Table of Contents
Epilogue
Free Book
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
Beneath the Lights
Also By Leslie Johnson
About the Author
Perfect Husband
Leslie Johnson
Atrevida Publishing
Contents
Free Book
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
Epilogue
Beneath the Lights
Also By Leslie Johnson
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Leslie Johnson
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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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http://lesliejohnsonauthor.com/sign-up-for-updates/
One
Sometime around six in the morning, I blearily opened my eyes to a heavy sensation on my bare stomach.
A large hand was resting there. And this wasn’t my bed.
Shit. What the heck had I done last night?
With a soft groan, I shifted to the right, sneaking a peek at the man lying next to me. I didn’t recognize him, but he was good looking.
I racked my brain, trying hard to remember the previous night. The last thing I recalled was dancing at a nightclub with my best friend, Rachael. We’d been laughing, drunk out of our minds. This stranger must have been there as well.
Double shit.
My very first drunken one-night stand.
Or was it?
With trepidation, I patted my hands over my chest. Bra still on. Good. Then lower. Skinny jeans on too. Excellent. Which meant Stranger and I hadn’t done the dirty.
I glanced over at him again, reluctantly admiring his handsome features. His thick blond hair fell over closed eyes, his lower lip was relaxed into a sexy pout. From my quick study of him, I could tell he was quite tall, maybe around six two. Tanned and muscular.
In a sober state, I’d never have dared approach someone this pretty. Drunkenness had a way of making me atrociously bold.
Carefully, I rose and threw on my yellow blouse, my fingers flying down the buttons. I had to get out of here before Blondie woke up and demanded to know who the hell I was.
I was slipping into my leopard-print pumps when Blondie rolled over, groaned, and blinked rapidly.
He’s got green eyes. So pretty.
Then his prettiness ended.
“Who the fuck are you?” he croaked, quickly scanning the very spacious and modern-looking bedroom.
What was he looking for? Then I realized—he wasn’t looking for anything. He was checking to see if I’d stolen some of his pathetic shit.
Un-fucking-believable.
“I could ask you the same question,” I snapped, pulling my messy hair into a loose bun. I tried not to stare at his broad chest—damn, he was one pretty buck. Pity about that rude mouth of his.
“You’re in my penthouse,” he pointed out, but this time, his stern expression relaxed into a lazy grin. “Now I remember you. You’re that drunk brunette who spilled her drink all over me last night. Then you grabbed my collar and demanded I take you back to my place to give you a vigorous spanking for being such a bad girl.” His mouth curled up. “Your words, not mine.”
I snorted with mirth. “Blondie, I would never ask a stranger for a ‘vigorous spanking’.” Giving him an unimpressed once-over, I added, “Especially from one who looks like he supports his hedonistic lifestyle with Daddy’s millions.”
Blondie didn’t seem offended in the slightest. Without breaking eye contact, he nestled his head on a pillow. “Funny, because you looked pretty impressed last night. Remember all the fun things we did?”
“We didn’t do anything. I woke up with my jeans still on.”
The corners of his lips curled up even more. “Who said anything about intercourse?” He took on a gleeful look. “As I recall, after you gushed on and on about my penthouse and my exceedingly good looks, you reached over and unzipped my fly to—”
“Okay, stop talking.” I raised my palms in a pleading gesture. “I don’t know exactly how I ended up here, but I’m leaving now. Thanks for the comfy bed and all, but I really hope I don’t run into you ever again.”
Throwing a glare over my shoulder, I hurriedly left the bedroom and found my way to the foyer. As I pushed the down button for the elevator, my phone buzzed in my clutch bag. It was Rachel, who had apparently abandoned my drunk ass sometime between midnight and two in the morning, according to the previous text from her I was just now seeing.
“So, Tiffany, did you have fun?” she breathed into my ear, sounding overly excited. “He’s so hot. I bet he was good in bed too.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I retorted, stepping in when the doors opened. “All I did was crash at his pretentious penthouse for the night.” And thank goodness for that, I added silently. In my usual life, I was a pretty tame and boring sort of gal. I’d never had a one-night stand, much less one with a complete stranger. There were way too many psychos roaming the streets and clubs for me to ever consider such a thing.
Rachel made a disappointed noise. “Are you kidding me? I thought the plan was to get over your stupid ex by sleeping with the hottest guy at the club.”
Ah, now I remembered why we’d been at the club in the first place. So I could get over my lame ex, Andy Morris, who’d dumped me via a single, brusque text two weeks ago.
Met another girl. Sorry, Tiff. It’s over.
Asshole.
And when I’d tried to call him several times, it’d gone straight to voicemail.
But the even worst part?
Andy was my manager at Morning Brew, the corner coffee shop where I’d been working for the past year after graduating with my degree in history.
I’d have to find another job now, because working alongside him since the break up had been awkward and tense.
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to go to Plan B, then.”
“There’s a Plan B?”
“Yeah. Stay home all day, eat lots of Chinese food, chocolate and watch movies until I get over that scrawny fucker. Oh, and look for a new job.”
“If you say so, that sounds like something I’m up for. I’ll bring the be
er.”
I sniffed, suddenly feeling emotional. “Thanks, Rach.”
After we hung up, I stepped out of the tall glass building and stood on the sidewalk, hugging myself. I felt like such a loser—my boyfriend had dumped me via text, I was twenty-three and pending jobless, my current apartment was old and creepy, and I’d just stumbled out of a stranger’s penthouse after a night of miscellanous sexual activities I couldn’t remember.
My lower lip trembled. Could life get any worse than this?
Before I could burst into tears right next to the busy street, I hailed down a cab and went home to my creaky apartment in the East Village.
An hour later, Rachael and I were both dressed in our pajamas and stuffing our faces with oily fried noodles loaded with shrimp and veggies. Since I was soon-to-be unemployed, she’d paid for all our food and beer.
“See, I don’t get that.” Rachel pointed her chopsticks at the credits scrolling up the TV screen from one of my favorite movies, The Proposal.
It was nice to have an employed friend in times of distress.
Unlike me, Rachel had majored in a sensible field—education. Sure, the pay wasn’t all that great, and many times, she had to deal with unruly kindergarteners and helicopter parents. But it was steady work. And she did like kids, as long as they didn’t grab her boobs or pick their noses. Which was unfailingly often.
“Don’t get what?” I muttered as I slurped noodles into my mouth. I had to bulk up now to prepare for the lean times ahead.
Rachel’s sandy hair spilled over her shoulders as she shook her head. “That ending. How does Ryan Reynolds’ character go from hating Sandra Bullock’s character for years, and then falling in love with her after one short weekend?”
I shrugged and reached for the pork dumplings. “There’s a fine line between love and hate. Despite all that hatred between them, I bet he was attracted to her even as he loathed her.”
Rachel snorted. “Well, I think it’s unrealistic.”
She chose another movie—this time, it was Man of Steel because of her stalkerish love for Henry Cavill. As she settled back into the sofa, I went to the kitchen to grab a can of Coke. All that grease was starting to churn inside my stomach.
Minutes later, Rachel ambled into the kitchen, holding out my cell phone. “There’s a guy on the phone who wants to talk to you. Says his name is Denton.”
I frowned. “Denton? I don’t know anyone named Denton.” But I took the phone from her. “Hello?”
There was a deep chuckle on the other end. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to hear your voice.”
For some odd reason, I instantly recognized that voice. “How the hell did you get my number, Blondie?”
“Apparently, you gave it to me because I found it on my list of contacts. Under ‘Drunk Cute Girl’.”
“So why did you call? If you’re missing a Pomeranian, go interrogate someone else. I don’t kidnap helpless dogs.”
He laughed again. “You’re one weird chick, you know that? I don’t own a Pomeranian. But I am missing something. And I think you’re the perfect person to help me find it.”
“No can do, Denton.” Stupid, posh name. “Take care of your own problems.”
“What if I offered payment for your time? Let’s say around five thousand dollars for the first week?”
Oh my god. The rich douchebag was offering me a temp job. That amount was over two months’ of work serving coffee and sandwiches at Morning Brew.
“Yes,” I blurted, before the pride swirling in my chest could kick in. Would pride pay for rent and feed me in the days to come? Frankly, I could do without my conscience for one week.
Denton seemed surprised by my quick response. “I’m glad to hear it, Tiffany. Come to the penthouse on Monday at eight a.m. And bring some decent coffee on the way.”
He hung up before I could pepper him with questions.
It was only much later that I realized he’d called me by my name, and not Drunk Cute Girl.
Two
On Monday morning, I dropped by Morning Brew, bought two large cappuccinos, and with a sweet smile aimed at Andy, quit my full-time job.
I was dying to know who his new girlfriend was. Was it someone working at the coffee shop? Had one of my fellow girls stabbed me in the back? But I would rather die of a coffee overdose than give him the satisfaction of my curiosity.
“But you need the money,” Andy insisted, pulling me to a quiet spot near the front window. “I feel terrible, Tiff. You can’t lose me and the job at the same time.” Pity and sincerity laced his voice, as if he knew I'd struggled with the breakup for the last two weeks and was quitting to save myself the embarrassment.
My lips curled in distaste even as my heart squeezed painfully. Damn him! Why had I fallen for such a troll? Even now, I went all jittery around him, yearning for his companionship and at the same time thankful I didn’t have to put up with his sloppy kisses anymore. I’d hold my head high and prove otherwise. I pushed his hand away. “We broke up, so that’s no longer your concern.” I straightened my shoulders, pushing my tits out to better display what he had given up. “Besides, I have a new job starting today.”
“Already?” Andy’s brown eyes popped out. “That’s… that’s great.”
“Yeah, it is.” I shrugged like it was no big deal and lied. “It’s a personal assistant position.” I had no idea what Denton had in store for me. “I get paid five grand a month. Plus bonus. And a thirty-day paid vacation.”
Andy’s gaze started shifting to… appreciation? Like he was interested in me all over again. Time to go.
“Anyway, thanks for the coffee. Gotta run.” With a last look around the shop, I took a deep breath and left everything that had become comfortable before my emotions made me do something stupid like beg Andy to take me back as both girlfriend and employee.
By the time I reached Denton’s penthouse, it was five minutes to eight. I was early.
Opening the front door to the bell, he nodded at me as he talked business with someone on his phone. He was dressed in a crisp gray suit, his blond hair styled in one of those current trends that screamed “I am so fucking hot.”
Yep, he was hot all right. Enough to make me forget about Andy as I ran my gaze over his godlike features. Strong jaw. Muscles that were evident even beneath the expensive material of his suit.
He smiled when he spotted me staring, pointed at the pristine white sofa and mouthed, Sit.
So I sat, awkwardly balancing two cappuccinos on my thighs and praying they wouldn’t spring a leak.
Once he put his phone away, he joined me on the sofa, jostling the cups enough to make me squeak.
He glanced down, lifting a brow. “Is the coffee any good at… Morning Brew?”
“It’s the best,” I said honestly, handing one of the cups to him. “I used to work there.”
“Used to?”
I sipped my cappuccino and shrugged. “I quit this morning.”
“I see.” Denton drank from his insulated cup, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
The silence was driving me crazy. “So… I still don’t know what I’m doing here. We’re practically strangers, and yet you asked me to help you with something. So what is it?”
Denton took another gulp before speaking. “On Saturday morning, your odd behavior convinced me that I can trust your objectivity. And I need a lot of that right now.”
“Odd behavior?”
He flashed me a quick smile, showing his even white teeth. “I meant no offense by that. It’s just… your reaction was unlike all the other women who’ve ever ended up in my bed.”
“So I didn’t fawn over you. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal, actually. Which is why I called you.”
Annoyance skittered down my spine, and I tapped my foot on the lush carpet. “Can we get to the point already? Why am I here?” I took another sip of my cappuccino to hide the rumbly growls in my stomach. I’d forgotten to eat breakfast this mornin
g.
Denton’s gaze was unwavering. “I need you to help me find a fake wife.”
At that moment, I’d been in the act of setting my cup on his glass coffee table, but his words startled me and I fumbled then went into a linebacker move to catch the cup before it burst over thousands of dollars of rug. In response, he tried to help me catch it, the lid came off, and most of the drink sloshed upward and right on the front of his crisp, white shirt.
“Shit, I am so sorry.” I grabbed the only thing I could spy to soak it up before it dripped on the floor—a throw tossed over the back of the couch. Pressing it into his rock-solid chest, I realized my mistake when my fingers registered the soft feel of what could only be angora. My stomach clenched for two reasons. One, I’d ruined a very expensive throw—not to mention, was this animal still alive when they’d taken the fur? Two, this guy was built like a statue. I tried hard not to stare as the shirt molded to him like a second skin.
“You’re blushing.”
“Of course I am! I’m such a klutz, and I’m so very sorry. Then again, it’s kind of your fault too.” When my hand stopped over his heart, which was thudding way too fast, I froze.
Denton’s hands wrapped around my wrists and he gazed at me for a long moment, then pushed my hands away and rose to his feet. “While I’m changing, I want you to take a look at that black folder on the coffee table. It contains photos of my past girlfriends and their short bios. Choose three and tell me why you think they might make the perfect fake wife–”
“Or better yet, you could just get married for real,” I interrupted, feeling nauseous. This whole thing was bizarre. Why would a rich, gorgeous man like Denton need a fake wife? He must’ve had women from all walks of life throwing themselves at him.
Perfect Husband: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 1