Fake It

by Jennifer Chance

  Fake It is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Chance

  Excerpt from Want It by Jennifer Chance copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Chance All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-553-39228-9

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Want It by Jennifer Chance. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Cover design: Caroline Teagle

  Cover photograph: Claudio Marinesco

  www.readloveswept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Want It

  Chapter 1

  He had to be beautiful.

  You could fake thoughtful and kind. You could pretty much fake intelligent, at least for a little while. You could even fake rich. But beautiful—no. That was either there or it wasn’t.

  Beautiful and sexy would be even better, though. A guy with long, lean legs and broad shoulders, powerful arms and wide, strong hands that always gripped the handles of his roaring muscle bike just—yeahhhh.

  As in: yeahhhh, right. She needed to focus.

  Anna Richardson took a sip of her vodka cranberry and stared down at her notebook. A list of seventeen fully articulated pickup lines marched across the page, each of them perfectly crafted to ensure that the moment she started speaking, any red-blooded male between the ages of fifteen and fifty would fall at her feet without so much as a whimper. Only she had no one to say those words to. Not a man, not a boy, not a gigolo, not a chance. She had no credible XY-chromosome options of any stripe to hit up, anywhere within the Greater Boston area.

  Even the neighbor-of-a-million-fantasies, the motorcycle sex god who lived down the street from her brownstone—aka the NILF—was a no go, since that would involve her actually talking to the guy. Which she hadn’t been able to do so far. Hell, she hadn’t been able to make eye contact with those six feet two inches of cast-iron smexitude, even though she’d walked by his open garage not once, but easily fifty times in the past six months.

  All of which meant she was striking out, the one weekend when she really, seriously, for once in her life needed to depend on someone other than—

  “I think you’re concentrating too hard.” Behind the bar, industriously toweling off pint glasses as if she actually knew what she was doing, Erin Connelly rose up on her tiptoes and pursed her lips at Anna.

  Anna scowled at her landlady, who she also considered her good friend most of the time, then shifted her gaze to the end of the bar, where their housemate, Dani Michaels, stood. Dani was the actual bartender at the Laurels tonight. Erin was only “helping out” at the pub to avoid her own work. “Shouldn’t you be painting something?”

  “I’ll paint tomorrow.” Erin shrugged a petite shoulder. “Tonight I want to help you.” She tilted her head and peered at Anna, considering. “Not that I have any experience at this, but according to Dani, it’s just not that hard to pick up a guy.”

  “Someone say my name?” Dani sauntered back to them and took the pint glass away from Erin, then set it up on a high shelf. “Erin, could you pour me three glasses of the Rosemount chard? And Anna, chill. Guys aren’t that complicated.”

  “When you look like you do, nothing’s complicated,” Anna grumbled.

  Dani seemed ready to argue the point when a customer raised a hand. She immediately changed direction to head back down to the far end of the bar. “I need that wine, Erin!” she called back over her shoulder, and Anna and Erin shared a smile. They’d both known Dani for almost a year. She was a long, lean brunette who was either half-Italian, half-Spanish, or something in-between. Dani herself didn’t know, and neither of her parents were around to clear up the matter. But either way, Dani was attractive in a way that got her dates for the weekend. Or for the night. Or for twenty minutes in a dark hallway, if that’s what Dani wanted. Anna wasn’t that kind of attractive, and that’s all there was to it.

  Tonight the reality of that fact stung a little more than usual. “You know what? Forget it.” She picked up her notebook, flipping it shut decisively. “None of these stupid lines are going to work, and I never should have thought they would. I’m just going to have to suck it up and deal with Todd like a grown-up, while facing all of Kristen’s insane fix-ups dead on.” She groaned, thinking of the pain heading her way when both her ex and her former college roommate realized that her perfectly perfect boyfriend of the past six months had been a perfectly fabricated lie. “God, this is going to suck.” She slumped against the bar, squaring the notebook exactly with the corner of the counter. “Why couldn’t I have told them I dated a doctor or something? I could have blamed his absence on his residency.”

  “You don’t need a doctor,” Erin said, the smile in her voice causing Anna to look up. The bottle Erin hefted looked overlarge in her small hands. “You need, and I quote, ‘a stud sex god hot enough to set the sheets on fire.’ ”

  Anna winced. “I know, don’t remind me—”

  “No, no. You should have a stud sex god. You deserve one.” Erin was now carefully pouring wine into long-stemmed glasses. “Anyway, your friend shouldn’t be trying to fix you up if you don’t want to be fixed up, and your ex should just leave you alone already. It’s completely unreasonable that he thinks you’ll take him back when he broke up with you. I would have made up a fake boyfriend to avoid all of that, too.” She glanced back at Anna. “I thought Lacey was going to set you up with someone from Dante’s band? That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?”

  Anna grimaced. Lacey had offered, and Anna had eagerly—almost desperately—accepted. Only life didn’t work out that way for her. Never had, never would. “Yeah, well. They’re in England next weekend—special event one of the sponsors put together after the Dream It tour,” she said. “Nobody could break free.”

  “Well, shoot.” Erin pursed her lips. “Okay, so you just need to find a guy who’s man enough to convince your friends that you’re doing just fine without their help. But he can’t be too hot, I think.” Her smile flattened a little. “Based on the models we used in art school, most guys who are really attractive are insufferable assholes.”

  “Great. So I’m doomed.” Anna tapped her pen against the gleaming bar top. “This is all so ridiculous. And I’m ridiculous for not dealing with it already.” She was a highly trained business consultant, for heaven’s sake. She routinely identified million-dollar liabilities and outlined
their solutions in tidy little PowerPoint presentations that inspired firms to fork over piles of cash to her company to make it all go away. Why couldn’t she make a slide deck to solve her own problems? “I should have taken care of this months ago.”

  “You were busy,” Erin said, setting up the wineglasses on the edge of the bar just in time for a harried waitress to appear and scoop them onto her tray. “But you still have a whole week, right? I pretty much think you could take over Google in less than a week.”

  “The takeover itself, sure.” Anna frowned down at her notebook again. “But the plans are what takes time. That’s what I’m missing here. I haven’t planned any of this.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I just need to figure it all out.”

  In front of her, Erin shifted. “Oh! Well, I’ve got to go do something, um … on the other side of the bar.” Her voice was brighter now, encouraging, and Anna nodded absently even as Erin kept talking. “So you just keep working on those lines you’ve written out for, say, the next thirty seconds or so, and I think you’ll be good. Out loud, ideally. After all, you should get used to saying them like that, because that will really help. Saying them, that is. Out loud.”

  “Fine, fine.” Anna waved Erin off and squared her shoulders, forcing herself into the zone as she let her eyes shut, her success mantras sounding over and over in her head. She could do this. She would do this. Mr. Fabulous would walk right into the bar, sit down, project his sexiness all over her like a million-megawatt sunbeam, and everything would be absolutely amazing.

  He had to show up. He would show up.

  “Okay, then.” Anna’s fantasy was already taking place in her head as she closed her eyes even more tightly, focusing hard. She could almost smell the guy’s heady, masculine scent drifting around her—not cologne, not aftershave, just the pure, perfect scent of manly guy bathed in heat and spice and sunshine. And she would look over at him, smile seductively, and purr the perfect line.

  “C’mon,” she murmured, trying it out. “A weekend at the beach, all the sun and surf you can handle, it’s yours for the taking. And so am I.” She sighed a little, liking the sound of the words as they rolled off her tongue. “Wanna run away for the weekend?”

  “Well, hell. Why don’t we make it a year?”

  Anna jolted upright, nearly falling off the barstool. She caught herself the moment before she crashed into the man—the grinning, square-jawed, leather-jacketed, hunk of man—who had most assuredly not been there thirty seconds ago. A man she sort of knew, dammit, and who Erin had to have seen heading her way.

  “Oh!” She did an excellent job of looking at the guy without actually looking at him, which was the only reason she could string whole words together. “Um, hi there. I’m so sorry—I didn’t hear you come up.”

  “Which appears to be in my favor. I’m Jake, by the way. Jake Flynn. I live down the street from you, I think.”

  “I know. I mean, I’ve seen you. In your garage, I mean.” Now, even as she babbled, Anna couldn’t stop staring at Jake’s mouth. She felt her stomach flip the way it always did when she caught sight of any part of the guy’s uncovered anatomy, even the innocuous bits. Steeling herself, she looked up, immediately transfixed by deep-brown eyes that studied her from under a shock of black hair. Pull it together, she ordered herself. This man rode motorcycles, for heaven’s sake, and was probably engaged in illegal activities, going by the action at the brownstone at the end of their lane that he’d apparently commandeered.

  But now this motorcycle-criminal, sex-god hottie was looking at her with definite interest, and … all she could do was stare?

  “Well, then we’re practically best friends, it seems. And you are?” Anna’s heart skipped as Jake’s smile etched intriguing creases into skin already weathered from years of wind and sun. “If we’re going to run off to the beach together, I think I should know your name.”

  “Anna Richardson.” Anna fought and lost the battle against blushing. “And I’m so sorry about that, again. I was just—practicing. I guess.”

  “Glad to meet you, Anna Richardson,” Jake said, his words so smooth that she felt like every inch of her skin had been caressed, standing the fine hairs on end. With a creak of leather, Jake angled his athletic body toward her. He was now within arm’s reach, a smile again teasing the edges of his lips until they pulled taut and held, full and suggestive. “Practicing for what?”

  Anna blinked, her mind slewing a little sideways. Jake’s hair was tousled, his eyes heavy and warm, his smile easy. Tiny laugh lines radiated from the outer corners of his eyes, pale streaks in the bronzed skin. He was … amazing.

  He was also waiting for an answer, Anna realized. Which meant she needed to drag herself back to reality, now.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” She shook her head again, so assertively that her neck throbbed in protest. “And it’s kind of hard to explain. I need to ask someone out on a date. I mean, it’s a wedding. And I’m in it.”

  Jake chuckled then, the sound vibrating through her body. “You need a date to your own wedding?”

  “No! I mean, it’s complicated—” The shrill ring of her cell phone cut her off, and she grabbed for it, not caring who was calling, even if it was work, and it probably was. Because it was always work these days, even on a Friday night in the middle of the summer. Because that’s what work did. It called her. On Friday nights. Like right now, in fact.

  “Anna Richardson,” she said, struggling to sound normal.

  “Anna! You’re awake!”

  Oh, perfect. “Hey, Kristen.” This was impossible. She should just end this now and admit she was a colossal liar. She didn’t have the time or energy to keep the charade up anymore, and everything was going to hell.

  But as Anna tried to focus on Kristen and not on the Sexiest Man in the World sitting right next to her, that same sexy man ran his fingers across her arm, his touch featherlight. She blinked and glanced toward him and—wow. He was looking at her. Smiling, even. At her. On purpose.

  “Where are you?” Kristen asked, cutting through her haze. “Are you out? At a real club?”

  “Yes, I’m out,” she said. The Laurels pub might not qualify as a club by Kristen’s New York standards, but it would have to do. “Dave’s with me, too, actually,” she added, brightening. It was worth a shot, and with a certifiable hunk actually touching her arm completely on purpose, she felt confidence zip through her. “I think he’ll be able to join me this weekend after all.”

  Kristen didn’t hesitate. “You are such a pathetic liar, Anna, but I love you anyway. I’m calling to tell you that Todd has already asked both me and Scott if you’ll be bringing a date, since apparently you two still aren’t talking. I told him yes, just so he’d cool his jets, but I completely support you not wanting to get back with him.”

  “Well, thanks, but—”

  “However, I do want you to meet my friend Nick at the wedding—he’s super nice, and I think you’ll love him. I’ve told him all about you, and he can’t wait to meet you.”

  Anna pulled her mouth away from the phone and spoke into the air to her right. “Dave, honey, could you get me another drink?” She ignored Jake’s startled glance and, after a brief pause, she cupped her cell with her left hand and huddled against the bar. For once, her corkscrew curls came in handy, and she allowed the blonde mass to shield her face. “Kristen,” she said, her voice becoming an urgent plea. “You need to stop right now. I can handle Todd on my own. And I’m sure Nick is a very nice guy, but—”

  “He is, and according to my beloved, he’s got megabucks, and he’s available. And so is Matt. Available, that is. I’m not certain about the other part, yet. He’s one of Scott’s clients we got roped into inviting.”

  Anna forced herself to draw a long breath. She reached out, reclaimed her drink, and drained about a third of the glass. “Who the hell is Matt?”

  “The guy behind door number two, if you don’t like Nick. But I’m pretty sure you’re going to like Ni
ck. And that’s if Todd doesn’t steal your heart away again, which he seems kind of intent on doing, between you and me.”

  Anna drove the heel of her palm into her forehead, bracing herself against the bar. This was why she lied, she thought. Her college roommate just never knew when to give up. “Kristen, I have a date. More than a date, a boyfriend. A lover. An everything. I am taken. I’ve told you that. And I’m not going to jeopardize that relationship.”

  “I’m not asking you to ‘jeopardize’ your relationship, which doesn’t exist. I’m asking you to have a conversation. Nick and Matt are nice guys. Get to know them! Would that be so awful?”

  “Yes. Yes, it would, Kristen.” Anna sagged back on her stool. “You’re the bride at this wedding, for heaven’s sake. Shouldn’t you be worrying about the cake or something?”

  “But Anna …” As Kristen launched into her usual speech, a fresh vodka cranberry appeared in front of Anna. She blinked up at trusty stand-in bartender Erin, who grinned back at her before literally running away. Then Anna turned to look at Jake, who was still sitting beside her, with eyes so dark they looked black. Jake, who looked good enough to eat. Or at least to nibble on, every sexy curve of him calorie-free.

  A wave of hysterical pleasure washed through Anna, despite the insanity of the situation. She smiled at Jake, raising her new drink in thanks.

  He leaned forward just a little, his eyes intent.

  Anna could have sworn the phone started smoking, but she couldn’t look away. Everything else faded into the background as Jake Flynn’s gaze roamed over her face, fixing first on her lips, then moving back up to her eyes. He looked like he was going to eat her, too. Right after he drizzled her with honey.

  Oh, boy. That was an image she sure didn’t need.

  “Uh, Kristen?” Anna managed. “I really have to go.”

  “What? I’m telling you, you’re really—”

  “No, I mean it, Kristen. I’m going now. Good-bye.”

  She stabbed her finger at her phone to shut it off, then set it down on the bar with a thud. Eyebrows raised, she slanted Jake a glance. “So, do you always enjoy embarrassing total strangers?”