liam didn't deliver his standard dressing down though, not this time. This time, Liam was just as likely to give the poor guy a raise as anything else. Not for his brilliant problem-solving skills, because they weren't, but for triggering the idea he should have thought of while still inside the shop. Inside the shop, where the answer had been standing off to the side and waiting for him to go.
The woman trying to hide behind a display of old instruments that nobody in their right mind would ever buy, hadn’t been as inconspicuous as she would have probably liked. Truth be told, she was the opposite; completely conspicuous because she looked so totally out of place. Liam would have bet money that she had never been inside of a pawn shop before. She had the look of a corn-fed girl straight off the farm, if people still did that kind of thing. Her hair was tied in a thick blonde braid that fell halfway down her back and eyes peering out from underneath her thick bangs were wide and blue. Jesus, they displayed the kind of innocence and naivety men like him knew straight away. She could be taken advantage of too easily, and certainly men would want to take advantage of her, with the body she was sporting. She was on the thicker side, but her curves could send a man into cardiac arrest. Even with the high-necked, rather demure dress she was wearing, Liam couldn't help noticing the tits and ass on this one. The sweet, innocent air about her only made the sex pot figure more tantalizing. If he had been his younger self, say twenty-five instead of thirty-two, he would have forgotten all about his business and done his best to cheer her up.