Fake Marriage Box Set (A Single Dad Romance)

by Claire Adams

  “Do you have to go to the office today?” Lexi asked as we climbed into the car.

  I looked over at her in surprise. It wasn't often that she suggested I play hooky. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  “I'm just a little weepy still,” she admitted. “I don't mean to make you stay home just because I'm upset.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “But let's do something better than staying home. It's our first day without Emma for the school year; we should have some fun with it. What do you want to do?”

  “We could go shopping for baby supplies,” Lexi suggested. “We still need a good stroller.”

  “That we do,” I agreed. “Let's go. Then, we can have an early lunch someplace downtown, and when we're done with that, maybe we can go home and have a nice cuddle on the couch and watch a movie before it's time to pick Emma up from school.”

  “We don't need to pick her up today; Carly's mother will get her, and then we'll get the kids tomorrow,” Lexi reminded me.

  “Of course,” I said, nodding. “All the more reason to have a nice cuddle session on the couch. We'll have nothing to worry about for the rest of the day.”

  “That does sound nice,” Lexi agreed.

  “I'll even give you a nice foot massage,” I promised.

  “How did I get so lucky?” Lexi sighed, grinning over at me. She stared out the window as we drove along, and I knew she was looking at every little baby out there, wondering if maybe that kid was going to grow up to be friends with our new baby. I was thinking the same thing.

  “Which do you want it to be?” I finally asked. “A boy or a girl?”

  Lexi frowned. “I'll be happy with either, of course,” she said.

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  “I kind of hope that it's a girl. Having two little girls would be so cute. Emma would be great with a little sister. They could share clothes and do each other's hair and nails. I mean, there might be too big of an age gap between them at this point.”

  “Are you saying that we should have had a second kid years ago?” I teased.

  Lexi laughed. “Maybe,” she said. “Just think, though. When Emma's graduating high school, this little one is going to be a pre-teen still!”

  “I'm still stuck on the thought of Emma graduating high school!” I said, shaking my head. “Katherine and I are four years apart, and that worked out fine for us.”

  “But you and Katherine were different,” Lexi said. “You had something to unite against. There was a reason for you to love one another. But Emma's so good at making friends, she doesn't really need a younger sibling. Not the way that you did.”

  “True,” I agreed, frowning. “I think they'll be friends.” I paused. “Don't you like the idea of her having a little brother, though?”

  “He'd have to grow up pretty competitive to keep up with her,” Lexi said, laughing. “I like that idea, though. A matching set, one boy and one girl. Of course, we'll mess it up if we ever do have another kid, but I guess then we hope for another boy and another girl.”

  I snorted. “Is that the way it works?”

  “Plus, if we had a boy, you could teach him football and how to fix cars and computers and whatever else it is that boys are supposed to do.”

  “Emma and I already toss around the football, although she prefers to play Frisbee with Spot,” I pointed out, rolling my eyes. “And I don't know the first thing about fixing a car or fixing a computer, so I guess the kids, boys or girls, are shit out of luck there.”

  Lexi laughed. “Shit out of luck, only they have a billionaire for their father,” she said.

  “True,” I said, smiling. I frowned, cocking my head to the side. “I'm a little nervous about having a boy,” I finally admitted. It was something that had been in the back of my mind since we'd started wondering about the gender of the new baby.

  All right, it was something that had been in the back of my mind since Lexi told me she was pregnant, if not before that.

  “I didn't have the best relationship with my father,” I told her, slowly tapping my fingers against the edge of the steering wheel. “And I can't help but worry, what if we have a son and I do the exact same thing to him?”

  Lexi was silent for a moment. “Emma is fiendishly smart,” she finally said. “And I know that you aren't the playboy that you once were. You'd be perfectly happy letting Emma take over Orinoco, wouldn't you be?”

  “Of course,” I said. “If that's what she was interested in. She'd be brilliant in business. I can already tell. The way that she makes friends, the way that her mind works. She's definitely going to grow up and be someone.”

  “And have you tried to pressure her one way or the other?” Lexi asked.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Can you imagine trying to pressure Emma to do something that she didn't want to do?” I asked. “People talk about herding cats. That would be like herding cats to go out into the rain or something. It would be futile.”

  “Exactly,” Lexi said. When I gave her a confused look, she elaborated. “You know that Emma would be the perfect child to mold into your image and to prepare to take over the company. And she's your firstborn. You could be doing to her exactly what your father did to you. But you don't. I have no reason to believe that you're going to push our second child to do anything that he or she doesn't want to do either.”

  I frowned at her. “You may be right,” I said slowly.

  “Anyway, if you do start to put too much pressure on the baby, at least Emma will be there to be friends with the kid,” Lexi finished. “Just like you had Katherine.” She paused. “Remember, my own relationship with my father wasn't very great either. But I don't think you're that kind of guy. From everything that I've seen with you and Emma over the years, you're a perfect dad. A little forgetful sometimes, maybe, and I'll never let you dress our kids again if I have my way, but you're a great dad. I don't think that you have to worry.”

  I smiled over at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I told her.

  “I love you,” Lexi said quietly, and I could see the tears threatening again. “I never thought that I could be so lucky.”

  “I'm the lucky one here,” I told her. “I have a beautiful wife, a beautiful daughter, and another beautiful child on the way. I'm not working as much as I used to, and my company is still pulling record profits every quarter. I'm a much better person now than I was when you first came into my life, and I know that that's all your doing. And isn't that exactly what a person is supposed to strive for in a relationship, to be their best self?”

  Lexi gave me a watery smile, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. “These are tears of joy, in case you were worried,” she joked.

  “Come here, you,” I said, hugging her sideways as we pulled into a parking space. I kissed her hair. “I'm going to love you forever, in case you were worried.”

  “Good,” Lexi said quietly.

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  BEAUTY AND THE BILLIONAIRE

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Chapter One

  Corsica

  I gritted my teeth and headed up the steep incline of the next block. If this place is any farther, I'll be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought.

  North Beach hummed with diners on sidewalk patios, the buzz of neon signs, and lines of people waiting behind velvet ropes. The towering skyline of San Francisco blocked out the wide bay, but I could still feel the chill of the water. Wisps of fog clung to the taller build
ings. Summer always brought cool ocean breezes and banks of fog to the city, and this June was no exception.

  "Why did you make me wear these heels?" I whined to my friend.

  Above me on the steep sidewalk, Ginny was almost even with my height. "Because they make your legs look great," she said over her shoulder.

  I inhaled the chill night breeze and smiled. My feet were killing me, but I felt loose and free for the first time in years. My little black dress clung to me like a secret power. I dressed up like that to feel that way.

  "Love that smile." A mountainous man stepped in front of us. He was at least a foot taller than my 5'6" frame and muscled like a Mack truck. His dark eyes glittered with male appreciation as he held open a velvet rope.

  "Thanks." Ginny blew him a kiss as she dragged me into the swanky nightclub.

  He winked at me, and my stomach skittered with excitement. Still, I grabbed Ginny's arm and stopped her in the narrow hallway by the coat check. "What are you doing? We can't afford this place."

  "Who says we have to afford anything?" Ginny fluffed her short-cropped, dark curls. "You're on fire, and gentlemen still like buying hot women drinks. And just wait until they hear you sing."

  "Oh, no, wait." My fingers lost strength, and I let go of my friend's arm. "We're just here to dance and have fun. In fact, I don't know how you talked me into this in the first place. I have 101 things I need to be doing. Did you see my list of applications I need to complete and send?"

  "Corsica, we just graduated. You're allowed to celebrate," Ginny sighed.

  I crossed my arms. "Graduating is not about celebrating; it's about the next steps," I said. "A bachelor's in hospitality is not going to get me a job or a place in an MBA program."

  "You can study hospitality at the bar." Ginny looped both her arms through the crook of my elbow and dragged me into the dance club. "And then you're going to sing in the karaoke lounge. I know you secretly wish you'd studied music performance. You should have. Now, enjoy yourself for once. Take a night off. Just one night."

  "You want me to take the whole summer off," I grumbled.

  Ginny slipped into the crowd and skipped down the stairs to the dance floor. I hesitated on the top step, and suddenly, he was in front of me. Even in the dark, pulsing light of the nightclub, I could see gold flecks spark in his eyes. Shocked by the burning response I felt, I dropped my eyes to his lips. He frowned at me, and I knew what he saw.

  I was just some ditzy, blonde rich girl. As if I could help the color of my hair. And I was proud of the haute couture dress I'd found secondhand at a garage sale. I took pride in how I looked. He, on the other hand, had the careless look that normally repulsed me.

  Despite the generous line of those frowning lips, his square jaw was hidden by a thick beard. The arm flexed on the banister was tattooed with an intricate web of interconnected designs covering almost every inch of skin. I even saw the point of a tattoo reaching up past the neckline of his worn T-shirt. He brushed back his dark, wavy hair and swept a gaze over me.

  The heat I felt melted my insides, and my brain kicked into panic mode. How could I be so attracted to this man?

  His dark-brown eyes clashed with mine again, and the flare of anger made me step back. It disappeared as he stepped forward, a rueful smile on his wide lips. "You are goddamn gorgeous," he said.

  "And that's a bad thing?" I flipped my hair and then cringed inside. Misfiring nerves fried my system, and I defaulted to aloof.

  He chuckled and brushed back the few strands of hair that I missed. His coarse fingers skimmed my bare shoulder, and a fissure of electricity lit up my whole body. "It is for me. Let me guess, I'm not your type."

  "I don't have a type."

  "Yeah, sure, princess. Look, your friend snagged a couple of financial district boys. Better go have a few free drinks." He took the last two steps in one stride and stopped an inch in front of me. "Maybe I'll see you around."

  "I'm from Santa Cruz." It was important to put that distance between us. I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes, but my body refused to step back from him.

  "Of course you are. Dammit." He shook his head and twirled one of my golden curls around his finger. "I'm there a lot for work."

  "You work?"

  The words were a defense mechanism. I didn't trust myself around him. His rock hard chest was only inches from my lips. If I was snobbish and horrible, he would back off and I could get myself back under control. At least, I hoped. I had never felt this knocked out of orbit before.

  "Relax, princess. I was just walking by." He stepped around me and slowly let my hair slip through his fingers. Then, he shook his head again and disappeared into the nightclub crowd.

  I reached Ginny and took a long sip of the martini her new friend in the gray suit handed me. She made the introductions, and I smiled at the businessmen, but my eyes kept dragging to the man I'd met as if he were a magnet. I watched him shake hands with a waiter, then slip past a velvet rope and up a curving staircase.

  He was the opposite of every man I had ever found attractive. Ginny often joked that my fantasies were cut from a J. Crew catalog. I liked clean-cut, clean-shaven men whose wardrobes were exclusively business casual or tailored suits. No jeans, no worn T-shirts—no matter how the soft fabric clung to his chiseled shoulders.

  Tousled hair, thick beards, and tattoos did not mesh with the vision I had of my future.

  Just one night off, I thought as I glanced at him again. What if, for one night, I was someone completely different?

  "Come on; I want to sing."

  Ginny bounced with excitement and grabbed my hand. We waved goodbye to the businessmen as she dragged me across the corner of the crowded dance floor to the arched doorway on the other side of the club.

  "Wait, who was that guy you were talking to?" Ginny stopped with one hand on the doors.

  "What? Nobody."

  She fixed narrowed eyes on my face. "It didn't look like nobody. He looked like a whole lot more than that."

  I smoothed my long hair. "He wasn't my type."

  She tipped her head and grinned. "I think looks can be deceiving. I mean, you look like a million dollars."

  "Very funny," I said. "One of these days, I'll have a million dollars."

  "At the expense of fun." Ginny shoved open the padded doors. "I'm just glad he inspired you to sing."

  She skipped ahead before I could correct her. Through the padded doors was another set of glass doors, but the bouncer had it open as soon as he saw us.

  The karaoke lounge was a world apart from the nightclub. The round tables ringed a raised, black stage backed by black, velvet curtains. A piano player lounged on his bench and waited for singers brave enough to opt away from the karaoke machine.

  Three chandeliers lit the stage, and a wrought iron railing separated a second level. Black, leather booths and larger tables ringed the balcony where waiters darted back and forth.

  "What's up there?" I asked.

  The bouncer glanced up at the balcony. "VIP lounge. Access is at the staircase in the dance club."

  VIP lounge. Is that where he'd gone? He didn't look like the VIP type. My stomach tightened. I wasn't the VIP type either, but one day, I'd be different. I wouldn't be the Midwest girl that ran away from my namesake hometown of Corsica, South Dakota. I would be rich, recognized, and standing at that railing with an ever-full glass of champagne.

  Then, I caught sight of the vintage microphone on the small stage. I knew I'd get to the VIP lounge if I stuck to my practical plan, but there was always a wild twinge of hope when I thought about singing. It was silly. I'd never make a living as a singer. Yet that was exactly what my heart wished for every time I was near a microphone or a stage.

  I stopped and shook my head at Ginny. Why get my hopes up?

  She planted her fists on her slim hips. "Oh, no. You're not backing out this time. I graduated, too, and this is my celebration, and I want you to sing!"

  Ginny sat me down at a small,
round table and went to talk with the piano player. After a few minutes of negotiations, he looked up and grinned at me. Ginny sauntered back to the table looking very pleased with herself.

  "I'm not ready," I said.

  "You have a few minutes." She sat back and clapped as the next singer climbed the stage and waited for the karaoke machine to kick in.

  "If you picked some pop tune, I'm not going up there."

  She waved my anxiety away and smiled at the tall waiter that appeared next to our table. "With compliments from the VIP lounge," he said.

  "See?" Ginny asked, raising her fresh martini in a toast. "Someone else wants you to sing, too. Here's to liquid courage."

  My throat was so dry, I was sure I'd choke on the drink. Plus, there was no way I could lift the thin-stemmed, wide-mouthed glass without sloshing alcohol all over myself. I laced my fingers together in my lap and tried to breathe.

  No one knows you here, Corsica. Just let yourself go. It's just one song.

  The reedy-voiced singer finished as the small crowd clapped wildly. I watched the piano player stretch his fingers and dance them over the keys in a quick warm-up. The key was familiar, and I knew the song before the host announced it.

  "One of your best," Ginny winked.

  She'd chosen an old lounge singer's tune about what the stars look like when you are in love. I knew it well and was on stage with one hand curled around the microphone before my mind could protest anymore.

  Then it happened: the wave of joy that washed away all my fears and worries. I gave the piano player a sultry smile, and he jumped in to the bouncy syncopation of the first bars.

  My voice sailed over the top, smoothing out the strong beats and tinkling flourishes of the piano. The crowd was all shocked smiles. I swayed my hips and emphasized the lyrics with flutters of my free hand. People began to nod and cheer.

  Then, I saw him.

  He was leaning over the wrought iron railing with the hint of a smile curving his beard and mustache. Despite his shaggy hair and the distraction of his tattoos, I was suddenly singing to him alone. The lyrics, my voice, reached out to those dark, eyes sparkling above me like I was wishing on a pair of stars. I couldn't help it; my stage presence had taken over and it felt great.