Chapter 1: Leesa
When the apocalypse comes, cats will rule the world.
Fifteen minutes had passed since I’d tossed the stupid pink wedding invitation with its scalloped edges and handwritten calligraphy onto the coffee table. Bewildered and angry—like a snorting-bull-ready-to-gore-the-matador angry—I paced, wearing out a strip of my living room carpet.
How dare he? How dare he! The sheer arrogance of the man. What on earth had possessed my former fiancé to send to me, of all people, an invitation to his wedding? Was Benedict so narcissistic that he thought, for a single second, I’d want to attend? Or was he just rubbing my nose in it, squeezing the last drops of humiliation out of me? Knowing him, both things were probably true.
Although, why he’d left it so late to invite me was something of a mystery. I bet there’d been a cancellation and his bride’s stinking-rich parents didn’t want any spare seats ruining the aesthetics for Hello! magazine. And as they’d invited half of England, suitable replacements must have been in short supply. Except I was the furthest from a suitable replacement as you could get. No one invited their ex-fiancée to their wedding. No one except my ex-fiancé, it seemed.
As if I’d give him the satisfaction of attending his shitty wedding to his shitty fiancée, someone I’d once thought of as a friend, albeit not a close one. They could stick their invitation to the grandly named Grange Manor, owned by Benedict’s soon-to-be father-in-law, up their arse. Twat.
In spite of the rage spreading like a wildfire through my bloodstream, I chuckled. My English mother had taught my French father that word when they’d first met, and he loved it.
My smile fell. I hadn’t spoken to my parents in nine months. My mother’s outrage when I’d informed her I’d decided to quit modeling for good, at twenty-six, still stung. The life of a catwalk model was short enough without wrecking one’s own career, Maman had said. We’d exchanged bitter words, and I hadn’t seen either of them since. I refused to make the first move. They owed me the apology, not the other way around.
Screw Benedict. Screw my parents. Screw the shallow world of modeling, where girls’ biggest concerns were that they’d eaten two lettuce leaves for lunch instead of one. I had a new life now, thanks to Kadon Kingcaid. I’d met him shortly after Benedict had broken off our engagement. He’d given me a job and a chance to show the world I wasn’t the airhead the media made me out to be, or Benedict’s ex-fiancée, whom he’d publicly dumped. I was me. Annaleesa Sabine Alarie, half French, half English, all fucking woman.
I read the card once more, but instead of throwing it into the trash, I slipped it inside my purse. I should burn it, but with my luck, I’d set fire to the house. Perhaps I wanted to hold on to my anger for a little while longer. It was a heck of a lot better than hurting. That sucker of an emotion weakened me. Rage and indignation fueled me.
Leaving Dash, my once-stray cat whom I’d adopted six months ago and who now ruled my life soaking up the sun, I unlocked the cat flap, filled his water bowl, and gave his ears a final scratch. “Be good, you little shit. No bringing friends over while I’m gone.”
He answered by licking his paws, his startling blue-gray eyes narrowing as if to say, “I’ll do whatever I want, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.” The worst thing was I couldn’t argue with his logic.
Kingcaid Beach Club Saint Tropez, where I worked as the VIP Operations Manager, was located right on the seafront. It took up a considerable amount of real estate. If I hazarded a guess as to the value of the land alone, I’d put it in the high tens of millions. Possibly even the hundreds of millions. Everyone who was anyone came here from the moment the club opened in March to the day it closed for the winter on October 31.
Hence the requirement for someone to look after our most important guests. My role was to ensure that those guests had their every wish catered to. Sometimes, it was a pain in the rear, but most of the time, I enjoyed my job. It wasn’t easy. Because of the shorter season down here in the South of France, we worked seven days a week, with only an occasional day off here and there. As this was my first season, I was exhausted. Even my bones hurt. I couldn’t wait for the next four weeks to pass. I planned to head off somewhere warm, work out a plan for my long-term goals, and relax.
I did not plan to attend McJerky’s stupid November wedding in the cold and damp English countryside. Not a chance.
The guard stopped me and checked my credentials, then lifted the barrier and let me through. The infamy of some of our guests meant that security was, by necessity, tight. We couldn’t allow a single unapproved visitor inside the beach club. Our clientele paid enormous sums of money each year for a membership to Kingcaid’s worldwide beach club resorts. It would only take one so-called fan to approach a star in their executive bungalow, and the hard-won reputation of Kadon’s business would disappear faster than Dash chasing a mouse.
Kadon prided himself on ensuring privacy and delivering top-class service, and as a member of his senior management team, I’d make damned sure I upheld the values of this organization.
I maneuvered my car into my allotted space and got out. A cool breeze blew strands of hair across my face. I tucked them behind my ears and fastened my jacket. The temperatures would reach the low seventies today, but I doubted most customers would arrive much before midday. In the height of summer, they’d often turn up by nine in the morning and leave long after the sun had set, but this close to the end of the season always saw a drop-off. At least, that was what Kadon had told me.
Kadon’s gunmetal gray Aston Martin sat in his reserved space. It didn’t surprise that me he was here already. He’d be champing at the bit, going through the figures from the last few days and making sure everything was in order. Kadon wasn’t a descendant of the ridiculously rich Kingcaid family for nothing. Very little got past him. But outside of work, Kadon was as far removed from a billionaire as you could imagine. Shoulder-length, messy, blond-streaked hair, rarely dressed in anything other than casual clothing, fun-loving, and considerate of others. He was much more suited to hanging with the surfers who frequented Galiote Beach than in a shirt and tie and sitting around a boardroom table. Little wonder his father had put him in charge of this arm of the business.
I headed straight for Kadon’s office. One rap on the door, and I pushed it open. I found him sitting behind his desk—but it wasn’t the Kadon who’d left here a few days earlier.
My jaw dropped, and I burst out laughing. “What the hell happened to you?”
Chapter 2: Kadon
A wig? Why the hell didn’t I think of that?
“Don’t say another fucking word.” I raised my hand and glowered. Today wasn’t the day to mess with me. Not that it changed Lee’s reaction. She was the very last person to fear me, as evidenced by her laughter bouncing off the walls.
“Holy shit. My poor Samson.” Flopping into the visitors chair opposite my desk, she flicked her lavender hair over her shoulder, propped her elbows on the polished oak, and fluttered her eyelashes. “Have you lost all your strength along with your luscious locks?”
I poked my tongue into my cheek and inhaled a slow breath. “I’m not kidding, Lee. It isn’t fucking funny.”
I loved my long hair. It was me. I’d worn it long for years, never imagining a time when I’d cut it.
Until my mother, the indomitable Sandrine Kingcaid, had stepped in, and it was “Bye-bye, beautiful hair; hello, stupid short back and sides.” And all for my brother’s wedding. Nolen wouldn’t have given two shits how long I wore my hair at his wedding, or anywhere else for that matter, but Mom… she’d insisted, and out came the scissors. My brothers and I had learned a long time ago not to argue with our mother. There was only ever one winner.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t any of us.
At least she’d let me keep it longer on top. Plus, it’d grow back. Eventually.
Didn’t stop me from being pissed, though. Add an unscheduled layover in New York, plus a nine-hour time difference, and cranky didn’t describe how I felt this morning.
“What happened?” Lee couldn’t stop her lips from twitching, not even when my scowl darkened.
“My mother. That’s what happened. Something about not letting me ruin the wedding photos.” I grunted.
“I kinda like it.” She narrowed her platinum-gray eyes, scrutinizing me much as one would a prize bull at auction. “It suits you.”
Her comments pulled a grin from me. If Lee liked it short, I might keep it this way for longer. Maybe forever. I spent most of my waking hours trying to figure out how I could make Lee look at me as anything more than a friend. I was still waiting. It was all that English prick’s fault. His cheating ass had made her swear off men for the foreseeable future. She wouldn’t think that way forever—I hoped—and when she decided she was ready to date again, yours truly would make damn sure I was right there, in the prime position to take advantage.
Not that I deserved her. I wasn’t sure I deserved anyone after what I’d done, but especially Lee. She was good. Inside-out category of good. She’d spent years at the pinnacle of modeling, with sycophants flapping around her and telling her how perfect and marvelous she was. Yet despite that, she’d emerged with a humble approach to life that I admired the hell out of.
Wasn’t she entitled to someone better than me? Someone who didn’t carry around a ship-sized container filled with regrets and guilt and horror at what I was capable of. Only when breached did we discover our limits. If it weren’t for my father and his power…
Fingers of depression descended, choking me, but before they could get too firm a hold, my therapist’s suggestion to think of something nice popped into my mind. I chose my brother’s wedding, remembering how happy he’d been as he’d made his vows, and after a few seconds, the dark thoughts retreated to the corners of my mind. They never truly went away. They never would. Nine fucking years, and even now I sometimes woke in the middle of the night covered in sweat and unable to breathe.
“Really?” I said. “You like it?”
“No.” She laughed again. “I think we should get you a wig until yours grows back.”
A wig. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I should’ve told my mother I’d wear a fucking wig.
“Great. You almost had me there.”
“Aw, poor baby.” She rose from her chair and walked behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I bit back a groan and closed my eyes, pretending for a few precious seconds that this was real. Lee’s arms around me was something I fantasized about far too often—along with many other fantasies, much dirtier than a simple hug.
And fantasyland was where they’d remain. Lee had friend-zoned me, and from the looks of things, I’d have to come to terms with that.
Even last month, when I’d mentioned to Lee that I had a date with an actress who’d pursued me for weeks, she’d patted me on the back and told me to have a great time.
I’d had a crap time, although I must have been a better actor than my date because she’d lost her shit when I’d declined her not-so-subtle hints for a hookup.
Nine months ago, I’d had more dates lined up than days in the week, my little black book bursting with the phone numbers of the hottest women to pass through Saint Tropez. Then I’d met Lee, and that was that.
The heart knew what it wanted—and mine had picked her.
Hers… had picked a douchewaffle named Benedict who’d crushed her heart in his meaty fist until there wasn’t anything left.
I hated that bastard. I hoped his new wife cheated on him and then gave him crabs. Or syphilis. Or crabs and syphilis. I hoped his balls turned black and his dick fell off.
Vengeful? Me? Nah.
Lee released me and returned to her chair. She sat back down and reached across my desk, stealing my cup of French roast from our favorite coffee shop. “How was the wedding? Apart from the shorn locks, that is.”
Her lips twitched. I scratched my temple with my middle finger. She laughed, holding up her palms.
“Okay, that’s the last joke. I promise.”
“It’d better be,” I groused. “The wedding was great. Never seen two happier people. Shame it took them ten fucking years to get their act together.”
She hitched a shoulder. “Sometimes it takes a little while for people to realize what’s right in front of them.”
Jesus. Tell me about it.
“Was great to spend time with the fam, too. It’s been a minute.”
Lee wrinkled her nose. “That American phrase confuses me. I mean, a minute isn’t a very long time. Why don’t you say ‘while’? It’s been a while. Or it’s been a few months? Those make far more sense. Why ‘a minute’?”
“I’ve no freaking idea. I’ve always said it. You say weird things sometimes, too.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
I rubbed my chin, contemplating her question. Dammit. “Well… I can’t come up with any right this second, but—”
“Aha! Gotcha.”
“No. I’ll think of something.”
She pretended to file her nails. “I’ll be right here, on the edge of my seat, waiting.”
Lee’s sarcasm was one of the first things I’d fallen in love with. She definitely had more English blood in her than French. Attending school in England had probably helped. Her French accent was so slight that I had to strain to pick it up.
I chuckled. “How have things been here?”
“Ah, the old ‘let’s change the subject’ switcheroo. Everything’s been fine. No drama. It’s almost like you’re not needed.”
“You’d miss me if I weren’t around.”
“Yeah, like a boil on the bum.”
“Lies.”
She downed the remains of my coffee and aimed the cup at the trash. Of course, it went in. “Score! I did miss you.” Her lips stretched into a grin, and her eyes twinkled—both signs that she hadn’t finished.
I waited, one eyebrow arched in anticipation.
“I’ve had to fetch my own coffee.”
“And there it is.” I threw my hands in the air. “You’re so predictable.”
“It’s your belief in my predictability that will ultimately be your downfall. I do have a funny story to tell you about the temp receptionist, though, if you’re interested.”
“Brigitte not back yet?”
Brigitte was my full-time receptionist. She’d called in sick the day before I was due to fly to Vegas for Nolen’s wedding. I hadn’t met the temp. Lee had taken care of the arrangements, even though it technically wasn’t her job. She might have the title of VIP Operations Manager, but she took care of far more than our VIPs.
If only she’d take care of me.
“No. I spoke to her on Thursday. She sounded awful.”
“I’ll send some flowers and a gift card for a spa day or something.”
“Already done.”
“Lifesaver.” I motioned with my hand. “So, the temp?”
“Her name’s Claudine, and she’s super sweet, but a little… green. Anyway, yesterday I was going through the upcoming bookings for next weekend, and I saw one that made me laugh out loud. She’d typed ‘Vee Eye Pee’ instead of ‘VIP’ against a booking for Sebastian Devereaux for Friday through Monday.”
Sebastian was a senior board member of ROGUES, a company my family did a fair amount of business with, and an all-around great guy. If he was stopping by, I might drop him a line and suggest a round of golf.
“She didn’t? God bless her.”
Lee made a cross on her chest. “I swear it’s the truth. She’s magnificent with the guests, though. They adore her. She’s delightful and caring and has this lovely way about her.”
“That’s the main thing. And who am I to judge? It sounds like something I’d do.” I was dyslexic, something I’d worked hard to overcome. These days, I coped pretty damn well, but understanding the written word wouldn’t ever come naturally to me.
“She’s worth considering for a role for next season.”
“I’ll keep her in mind. Four weeks to go. How are you holding up?” I paid my full-time employees for twelve months, although the club only opened for eight because of the inclement weather in the South of France in the winter months. At this stage of the season, everyone was running on fumes. Given that this was Lee’s first year, I expected her to feel more exhausted than my longer-serving employees.
“Not gonna lie, I’m tired. It’s been a long year. But I’m used to being tired. Modeling looks glamorous from the outside but is damned hard work on the inside.”
“Do you miss it? Modeling?” It was the first time she’d mentioned her former career since she’d taken the job with me, almost as if she’d completely washed her hands of it. If only I could leave my past behind so easily.
“No. I thought I would. It’s all I’ve known since I was six years old, but I’ve seen a different side to life these past nine months since Benedict dumped me, and I like it. I guess it’s proved to me I can do other things, that I’m not just…” She drew a circle around her face. “This.”
“You know you’re more than your looks, Lee.” The press liked to downplay beautiful women, make them out to be nothing more than airheads. Funny how they didn’t treat male models in the same way. Only the women. Misogynistic assholes.
She sighed. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”
“I’ll have my tattoo artist ink your arm with it if you like?” I was only half joking.
She shuddered. “Needles? No, thanks.”
“Noted. So, what are you planning to do with your time off?” I kept the yearning out of my voice. No idea how. I couldn’t bear to contemplate the four months stretching ahead of me when I wouldn’t see her every day. While she got time off, I didn’t. Although I based myself in Saint Tropez, I had fifteen other beach clubs around the world that came under my wing of the business, and we opened at least one new one a year, which always required additional attention. Some, like our property in Dubai, were four times as big as Saint Tropez, with four times the problems. While Saint Tropez was closed, I’d spend a large part of the winter visiting those other locations. I’d installed highly capable managers at each one, but that didn’t mean I could abandon my responsibilities. The ultimate buck stopped with me.
Fuck knows, Dad has told me often enough.
“I’ll tell you what I’m not doing with it.” She reached into her purse and pitched a card onto my desk. I drew it toward me.
Sir Darren Grange and Lady. Rosalind Grange
request the pleasure of the company of
Miss Annaleesa Alarie & Guest
At the wedding of their beloved daughter, Fenella
To Benedict Oberon
At Grange Manor, Berkshire
From Thursday, November 5th to Saturday, November 7th
Accommodation provided
RSVP
I read it twice, mainly because I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes. Benedict Oberon was a class A prick, but he’d outdone his douchery this time.
“Is he insane? And what’s with the three-day extravaganza?”
Lee tapped pink-tipped fingernails against her thigh. “They’re toffs. They’ll want the maximum press exposure. And to answer your question about insanity, yeah, I like to think he is. In my darker moments, I picture him locked up in a padded cell with only his own ego for company, surrounded by a gallery of wronged women pelting him with rotten fruit and roadkill. Or paraded naked down the streets where a deafening crowd shouts, ‘Shame! Shame!’ Kinda like that scene with Cersei from Game of Thrones.”
I chuckled. “It’s good to have goals.”
“All I have to do is figure out what mine are.” She sighed. “I’m working on it.”
A chill surged through me. Lee had made it clear when she’d accepted the job at my beach club that it was only temporary, but the longer she’d stayed, the more I’d hoped she might decide this was her calling and make it permanent.
“You’ll figure it out. And until you do, this job is yours.”
“You’re the best friend a girl could wish for, Kadon.”
Oof. Just what I’ve always wanted.
“Stop. You’re making me blush.” I tapped my finger against the card, an idea developing in my mind, one that was more insane than Benedict inviting his ex to his wedding after the way he’d ended it, but it would give me a chance to get close to Lee. As close as I deserved.
Would it make me a bastard? Probably. But I’d lived through rock bottom. What else did I have to lose?
“Want to know what I think you should do about this?”
“Burn it?”
“I think you should go.”
Her eyebrows flew up her head. “Then you’re the insane one. Why the hell would I do that? So Benedict can humiliate me some more?”
“Hear me out. What’s the best way to get back at an ex, and one who admitted he only dumped you for this new chick because her daddy could do more for his career than you could?”
Jesus, saying it out loud served as further evidence of how much of a fucking dick Benedict Oberon was.
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Enlighten me, oh wise one.”
“You turn up to his wedding with a new flame. One who’s richer, more successful, and better looking than him. One who will treat you like a queen and show him what he gave up in the name of ambition.”
She rubbed her furrowed forehead. “And, pray tell, where do I find this godlike creature?”
I’m going to hell.
I pointed at myself.
Lee laughed. “You’re not serious.”
I tried not to let her reaction slice my already damaged heart into a million pieces. “Deadly. We know each other well enough to pull this off, and imagine the fun we’d have.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Think about it.”
She got to her feet, shaking her head. “Mad, mad American.”
“Promise me you’ll think about it.”
Suddenly, persuading Lee to be my fake girlfriend overtook every rational thought inside my brain. It was a ridiculous, stupid idea, but that wouldn’t stop me. Pretending Lee was mine, even for a short time, might be the closest I ever got to living out my fantasies. And who knew? Faking it might lead to us making it.
I didn’t deserve her, but that wouldn’t stop me from giving it all I had to win her heart.
She gave me a quizzical look, followed by another shake of her head. “Nothing to think about. I’m not going. End of story.”
Pivoting, she left my office with a cheery wave over her shoulder, leaving hope scattered like confetti behind her.
Chapter 3: Leesa
Ohh, buddy. You messed with the wrong chick.
“Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux. Welcome to Kingcaid Saint Tropez.” I handed our VIPs (or Vee Eye Pees, according to Claudine, which cracked me up every time I thought about it) glasses of crisp champagne. “I’m Leesa Alarie, the operations manager. We’re so pleased to have you.” I beckoned to our bellhop, who scurried over to take their bags. “Please follow me. Your bungalow is ready for you.”
Kadon’s beach club had various levels of membership. The lower levels entitled guests to use the main pool, the day beds, two of the restaurants, and direct access to the private beach. They could pay an extra six hundred euros for a cabana, which included a ceiling fan, a refrigerator stocked with a variety of soft drinks, a phone, and a fifty-inch TV. From there, levels of service and comfort increased. Those who paid an extortionate membership fee received access to a private bungalow, boasting a sitting area, a bedroom and a fully equipped bathroom, complimentary spa treatments, and a butler who attended to their every whim.
“Great to be back. And it’s Sebastian and Trinity. We’re not ones for standing on ceremony.” He scanned the immediate vicinity. “Is Kadon around?”
This was the first time I’d met Sebastian Devereaux. According to Kadon, he’d normally spend two or three weeks of the season at the club, but this was his first visit since I’d started working here. Kadon had said he was a down-to-earth guy. Looked like he was right.
“He’s on his way. I warn you, he’s mentioned golf once or twice.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Yeah, he’s sent a couple of texts about it, too.”
He put his arm around his wife and looked at her with adoration. I’d often wished Benedict would look at me like that. He never had. He’d put it down to his staid English upbringing. Said he struggled to show emotion, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. Back then, I’d believed him. Stupid me.
“Too bad for Kadon that my wife trumps him every time.”
“You can play if you want to,” Trinity said. “I’m sure I can amuse myself.”
“Nope. I’ve barely had time to breathe these last few months. You’re my priority.”
I almost swooned. Where do I find one of these men?
“Seb.” Kadon strode over, hand outstretched. “Great to see you. It’s been a minute.”
I stifled a giggle. Kadon caught my eye and narrowed his. I beamed at him.
“Sorry I missed you at Nolen’s wedding last weekend,” he said to Sebastian.
“Yeah, I tried to shift things around, but it wasn’t possible. Ryker said it was a terrific day.”
“It was. I hope Leesa has been taking care of you.”
Funny how he called me Lee when it was only the two of us, but Leesa in a professional capacity. Not that the why of it mattered. I loved the fact that Kadon was the only person to call me Lee. It solidified our special relationship. I’d never had girlfriends, not really. The modeling world was a competitive one, and it always raised suspicion if someone tried to be your friend. Usually, they had a hidden agenda. I’d gone into modeling at such a young age that I hadn’t even made school friends. A tutor who’d traveled with me had provided most of my schooling.
“She has.” Sebastian threw me a wink. “She’s even tipped me off that you’re still rambling on about golf.”
Kadon faked a shocked expression, his hand clutching his chest as if in the throes of heart failure. “You traitor. And here I was thinking you had my back.”
I tapped a finger against my bottom lip. “Hmm, aren’t you the one who drums into us that our guests are our top priority?” I wouldn’t normally jest in front of our VIPs, but Kadon had made it clear that Sebastian was a friend of his and an all-round great guy. It gave me the confidence to be myself. “I’m only doing your bidding, dearest boss, and making sure I arm Sebastian with a rebuttal. He’s here to spend time with his lovely wife, not play the most pointless game in the world with you.”
Both Sebastian and Kadon sucked in a sharp breath. Trinity beamed.
“Finally!” she expelled. “Someone who thinks the same as I do. It is a pointless game. A perfectly pleasant walk ruined; that’s what they say about golf. And it’s true.”
“You’re lucky I love you despite your hatred of my beloved hobby.” Sebastian pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple.
“You’re lucky I love you, despite your love of your pointless hobby.”
Ohhh. I liked Trinity. I liked her a lot.
“So that’s a no to a game of golf, then?” Kadon asked.
“Another time, buddy. If I can find a space in my calendar, I’ll swing over to Dubai this winter. Drop me a line when you’re planning to be there.”
“Sounds like a solid compromise.”
“Shall I show you to your bungalow before Kadon tries another tactic to get his own way?”
Sebastian sniggered. Trinity’s beam grew.
“As if I would.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
This time, Sebastian didn’t contain his laughter. “You’re magnificent, Leesa. You’re what Kadon needs to hold him to account. Be careful someone doesn’t poach her, buddy.”
“You’re right. She is magnificent, and I’d hate to lose her. But I’d never hold her back if she chooses to leave.”
“Oh, stop with the praise. I’m almost blushing.”
I settled Sebastian and Trinity at their bungalow, made sure their butler had noted down their food and drink preferences, and arranged for the masseuse to stop by after lunch. I left them my phone number in case they needed anything and promised to swing by during the day, then returned to the reception area to greet my next set of guests. The club had seven bungalows that housed the most important VIPs, and all of them came under my care. Despite the lateness in the season, they were full this weekend, which would keep me on my toes right through Sunday night.
By twelve o’clock, all my guests were in their bungalows, and so far, I hadn’t had to deal with a single drama. Long may it continue, although I doubted much time would pass before my phone rang. I grabbed a coffee and was on my way to the staff lounge when a news item on the TV behind the main bar caught my eye. I stopped dead in my tracks.
“Dom, can you turn that up?” I jerked my chin at the bartender.
“Sure.” He picked up the remote control and increased the volume.
Sliding onto a bar stool, I cupped my hands around my coffee mug and stared at the TV screen with growing horror. Benedict and his soon-to-be wife, Fenella, were standing outside our favorite Japanese restaurant in Kensington, talking to a journalist about their upcoming wedding. I couldn’t turn away, transfixed to the screen.
And then I heard my name.
What the ever-loving fuck?
My jaw slackened until I was sure I’d never clamp it shut again. I couldn’t believe my ears. The journalist posed a question about regrets. Did Benedict regret our breakup and how he handled it?
“Of course.” Benedict’s smarmy grin drew wide. “I’m not proud of breaking up with Annaleesa so soon before our wedding day. And she was so broken, you know. She cried and cried and begged me not to leave her.” He painted this pretend-to-give-a-shit expression on his face. “It was rather pathetic actually.”
Pathetic? I clasped my mug hard enough to shatter it. Oh, I’d kill him. If I ever got my hands on that bastard, I’d—
“We’ve invited her to our wedding.” His chest puffed up as if he’d won the fucking peace prize. “You know, to say no hard feelings. I doubt she’ll come, but we’re generous people, and Annaleesa once meant a lot to me.” He gazed down at Fenella. “But when you find the one, you know.” His lips pulled back from his perfect toothy smile.
I swayed in the sudden grip of rage and grabbed the edge of the bar. I took several deep breaths. I’ll show him broken. A broken fucking nose.
“Won’t it be strange,” the reporter continued, his question aimed at Fenella. “To have your fiancé’s ex at your wedding?”
“Not at all. Leesa and I were once very close.”
I snorted. Close, my arse.
“But, as my beloved said,” she continued, blinking up at Benedict, enthralled, “we don’t expect her to accept the invitation. I mean, it’d look a little sad, don’t you think? A woman alone at her ex’s wedding.”
My breakfast almost came back up.
The reporter posed another question, but the blood rushing through my ears drowned out the response.
I seethed. How dare he? That fucking prick. If justice existed in the world, there’d be a live-streamed video of rats gnawing off his balls. Hell, I’d even pay for the production costs. Then again, wrongdoers rarely got their comeuppance.
Broken. Begging. Pathetic. A woman alone.
Twat.
Both of them were twats.
Except… I drummed my fingers on the bar. This time, they’d messed with the wrong chick. Benedict might have ended our relationship, but I’d have the last laugh.
I grabbed my coffee and made my way to Kadon’s office. He wasn’t there. I slid my phone from my pocket and shot him a text to meet me in his office. He arrived shortly afterward.
“I’ll do it,” I blurted.
He gazed at me quizzically, one eyebrow lifted in an expression reminiscent of a baddie in a cheesy eighties movie.
“Do what?”
“I’ll go to the wedding. I’ll be your fake date. I mean”—I pointed at his head—“you already have an appropriate haircut. Why waste it?”
Both eyebrows crept up his forehead. “What’s changed? Last week, you were determined not to go.”
“Benedict fucking Oberon is what’s changed.”
Kadon scratched his cheek. “Are you coming down with something? Weird-itis?”
I made a face at him. “Funny. No, I just saw him on TV giving an interview.” I briefed Kadon on what I’d heard. “Screw him. He invited me, never expecting I’d turn up. So I’ll turn up all right. And with a date, too.”
Kadon’s eyes brightened. “Not just a date. Your long-term boyfriend. We’ve been going out for, what, six months? I think six months sounds good. It’s not right after he dumped you, but it’s close enough for him to feel aggrieved. I mean, there he was, breaking your heart and all, then three months later, you’re like, ‘Cheers, jackass. I found someone better.’ It’s perfect.”
Excitement curled in my gut. “It is better. And he deserves this. I’ve always hated the fact that I crumbled right in front of him when he broke things off. Looking back, I realize now that my response gave him the upper hand. He knows he broke my heart. But this way, he’ll have to question that belief. Brokenhearted ex-fiancées do not hook up with someone new a few short months later.”
“Exactly.” Kadon replaced his evil eyebrow with an evil grin. “This will be epic.”
My excitement ebbed. “God, but will it? What if he sees right through the charade, and that gives him even more power, more satisfaction? ‘Poor Annaleesa,’ ” I mimicked. “ ‘Had to hire a fake boyfriend to save face.’ ”
It’d be out-of-this-world fantastic to turn up to Benedict’s wedding with someone far smarter, far richer, and yep, far better looking, but if Benedict guessed our relationship wasn’t real, he’d wring the crap out of my discomfort.
“Relax. He won’t see through the charade.”
“How do you know?”
Kadon moved in, wrapping his arms around me. He pulled me tight to his muscular chest and stroked my hair. “Because we’re gonna make it so damn convincing. That’s how.”
“But he knows me so well.”
“Wrong.” He drew back to look into my eyes. “He knew you. He knew the person you were nine months ago. You’re not her any longer. You’re confident and sassy, and you’re rocking a demanding job, charming the pants off every VIP who comes through the front gates. You’re so much more than when you were with him. And believe me, he’s going to see that and question his choices.”
I nibbled my lip. “Really?”
Kadon kissed my forehead. “I guarantee it. Let’s rub the bastard’s nose in a pile of shit so big he’ll smell it for the rest of his miserable life.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too.” A broad grin edged across his face. “This will be fun.”
“We’ll have to make sure we don’t trip up. We should do a couple of question-and-answer sessions. Y’know, things like favorite movie, or the name of our first pet, schools we attended.”
Kadon rubbed his chin. “That’s a good idea. Why don’t I swing by in the morning? I’ll bring pastries from that patisserie you love so much.”
I nudged him with my toe. “See. You already know the way to my heart.”
6 Responses
I absolutely it. Looking forward to reading it
I’m so glad you’re excited! Not long now 🙂
Looking forward to reading what happens between Kadon & Lessa x
See you at RARE 😁
Definitely! I’ll see you there 😊🥰
Oh my goodness this book sounds delightful I can’t wait 😊
Hope you enjoy it!