My Fake Fiance´

by Banks, R. R.

  “Good morning.”

  I turn to see our live-in nanny, Tess, stepping out onto the deck, our little girl, Amber, in her arms. A smile immediately lights up my face as I scoop up our little girl and spin her around.

  “You’re going to make her dizzy,” Sasha laughs.

  I hold my little girl close and kiss the top of her head. Tess is smiling. She’s been great since we hired her on. I couldn’t be more thankful for her. Sasha has devoted herself to her writing and being a stay-at-home mom but having Tess in our lives gives Sasha the time she needs to work – and that’s starting to pay off.

  Sasha takes Amber from me and kisses me on the cheek. Our little girl coos and makes noises, wriggling around in her arms. It’s a beautiful scene to me – mother and daughter – two of the most important women in my life together. My heart swells with love and happiness in ways I never thought were possible. Now that I’ve experienced it, I don’t know how I ever lived without it.

  “Tess, we’re going to be having a couple of people over here shortly –”

  Tess smiles. “I’ve got it covered, Miles.”

  I laugh softly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a helicopter dad.”

  “You’re both amazing parents,” she says. “I’m just happy to help out where I can.”

  “We don’t know how we’d function without you,” Sasha says.

  Tess’ cheeks flush. She’s not great with compliments and is a lot like Sasha that way. She takes Amber back from her mom and gives us a quick smile before retreating back into the house. We don’t like the little one to be outside for too long just yet. We’ll slowly introduce her to the joys of the beach soon, but we don’t want her soft, delicate skin to get too much sunshine.

  “Thank you, Miles,” Sasha says. “Without you –”

  “Like I said, it’s your talent that made this meeting possible.”

  She shakes her head, a look of wonder on her face. “It’s just so strange to think that all of my dreams may be finally coming true.”

  “Are coming true,” I correct her. “They’re coming here with a contract in hand. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line – after I read it over first, of course.”

  She throws herself into my arms, squeezing me tight. The warmth and love from her is almost palpable and fills me with emotions that still overwhelm me, over a year later. The love I feel for her – and the love she shows me – steals my breath away at the strangest times. I don’t ever want to stop feeling like this.

  “I’ve dreamed of this day for – I don’t even know how long,” she whispers, pressing herself against me tighter.

  I squeeze her, reveling in how it feels to have her in my arms. “You deserve it, Sasha,” I say. “You deserve every second of this success. I want you to enjoy it.”

  Two representatives from a large publishing house are coming over today. They read her latest manuscript and loved it. More than loved it, actually. I was lucky enough to get to read the first copy and I have to say, they have good taste. Her work is utterly amazing. I was blown away by it. I’m typically not a fantasy kind of guy, but her work is engaging and unlike a lot of the fluff you see today, it has substance. She actually has a message.

  It’s powerful and I’m glad to see Sasha receiving the recognition she truly deserves.

  * * *

  We’re sitting at the dining room table, sunlight flooding through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the back wall and also offer a stunning view of the waves crashing against the shoreline outside.

  The two people sitting across from us – Amanda Wells and Donny Aiken – are dressed smartly and are as friendly as can be. They’ve been nothing but complimentary from the moment they walked in the door, even though Sasha has been on edge – like I said, she doesn’t take compliments well. I’ve been doing what I can to put her at ease, but she’s a tough nut to crack sometimes. Which is something I know very, very well.

  “We have to say, we were more than impressed with your work, Mrs. Churchill.”

  “Sasha, please,” she replies, a small tremor in her voice.

  “Very well, Sasha,” says the woman sitting across from me. “As Donny said, your work really blew us away. Your prose is beautiful, but your story is gritty and actually carries a strong message.”

  “I had the same reaction,” I say. “But she says I’m biased.”

  “You are,” she says and laughs, then turns to the two people across from us. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Amanda opens up her bag and slips a document out of it. Since I am her lawyer of record, she slides it over to me. I pick it up and start reading through it as they talk about books and the publishing industry itself. It’s actually an interesting conversation and I find myself learning a lot of things I didn’t know.

  I’m beyond happy to help foster and nurture Sasha’s career in any way possible. I absolutely believe in her talent – because I believe in her. What I love knowing is that by living in our home, with our child, and in an atmosphere with nothing but unfettered support and encouragement, Sasha has really flourished. She’s grown more confident in her ability to actually make a living as a writer.

  Her relationship with her own family is also stronger than ever. She talks with her mom and sister all the time and they seem to be really forging a strong bond. Also, last I heard, Sarah and Neal were growing incredibly close. Not so coincidentally, Neal has also been putting his head down and working hard – he’s gone into the family business on the research and development side and has done some amazing things in a relatively short amount of time. He seems to be happy and thriving.

  All in all, life is getting better every single day. For all of us. And I couldn’t possibly be any happier – or more in love. Both with my wife and my daughter. This level of happiness is one I never knew existed – and one I would have never known if not for one woman who was desperate for a ride and conned me out of one.

  I’m finally finished going over the contract and it all seems to be in order.

  “Looks good,” I say. “Seems standard with some very generous terms.”

  “We believe in Sasha,” Amanda says. “We know she’s going to do some great things.”

  “And we want to be able to say that we were there on the ground floor,” Donny adds.

  Sasha’s face is bright red and her eyes shimmer with tears as she realizes she’s on the cusp of achieving her dreams. All of her hard work and sleepless nights –all of the sacrifices she’s made – are finally about to pay off. I’m not going to lie, seeing the emotion on her face chokes me up a little as well and my eyes grow a little misty.

  I set a pen down on top of the contract and slide it over to her. She looks at it for a long moment, then turns her gaze to me. I see nothing but gratitude and love in those fathomless blue eyes and it makes my heart skip a beat.

  “This is it,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “This is your dream.”

  She nods and gives me a trembling smile. “Thank you, Miles,” she says. “Thank you for always believing in me and helping me believe in myself.”

  “It’s all your talent,” I say. “I did nothing.”

  “You did more for me than you’ll ever know.”

  As if she’s trying not to give herself a chance to think, Sasha takes up the pen and quickly scrawls her signature on all of the appropriate lines. And as she signs the last one, tears start to slowly roll down her face. Amanda and Donny look at her with wide smiles on their faces, clearly ecstatic. I have no doubt they’ve seen this happen to people before.

  With her signatures down, Sasha throws herself into my arms and squeezes me tight. Her tears are warm and wet against my cheek and the smile on her face is warm and earnest.

  “I love you, Miles.”

  “I love you too, baby,” I reply.

  “I can’t believe this,” she says. “All of my dreams have come true. Thank you.”

  I pull back and hold her gaze for a long moment. “You’
ve made dreams come true I never even knew I had before,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Right now, with the waves crashing against the shore, the love of my life in my arms, and our baby cooing nearby, I know that life can’t possibly get any better.

  I never expected this life. It came at me from out of the blue. It’s a life that started off with a con-job, progressed into a fake engagement, and eventually transformed into one filled with pure, unadulterated love.

  And I’m never going to give it up.

  THE END

  Just Pretend (Sample)

  An Amazon Top 50 Bestseller

  *138 Customer Reviews – 4.8 Stars

  “Just pretend to be my fiancée for Christmas.”

  Sure. What could go wrong?

  The richest man in this city is an Adonis in the flesh.

  So damn gorgeous, he can stop my heart with a single glance.

  But he also happens to be my sworn enemy.

  From his designer suits to his arrogant ways,

  Colin has every quality I hate.

  If only I could stop fantasizing about him…

  His hands, caressing every inch of me.

  His mouth pressing against mine.

  Ugh, let me stop myself there.

  He’s the enemy. You don’t bang your enemies.

  That is 'til I broke my cardinal rule, repeatedly.

  Goodbye, virginity.

  I fell into the “Just Pretend” trap with the most eligible bachelor in the country.

  Oh, did I mention I’m now carrying his baby?

  * * *

  Chapter One: Collin

  “Oh shit,” I mutter to myself.

  I pull my car to a stop near the site and stare at the gathered crowd of protesters. It doesn't take me long to spot the ringleader – the one who always whips these degenerates up into a frenzy. With her raven-black hair, alabaster-colored skin, and seemingly boundless energy, she tends to stand out from the crowd – and piss me off.

  Mason, the foreman on my project, opens the door of my BMW, his face taut with tension. He's clearly as annoyed as I am about the riff-raff cluttering up our construction site.

  “They were here before we even showed up. Chained themselves to fences and the equipment,” Mason says, his voice as tight as his face. “We haven't been able to do shit.”

  I grumble under my breath, feeling my irritation ratcheting up a few more notches. I'm really close to redlining already.

  “Have you called the cops?” I ask, as I get out of my car.

  Mason looks a little uncertain. “N – no, not yet,” he stammers. “I wasn't sure if you'd want me to.”

  “Use your damn head, Mason,” I snap. “I put you in charge here for a reason – I thought you could handle it and deal with bullshit like this. Was I wrong to believe that?”

  He shakes his head vigorously. “No, Mr. Anderson,” he says. “You're not wrong. I can do this –”

  “Then go do it, damn it!” I roar. “Get someone out here to clear up this disturbance.”

  Mason scurries off to do as I command. I don't like coming down on him like that, but he needs to understand that you need to be hard when it comes to dealing with these sort of people. You can't afford to show any weakness. Like the old saying goes, give them an inch, they take a mile.

  Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of business or progress. Period.

  Knowing I need to put an end to this mess, I stride over to the ringleader – Bonnie, or Betty, or something. She sees me coming and turns on her heels, walking toward me with a determined look on her face, and a gleam in her eye. One thing I can say about her is that she's tough, and not easily intimidated.

  But, she’s also young. Naive. Idealistic. That sort of bright-eyed idealism and optimism would be cute, maybe even admirable, if it wasn't so goddamn annoying, and standing in the way of getting work done.

  As she approaches me, boos and jeers rain down on me from the crowd behind her. They start chanting some ridiculous catchphrase about gentrification they think sounds snappy and intellectual.

  “Mr. Anderson,” she says. “Lovely to see you again this morning.”

  “Wish I could say the same, Betty,” I say, rolling the dice on getting her name right.

  Her eyes narrow and a feral, dangerous smirk touches her lips. “It's Bailey,” she says. “My name is Bailey.”

  “Right. Bailey,” I say, and take a sip of my coffee. “Sorry. My bad.”

  “Has anybody ever told you that you're an arrogant, dismissive, condescending jerk?” she asks.

  “Actually, yeah,” I reply. “I think it was the last time I saw you, in fact.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “You can remember a specific insult, but not something as simple as someone’s name?”

  I shrug. “Insults tend to stand out to me more,” I respond with a smirk. “Especially the more creative ones.”

  Her grin is more amused than anything, but she tries to mask it behind an expression of righteous indignation. Bailey is a very pretty girl. Her midnight black hair – pulled back into a braid that reaches the middle of her back – seems to perfectly compliment her smooth, flawless, pale skin. There is a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her big, doe eyes are as dark and fathomless as her hair. Her body is soft, feminine, with generous curves in her hips, and full, round breasts.

  I give my head a small shake, trying to pull my thoughts out of her panties, and put it back on the issue at hand. And that issue, of course, is the fact that her people are blocking access to my site. I've got dozens of men sitting around, being paid for nothing, because these goddamn social justice warriors won't get the hell out of the way.

  “So, what's the issue today, Bailey?” I say, stressing her name for some added emphasis.

  “The same thing it is every time we picket one of your evil, profits-over-people work sites,” she says. “Your continued gentrification of this part of town is displacing a lot of people. Kicking them to the curb with nowhere to go, and no idea what to do.”

  “While I sympathize –”

  “Yeah, like hell you do,” she spits.

  I roll my eyes and decide that I don't really need to be polite, or political with this woman any longer. Who in the hell is she? Or maybe more importantly, who in the hell does she think she is? She positions herself as the voice of the poor. A champion of the people. Yet, she’s full of youthful idealism and arrogance – the same arrogance she keeps accusing me of. The irony of it all is baffling.

  “Ok. I don't sympathize. Honestly, I don't care. I'm just a guy trying to do a job,” I snap. “I've got enough shit of my own to deal with, and I don't have the time or inclination to worry about other people’s problems.”

  She looks at me for a long moment. “Wow, what a true humanitarian you are.”

  “My job isn't to be a humanitarian,” I growl. “My job is to build better communities.”

  She points to the construction site behind her. “And how is this building a better community?” she asks. “You displaced at least thirty people. Honest, hard-working people who'd lived here for years and years. It's the only place they can afford, and you still come in and pull it right out from under them. You sent them packing without a single care about what happens to them.”

  “Again, that’s not my job or my responsibility,” I say. “I'm running a business. Not a charity, and certainly not a homeless shelter.”

  “How can you possibly be this cold and unfeeling?” she asks, the contempt plain on her face.

  I shrug. “I guess it's just part of my charm.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “Unbelievable,” she says. “Just another greedy corporate pig.”

  I chuckle. “If you say so.”

  “You really are a son of a bitch,” she spits. “Gentrification of these working class neighborhoods –”

  “You mean neighborhoods full of drugs, violence, and crime?”

  She giv
es me a long, level look. “There are good people in these neighborhoods that you're so callously carving up,” she fires back. “You're driving them out.”

  I sigh, my breath coming out in a plume of steam. I pull my coat tighter around me as a gust of cold wind buffets us. Bailey is only wearing a light sweater. Her cheeks are flushed, but other than that, she doesn't seem to be affected by the cold. It's probably her anger keeping her warm – righteous indignation can be a hell of a personal heater.

  “I do admire your dedication to the cause,” I say. “I don't know of many people who are capable of getting a group of folks to chain themselves to construction equipment on a cold November morning in Boston. That's impressive. My hat's off to you on that, Bailey.”

  “Some of us feel the need to take a stand against corporate pigs,” she sneers. “People before profits.”

  “Your charisma is also undeniable,” I say. “Now, imagine what you could do if you channeled that energy and charisma into something important or useful.”

  “Oh, so caring about people isn't important?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips, a serious look of disapproval on her face.

  “I'll tell you what's not useful. And that's trying to block a deal that's already done,” I say. “You're not going to stop us from developing this land. The contracts have been signed, the permits approved, and we're ready to break ground. All you're doing is putting yourself and your people in harm's way.”

  Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches. “Are you threatening us?”

  “I'm not doing anything of the sort. All I'm saying is that when you and your people do stupid shit like this, I'm forced to call the police to clear you out. And as I'm sure you know, when the police are involved, tensions sometimes escalate, and...”

  I let my voice trail off, not needing to finish the statement. We've had clashes with Bailey's group before, and a couple of them have gone very sideways when the police show up. More than a few of her group – and a couple of my guys – have ended up in the hospital when tensions overflowed. Nothing serious. All of the injuries were minor, thank God. But, it's an unnecessary delay, and a headache more than anything.