My Fake Forbidden Boyfriend (Heartbreakers Book 1)

by Lindsey Hart

  How the hell does this woman design the kind of ugly shit that her label takes pride in putting out? Does she actually have such a bad taste despite the fact that she looks like she’d have more common sense than most?

  “You haven’t even heard our offer yet,” the blonde pipes up.

  I don’t know who the hell she is, but judging from the smug look on her face and the fact that she’s probably very nearly six feet and wearing an actual pink pantsuit which outlines her streamlined body to perfection because it was expensive as all holy hell, tells me that she thinks she’s in charge.

  The raven-haired beauty, also likely six feet tall and wearing a more sensible black cardigan over a red dress, turns to the blonde and talks like I’m not even there. “He’s kind of rude. Are you sure about this?”

  The blonde flashes her a pretty pink-lipped smile. The exact shade of pink as her expensive blazer. “Yeah. Absolutely. A little attitude never hurt anyone. He’ll freaking need it, trust me.”

  “What will I freaking need?” I echo, interrupting just to remind them that I’m right effing here.

  Rin’s eyes swivel to my face. Her lips purse, and for some reason, I imagine them, full and warm, coming into contact with mine. A jolt of raw sexual energy courses through me like I’m a dead battery boosted to life. And what a life it is. At least my cock happens to think so.

  The blonde flashes me a perfectly white, toothy smile. She looks a little predatory, obviously used to getting her way. I’m willing to bet she came from money. Rin Allen did too, though. I just know that as a basic fact, since her mother was in charge for a long while before she was, yet she doesn’t have the same confidence I’ve come to despise. Although, I might have lived in LA for too damn long.

  “Well, see, you are going to move to Miami. Temporarily. We’ve already arranged a nice place for you to stay in. I think you’ll really enjoy it. LA can be so… suffocating.”

  “Move to Miami?” I scoff. “Whatever you’ve arranged, disarrange it. I’m not going.” I want to tell her to take her rich bitch attitude and stuff it up her likely bleached and probably waxed asshole, but I also want to work in the industry for a few more years, so I press my lips together in a firm line and bite that shit back.

  Henry glares at me impatiently.

  “I need your help,” Rin suddenly blurts.

  Well. Look at that. My attention is, for some undefinable reason, suddenly captivated. Not just my attention, but my dick’s attention too. The fucker is standing at full mast in my damn jeans, and yeah, he wants to know what kind of help she needs.

  Damn, I’ve never felt this way before. I might actually be the one needing help.

  “Help?” I feel my left brow twitch. “What kind of help? You do know I’m a model, correct? I wear clothes. Put on watches. Ties. Other fancy and expensive shit. My face appears in magazines and on billboards. I’m not actually trained in anything other than looking good and sitting in front of a camera for hours.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. She actually rolls those dark honeyed eyes, which I realize are flecked with yellow and green now that I’m solely focused on them. It’s like she can see straight through my bullshit and is calling me on it. Hard. Damn. It’s more than just a little bit of a turn on. That shit right there…wow. I’ve only known her for two and a half seconds, but I can tell Rin Allen isn’t like any other woman I’ve ever met. She actually kind of reminds me of my mom a little—just in spirit, not in body. Don’t get any weird or creepy ideas.

  My mom is the toughest badass I’ve ever known. She knows how to stand up for herself, and she loved the hell out of me far more than I ever deserved. She was always proud of me, always at my school shit, sports shit, whatever it took, even though she worked hard to support us. She always made time for me. No one could tell her what to do or where to go, and I always admired that. Though she is five and a half feet tall and ninety pounds, she has this indomitable spirit. She still does.

  Rin also has this air of toughness about her. Like the world handed her a gold platter with garbage right in the middle of it, and she just sat there and laughed it off.

  “Well…” She glances nervously at Henry, who clears his throat even louder. I can literally hear his knee shifting under the table as he tries not to tap his foot. He does that when he gets uncomfortable.

  “Her scum bag of an ex decided to date some nineteen-year-old model right after he broke up with her,” the blonde supplies rather helpfully. And by that, I, of course, mean unhelpfully, since Rin’s eyes dart away, and her cheeks go from pink to scarlet. “So. Yeah. We’re coming to you because you’re hot shit, or so the rest of the world says.” The blonde pauses for a second, only to mutter, under her breath, “and you obviously do too.”

  I sit there, my mouth gaping open because I can’t believe she just had the balls to say that. What the hell. Lady balls are seriously a thing, let me tell you, and hers are the size of watermelons.

  “We know you don’t want to model for Rin. You’ve made that perfectly clear. So, we’re here to strike a deal with you. We are willing to pay you whatever it takes, within reason, to get you for one runway show and a few photoshoots. That work is real. For a few weeks, you will also create reasonable doubts in people’s minds about the singleness of my friend. We’d like it known that the two of you are linked together. She’s doing some restructuring in the company and making some changes. Taking things in a new direction more along the lines of her vision and not the one her mother set for the company. So. Some big changes. Lots of coverage. A few fake dates here and there. A few appearances. One show. A few million bucks. What do you say?”

  I shift in my chair, literally squirming, my boner pretty much fully deflated. I’ve never squirmed in a chair in my life. I force a hard swallow, which comes out more like I’m choking on my own spit, which I guess I kind of am.

  Henry echoes the sentiment.

  “I’m sorry, did you really just say fake date?”

  The blonde’s nostrils flare in annoyance, and she makes a production of studying her nails. “Of all the stuff I just said, of course, you’d pick that out. Not the stellar career opportunity you’d be presented with and the chance to make a real difference in the fashion industry. Do something that everyone will sit up and take note of and remember.”

  “Right.” I grind out. Literally grind, since the word slips from between my tightly clenched teeth. I decide to leave Rin Allen alone for a minute because I feel like this wasn’t her plan at all. I can see her studying the tabletop out of the corner of my eye, clearly wishing for a magic T-rex to come and gobble her up. Right now, I think it’s a mutual feeling. I give the blonde my entire attention instead. She’s clearly the ringleader in this crazy circus. “I’ve had some pretty stupid requests over the years,” I announce, with a straight face that by some miracle, I keep. “But I can say, with the utmost confidence, that this is the absolute worst.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Rin

  “I knew it.” I shove back from the table, my humiliation complete. The expensive leather office chair goes careering off somewhere behind me and makes a sharp sound, which I don’t turn to take in. I can’t look at Aria or Cassie. I have no idea how they talked me into this. Or, rather, how Aria managed to get away with it.

  She’s spent the last few weeks making plans and spending obscene amounts of money, and after she did, without my permission, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. So, I set the meeting up.

  I turn to Aiden’s agent, Henry, though it’s a miracle I can recall his name while I have the internal meltdown to end all internal meltdowns. My body feels like someone opened me up and poured boiling water inside. No, fuck that. More like liquid gold. Like they’re trying to make me into some kind of mold. Good fricking luck getting gold bars out of me. I think all that’s liable to come out is a bunch of mushed up, ill-formed bullshit. Kind of like this crapshoot of a meeting.

  “I’m truly sorry,” I breathe in the direction of the flu
stered agent. He’s a middle-aged man, too distinguished for this kind of stunt. It’s obviously a first for him because he’s nearly purple, and he doesn’t have the kind of complexion that is given to such shades. He has that nice olive undertone, and though he’s clean-shaven, I can already see the shadow of a beard coming in on his strong jawline. He’s probably pushing fifty, or maybe over, but he’s a handsome man. He has a kind face, too, so that somehow makes it easier to look at him when I stammer out a piss-poor apology. “If you could just forget this meeting ever happened, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No! Wait, what?” Aria gasps from behind me somewhere. She sounds flustered, and she’s probably flapping her hands.

  I manage to drag my eyes over to the person I’ve most offended in all of this. Aiden freaking Builder. God. He’s the definition of gorgeous. I never thought I’d say this, but he looks even better in person than he does on billboards and in magazines, and he looks pretty dang good in those. He’s over six feet. All solid muscly goodness. Massive shoulders. Bronze complexion. Green eyes and sinful features that are sharp and chiseled to perfection.

  “I’m very, very sorry for all of this,” I manage to stutter. My eyes just skim over his form, and I can’t make them focus because I’m afraid of seeing the disgust on his face. “Please. I never meant to take up your time or try to—to buy it. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I apologize again. This—this isn’t me at all…I–I’m just… very, very sorry.”

  I turn to grab Cassie and Aria, who is liable to get our asses sued in a big way and end up having me splashed all over the tabloids in even worse stories than they’ve already run in the past week since Brad leached on to another up and comer, but a strange noise stops me.

  I realize it’s him. Aiden freaking Builder. It’s his voice echoing through the room. That’s the noise. He’s speaking. I’m so flustered that I can barely focus on the words or make them out. That must be the case because, suddenly, loud and clear, I hear something that sounds very much like agreement.

  “I might have said it was a stupid idea, and it is, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

  I whip my head around so hard that I’m actually afraid I’ve given myself actual whiplash. If I don’t need to go to the ER for the pain burning down my shoulders and into my back, I just might because there’s a good chance my heart is going to rip out of my chest and land with a gross bloody splat right on the floor at Aiden Builder’s feet.

  Feet, I realize, which are clad in canvas shoes. Much like the ones I prefer. They are well worn. Obviously loved. One has a hole on the top. For some reason, that hole, the obvious amount of wear for the cheap shoes practically anyone could afford and many people choose to wear because they are kick-ass and comfortable and pair well with anything, makes me relax just a little.

  I let out a shaky breath, still studying those black ripped shoes. I like them, I realize with a start. No. Correction. I like him. He’s not what I expected. He’s sarcastic, which means he has a brain that he likes to use once in a while. I like that too. He’s not just a bag of muscles or one of those straight-up smelly asshole varieties.

  “What?” Cassie gasps.

  Aria lets out a noise that means pretty much the same thing.

  Aiden snorts too. “Out. All of you. I want to talk to her alone.”

  Clearly the her in that sentence is me. My entire body begins to tremble, and I have to reach out and grip the edge of the table to keep from falling on my ass. I can think of less dignified things to happen, and since I’m wearing black slacks and a red blouse, no one would see anything, but still. I’d like to stay standing and preserve what little I have left of my dignity.

  Cassie shoots me an are you sure you’re going to be okay? look. Aria taps her heel like she doesn’t want to leave because she’s certain I can’t negotiate this on my own, and she’s absolutely right, given it was a terrible idea in the first place, and I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I blink at her. She blinks at me. I blink again. She blinks back. Finally, she shrugs.

  She takes Cassie’s hand and pretty much drags her out of the room. Cassie looks like a deer blinded by some really bright and dangerous headlights. I think I look worse, like the unlucky deer who just got smacked.

  “Henry. You too.”

  “But…” Henry splutters. I can’t say I blame the guy.

  “Please.”

  That word comes out as nothing less than forceful and self-assured, and I realize it’s because Aiden Builder isn’t the kind of man who uses it often. After a few strained seconds, Henry shakes his head, slides his chair back, and saunters out of the room. He throws Aiden one last stare like he wants to say he’s right outside if the guy needs saving, and shuts the door behind him.

  I have no idea where Aria and Cassie are, but I’m really hoping they’re not out there terrorizing the agency. I vow to make this shit as brief as possible.

  I slowly let my eyes travel the room. I’m well aware my chair is four feet behind me, and I look stupid doing it, but instead of going to retrieve it and sit back down, I perch on the edge of the table. The thing looks like it was built out a medieval tree, and at the moment, I trust it more than I do my knees, which feel about as supportive as those weird food jelly dishes they used to serve back in the day. You know, the ones with the mashed potatoes and peas and meat all in different, strange layers with that clear layer of gelatin in between? That stuff is pretty much what nightmares are made of.

  “This wasn’t your idea. Clearly.” Aiden takes the lead.

  I shake my head. I wonder, on a scale of one to ten, how freaking stupid I look right now. I’ve never done anything more humiliating in my life. While it’s true that my love life hasn’t exactly flourished over the years or been anything spectacular, and I’ve never had really wild good sex, and certainly never one of those life-changing orgasms, I didn’t want to believe I’m this hopeless. That I’m actually buying a date from this guy.

  “Your ex must have been something special. Or a real fucking tool if you want to get back at him this bad.”

  “It actually wasn’t my idea,” I state, even though he already knows that. “I didn’t want to get back at him at all. My friends think it’s pretty shitty that I’m being completely humiliated. My ex happened to leave me for someone who works for me. She’s nineteen. A model. Up and coming. He likes to do that. Attach himself to…no. Never mind. That doesn’t matter. Either way, the tabloids think it’s great. In short, pudgy, rich cow gets left for a teenager on her own payroll. It makes a good story. For them. They put all these really unflattering photos of me on there. Of course, they just had to pounce on the fact that I design clothes for women who are all smaller than I am. That was my mother, by the way, but I’ve been dumb enough all these years to let it slide.” I cough, loudly and unattractively, because I know I’m rambling, and that’s even worse than the tabloids themselves. “Anyway, my friends, who love me, by the way. They’re like sisters. They’ve been through everything with me. They had this idea that I could stick it to my ex for being such a—well…anyway. I didn’t want revenge, but they thought it was best to show the world that I wasn’t going to take this lying down and getting shit all over by everyone. I–I don’t know. I guess maybe I’m tired of it too. My mom…never mind. Not going there. Anyway, I—this is a bad idea. You’re right. It’s a terrible idea. I did hear that you were hoping to—to move to Miami, and I—well, I happen to live and work there. I am going to make some changes. Some big changes. I don’t want to make clothes that are ridiculous and unattainable and just wasteful anymore. I want to make clothes for real people. At least a line or two that—that is more like what people actually want to wear. I want to make some changes. I’ve heard you do too. I thought that maybe, that it would be a good partnership for a while.”

  Aiden chews that over. Literally. I can tell he’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek, and it does something to me in strange places. I get all shivery and hot. Brad never
made me feel shivery or hot. None of the guys I’ve gone out with ever have.

  Those eyes, Aiden’s eyes…they’re the color of a meandering spring. Or a really nice dress made from exotic hued fabric. The flowy, form-draping kind of dress. The kind I’ve never dared to wear, but I now wish I had. I’ve never designed anything like it. My fingers suddenly itch. They haven’t done that in years either. I’ve been working on auto-pilot for a long time.

  “So, what came first? The idea about revenge or the idea about change?”

  “It was kind of a package deal,” I admit.

  Aiden studies me for a long time. A really long time. An uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he gives that gorgeous head of his a shake. He’s almost perfectly symmetrical. You might not think that matters, but if you make a living the way he does, let me tell you, it matters. He has gorgeous eyes, a perfect nose, lips that aren’t too full and aren’t thin either, that classic cut jawline, and the perfect haircut. It’s short on the sides and just slightly longer on top, a strange shade that isn’t brown or black or brown with red or anything I’ve ever seen. Aside from being deliciously symmetrical, he’s unique looking. Not a classic handsome or babyface or a bad boy look. He’s just…he’s Aiden Builder. He’s nearing thirty, and it’s a nice thirty, let me tell you. An edible kind of thirty.

  I catch myself thinking it, and I cut right off. Edible? That is not a word used to describe a person. God. What is wrong with me? I’ve spent too much time with Aria.