Pretend To Be Mine Read online

  Pretend To Be Mine

  C. Morgan

  BrixBaxter Publishing

  Contents

  Description

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  More Good Reads

  Come Swoon With Us

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Description

  I need someone to help me stick it to my ex.

  A fake fiancée will do the trick, and this woman is gorgeous.

  My ex-wife cheated on me and now is marrying the bastard.

  And I have to attend the wedding for my daughter’s sake.

  Well, I’m going armed with hotness. Nothing like pretending your life is together.

  We might have pretended a little too well.

  The crazy part? She’s not from the escort service that a buddy set me up with.

  She owns the service.

  And she’s pulling out all the stops. I’m not sure who’s more convinced about her affections, my ex or me.

  Needless to say, she’s willing to pretend to be mine.

  The only question is, can I keep her when it’s all over?

  I plan to work like hell to make that happen.

  Dedication

  Thank you so much to all of my fans for reading my work. I am so grateful for each and every single one of you.

  C. Morgan

  Chapter 1

  Natalie

  Victoria and I spilled out onto the sidewalk and escaped the crammed coffee shop that smelled like holiday drinks and gingerbread biscotti. The door swung closed behind us and sealed off the chorus of people calling out their coffee orders and a high-pitched Mariah Carey Christmas tune. We strode past the lights that winked in the cafe window, blurry and foggy behind the faux-frosted glass, and hopped over the crack in the sidewalk both of us had caught our heels in on more than one occasion on the walk from our apartment up the block to our office half a mile away.

  Our heels clipped the pavement of the sidewalk as I popped the lid of my latte off to not so gracefully sip the whipped cream off the top of my coffee. It was peppered with crushed pieces of peppermint.

  Victoria gave me a side-eyed smile. “You got some on your upper lip, Nat. You do this every time. And your lipstick was so immaculately applied this morning. Here. Have a napkin.” She passed me a little paper serviette she’d been using as a sleeve to protect her hand from the side of her hot cup.

  I ran my finger along my upper lip line. “I’ve got it. I don’t want even a little bit to go to waste.” I licked the dollop of whipped cream off my red-lipstick-stained fingertip.

  Victoria chuckled. “What is with you and peppermint mochas?”

  “It’s Christmas in a cup. What’s not to love?”

  Victoria, all long legs and grace, shrugged a dainty shoulder, flipped her wavy dark brown hair over her shoulder, and sipped her half-fat, no-whip, sugar-free, hazelnut latte. She never deviated from her order regardless of the weather or season. Fall? Hazelnut. The dead of summer on a blistering hot day? Still hazelnut. “Those things are too sweet,” she said. “They hurt my teeth.”

  “They hurt my waist size,” I muttered as I pressed the lid back on.

  Victoria giggled.

  The sidewalk became more congested the closer to Union Square we got. We kept to the outskirts and hopped off the curb more than once to bustle past slow-moving pedestrians or parents struggling with moody children complaining about having to go to school. The morning was sunny but not warm, which was common this close to Thanksgiving. Soon, the whole city would be lit up with Christmas lights. Decorations would wink and dazzle on every light post and rooftop. The Macy’s tree would arrive in Union Square any day now and would be lit on Black Friday for the first time. If it wasn’t a busy evening work-wise, Victoria and I might make our way down for the event—with coffees in hand, of course.

  We arrived at my office fifteen minutes before ten o’clock. I twisted the key in the lock and shouldered the door open. Victoria followed, locked up behind us, and set her coffee down on my desk so she could shrug out of her jacket and hang it on the Swarovski-studded coat stand I’d purchased as a gift to myself and my office last winter. Had it been an extravagant and somewhat indulgent purchase? Yes. Did I regret it? Absolutely not.

  I added my red pea coat to the rack and went about turning on the office lights, starting up my computer, and listening to voicemails. We had six missed calls from gentlemen who’d tried to reach us well into the evening last night. It was typical. In my line of work, the clients came out of the woodwork after nine o’clock.

  It was normal for an escort service.

  I jotted down the names of the callers as well as what they were looking for: brunette, thin, full figure, short hair, long hair, sexy, sassy, cute, sophisticated, rowdy. We offered something for everyone. Once I had my list, I deleted the inbox to make sure it didn’t fill up and cost me any callers.

  Victoria sidled up to my desk and leaned one hip against the edge. “Can I do call-backs this morning?”

  Victoria was my best friend, but she also happened to be my protégé at On His Arm, my high-end escort service. I’d started the company three years ago after working in the field myself for three consecutive years prior to that. My experience in the real world of the escort service made it really easy for me to tell what clients were worth bringing into our database and which ones were not. I could spot a red flag coming before it even walked through the door. I hadn’t always been lucky enough to have that skill, especially when I was a doe-eyed, cash-strapped twenty-one-year-old, but I’d honed those skills now.

  I slid the notepad across the desk to my friend. “They’re all yours. Two are return clients. Moira’s clients, if I’m remembering correctly.”

  Victoria pursed her lips approvingly. “The girl is on a hot streak, isn’t she?”

  “Something about those big baby blues the boys can’t get enough of, I suppose.”

  “Lucky bitch. She’s making bank leading up to Christmas.”

  I sipped my coffee and kicked my heels up onto my desk. They were one of my favorite pairs to wear to the office. They were glossy black with pointed toes and a red sole. The heel, undoubtedly the best part of the shoe, was a piece of gold cut into roses and vines that looked like they were climbing up toward the back of my ankle. “She had a rough year last year, so it seems fitting things are turning around for her. Besides, she’s really come into herself and finally believed me when I told her men don’t always want thin women. There’s a flavor for everyone.”

  “She grew up in a house where her mother was constantly cutting stuff out of her diet,” Victoria said darkly as she settled onto the bench seat in front of one of th
e office windows. “No wonder it’s taken her twenty-four years to start loving herself.”

  Every girl I’d ever hired had some sort of hang up about her body. This business, my empire, helped them see how beautiful they really were. There was a fine line between a woman feeling powerful because she was desired and a woman only striving to be looked at. Here at On His Arm, I took pride in teaching my girls the difference and sending them out into the world as confident, secure, intelligent young women who knew the worth of their hearts as well as the beauty they possessed. I never knew it would be my passion until I started doing it and now I couldn’t imagine my life without this place.

  It was my home and the girls were my family.

  I checked the time. “Five minutes until we open. Might as well crack those curtains open and let the light in, babe. Some of the girls will be rolling in soon.”

  Victoria slid open the plush velvet curtains hanging over the windows. She hooked them back, creating a romantic draped effect, and secured them off to the sides with a satin rope. She unlocked the doors, turned on the open sign, and spun to face me with a cheeky smile.

  She dropped in a bow. “We are open for business, your majesty.”

  “Drink more coffee. You’re still too sassy to be talking to clients.”

  Victoria snorted, fell back onto the bench seat, and crossed one leg over the other. “Oh please. I always get a better tip when I’m sassy. Men love it.”

  “I’m not men. I’m your boss.”

  “You’re my best friend.”

  “And your boss.”

  Victoria stuck her tongue out at me. “Someone has to keep you on your toes, Nat. Who better to do that than little old me?”

  I kicked my heels down and got up out of my chair. I gestured at it in invitation for Victoria to come sit. She was right. Having someone in the office to keep me quick was an asset. Being out of the field and working behind a desk had cost me some of that wit and charm I used nightly on my male clients. I’d honed other skills, of course, but every now and then, I missed the adrenaline rush of going to a fancy party in a ballroom surrounded by elite members of society. I missed the way men and women alike used to look at me. They knew I didn’t belong, and yet being on his arm, whoever he happened to be that night, meant I was worthy of the same spaces they were. It drove the women mad and made the men more than a little curious. My red hair and full curves made me difficult to miss in a room full of women who looked like they belonged on the covers of magazines or on fashion runways. The way I dressed turned heads, too. I’d always been the kind of girl who needed a bit of sparkle in her life. I needed drama. Flair. And a red lip.

  Always a red lip.

  Victoria took her seat at my desk and tucked herself in. She opened the booking software on my computer where I could access the schedules of all my girls and book them based on their availability. She pulled the notepad with my scribbles on it toward her and peered down at the first name.

  “Andrew Kemple,” she mused. “Isn’t he the guy with the sideburns?”

  “Unfortunately for him, yes. He’s sweet though. And he tips well. Nobody in this office would say no to Andrew. See what his event is and what kind of girl he wants. I believe his last girl was Anya.”

  Victoria clicked through the schedule. “Yep, Anya. She liked him, didn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Everyone who’s ever gone out with Andrew likes him. He’s kind. You know what you get with him. We like a consistent boy.”

  Victoria nodded, picked up the phone, and called Andrew.

  He was an easy client to book. He’d been coming to me for dates for his special occasions ever since I opened up shop, and he’d sent a lot of business my way as well. Any friend of Andrew’s was a friend of mine, and I’d treated them as such. He was a big reason why I’d found success so quickly. His friends led to more connections until I was in a spot where I desperately needed to hire more girls because I couldn’t keep up with the demand. What started as a five-person operation had now become a team of almost twenty women working together to provide companionship for single men all throughout San Francisco.

  Victoria handled the call brilliantly. She asked him if anything about his identification had changed. We had his driver’s license and passport on file. If either had been updated, we wanted the most up to date copy in our records. I had a zero-tolerance policy for men who refused to provide me with identification and their address. I needed to know who my girls were with, where they were, and where they’d been. This business didn’t come without its detriments, and one of them was constantly worrying over the safety of my girls.

  I’d spent time alone in rooms with men who had no business keeping female company. I knew how frightening and dangerous that could be. I never wanted one of my girls to be in a position like that, so I took every precaution necessary to deter those kinds of men from booking with us. I also made sure I could point the police in the right direction should a situation ever arise.

  Three years into my business, it never had and I had to believe that was because of the measures I took.

  Andrew booked Anya for his Christmas party two weeks away.

  The office door swung open and Moira rolled in. She flashed us a charming smile as she unwrapped a pretty pink scarf from around her neck. “Morning ladies,” she chimed. “It’s starting to feel like Christmastime out there, isn’t it? When are we going to start—”

  “Don’t say it,” Victoria warned.

  “Decorating and playing Christmas music, Grinch?” Moira finished, shooting a scowl at Victoria.

  “The first,” I said matter-of-factly. “You had two callers leave voicemails last night and request your company, Moira. Well done. You’re knocking last year’s numbers out of the park. I’m really proud of you.”

  Moira’s cheeks turned pinker than the scarf she draped over the Swarovski coat rack. “Thank you, Natalie.”

  “I hope you’re planning on treating yourself to something nice this Christmas,” I said.

  Moira bit her full bottom lip. “I might have had my eye on a little something.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And what might that little something be?”

  “I don’t want to say it out loud in case it doesn’t happen.” Moira ran her hands over her waist-cinching corset she wore over top of a silky black dress. The sheer sleeves showed off the tattoos on her arms and shoulders. “But when it does, you’ll be the first to know about it.”

  I nodded at Victoria. “Let’s see if we can put one of those callers on Moira’s calendar, shall we?”

  Victoria grinned. “On it, boss lady.”

  Chapter 2

  Rylen

  The unread email in my inbox glared furiously at me. My ex wife’s email handle was a jab in and of itself: [email protected].

  She’d yet to change her last name—my last name, as a matter of fact—and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to ask her if she planned on keeping her email the same since that was how all her staging clients knew her in the real estate business.

  I sighed.

  The email had been sitting in my inbox for several days already and I still hadn’t gotten around to opening it. Not because I was too busy to read an email. It was because the subject line told me everything I needed to know.

  The email was about her wedding four weeks from now.

  I took off my glasses, massaged the bridge of my nose where they rested, and put them back on. I couldn’t delay any longer. Tomorrow morning, I’d be driving our daughter to Mona’s house where she’d be spending the week. Sharing custody wasn’t easy. Sharing custody when one parent was planning their wedding to the man they cheated on you with for two years?

  Definitely not easy.

  I clicked the email and started reading.

  Re: Last Minute Wedding Details - see attachments

  Ry,

  I know you’re not interested in talking about wedding stuff with me, but there are some last-minute details I
need to confirm with you. Logan and I would obviously like to spend our wedding night just the two of us, so I expect you’ll be open to taking Cora that night? If not, I can see if my folks will watch her. You know how Mom and Dad love to get every minute they can with their grandbaby. If possible, I’d also like the night before and after the wedding to ourselves. Let me know if this is possible on your end.

  The hotel in Paris is fully booked. Can you confirm what room you’re staying in for me? You have confirmed your booking with the hotel, right?

  Lastly, Logan will be going out with his boys the night before the wedding. I know you don’t know them but they’re good guys. I can ask my parents to watch Cora that night if you want to go out with them. Apparently, they’re hitting a burlesque club and having some drinks. Nothing too wild, of course. It wouldn’t do for him to be hungover the morning of the wedding.

  Anyway, please reply as quickly as you can, Ry. I’m under a bit of a deadline. I’d almost forgotten how much work actually went into planning a wedding!

  Xoxo,

  Mona