Falling for the Fake Fiance (Snowpocalypse) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases… Blackmailing the Bad Girl

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  Kiss of the Irish

  Rogue

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Blackwood. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-105-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2017

  To all the single parents out there. You are superheroes.

  Chapter One

  “Jill Michaels is entitled to one quarter of my estate. She will be given the money if—and only if—she is married by her thirtieth birthday, otherwise the funds will default to my favorite charity, Milk and Bookies.” The lawyer put down the piece of paper and stared across the desk at her.

  Jill choked on her white mocha, and liquid dribbled onto her lace skirt. “Say what?” This week had been holding steady at number one as far as worst weeks in existence went—wasn’t burying her grandmother enough? Or did it really need to be rubbed in that her single status, yes still, was important enough to be Grammy’s concern even post-mortem?

  A look of utter disgust twisted her mother’s lips. “Honestly, Jill. You’re a lady.” She snatched a handkerchief from her purse and handed it to Jill.

  “That’s what it says here,” said their attorney, pointing to the paper.

  Her Grammy had been gone a total of nine days, and she was still scheming from the grave. Typical.

  “This has to be a joke.” She dabbed at the splatter of coffee on the navy fabric, trying to focus on not losing it in front of all these people. She’d save the silent tears for the car ride home. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

  She turned to her mother, for some support. This all seemed very eighteenth century. She didn’t have a cow to offer as a dowry. All she had was an abysmal track record with dating and a precocious seven-year-old. Oh, and a Costco card and AAA membership, couldn’t forget that. Nothing said adulting quite like buying bulk paper towels.

  “Honey, you know that your grandmother was only looking out for your best interests.”

  She crushed the handkerchief in her hand and swallowed hard. Lord help her, Jill would lose her shit in this stuffy lawyer’s office if her mother talked about her like she was property one more time. “I don’t see how bribing me to get married is in my best interest.” Even if Grammy was her favorite and they’d had a better relationship than Jill had with her own mother—she’d spent every summer in her grandmother’s cottage in Maine, walking the beaches, collecting shells, binging on crab and lobster. But, c’mon, marriage? A piece of paper was a silly reason to go through all that trouble, for any amount of money.

  Grammy Michaels had a sick sense of humor if she thought this was how she’d finally get her only granddaughter down the aisle.

  “You do realize my birthday is two months away, right? How is that even possible?”

  “Well, I suggest you get crackin’ on finding someone.” Her mother snatched the handkerchief from Jill’s hands and stuffed it back in her purse. “And a little mascara every once in a while wouldn’t hurt, either.”

  She leveled her mother with a look. Makeup was never her thing. She preferred the nude look. If “nude” was code for I ain’t got time for anything other than chugging coffee and wishing for that elusive thing called a nap. “Right.”

  Jill might as well admit defeat because there was no way in hell she could get to know someone in the span of two months and convince them that they needed to marry. Okay, she probably could find someone, but not anyone she could trust in that short amount of time. And she’d been just fine not being married for the last twenty-nine years, so why did this matter so much to everyone?

  To put it lightly, this blew chunks.

  She wished her brother, Gage, was here. He’d know just what to say to deflect this. But no, he was on his way to New York. He’d stayed for the funeral last week, but he had to go back to work.

  “If you’d just let me set you up with Mrs. Edith’s son. He’s a lawyer, Jill. He makes good money and is a widower.”

  “I don’t need dating help from you, Mama. Please. I’m busy enough with Emily, and that’s all I need to focus on.”

  Snarky comment in three…two…

  “You’re not going to have your looks forever, you know.” Her mother sniffed.

  Yup. There it was. Right on time. Her mother was nothing if not consistent. “I’m going to ignore that.” People grieved in different ways, but she expected Deborah Michaels to at least show a little sadness at the death of her mother. Then again, unless there was a stain on the living room carpet, her mama’s emotions were on lockdown. “See you at Sunday dinner.”

  She grabbed her bag and strode out the door. What the hell was she supposed to do?

  The second her stiletto hit the pavement, she pulled out her cell phone and called her best friend Kate. Thank the lord Emily was still in school. She didn’t need to be exposed to the darker side of the family dynamic. Money did nothing but tear people apart, and Jill wanted none of it. All of Grammy’s money could go to charity, that was fine by her.

  Kate picked up on the second ring. “How was the will reading? Did Grammy leave you the entire estate?”

  Fifty-year age difference or no, she was as close to Grammy as she was her best friends, Kate and Mia.

  Jill took a sip of her cold coffee and winced. “A quarter of the estate, but there’s a situation.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t get any of it unless I’m married by my birthday.” She sighed. It sounded crazy saying it aloud. How could Grammy do this to her?

  “Say what? Like, say I do, eat cake, and consummate kind of married?”

  “Is there any other kind?” Because she was open to options.

  “I heard it gets a bit crazier in Vegas.”

  “This whole situation is crazy.” It was, but Grammy didn’t see it that way. They’d been so close when she was growing up, and she’d helped prepare Jill for her coronation, introducing her to all the social elite of the south. Not that it did much good when every guy she ended up with was complete garbage. The closest she’d come to a nice guy was the one that gave her the ultimate gift—her daughter. Then he had to ruin it by opening his mouth. Oh, and up and leaving before he even had a chance to find out if it was a boy or girl.

  “Right? So, looks like zer
o inheritance. Not that I was banking on it.”

  “But what about Emily’s school?”

  The tight knot that had been in her stomach ever since she’d enrolled her daughter into Brighton College Prep school threatened to make her lose her morning coffee. Yeah, the big elephant in the room. Heck, buying Emily an elephant would probably be cheaper than keeping her at Brighton.

  “What do you propose, Kate?” Leave it to her best friend to state the obvious. Jill wanted nothing more than to be out of her mother’s debt—and her brother’s. They’d been helping her for the last year, pitching in for Emily’s private school tuition when her financial aid didn’t go through. But she wasn’t about to up and marry a stranger to pay for school.

  “Elope? Do the crazy thing, and find someone in Vegas.”

  An unladylike snort escaped Jill’s lips. “Because that will help. I don’t need a guy in a white jumpsuit marrying me to a dude I don’t even know.”

  “Could be fun. Plus, who says you have to stay married to the guy? Put up with him until the money goes through, and then kick his ass to the curb.”

  She waved her hand dismissively, even though she knew Kate couldn’t see her. “I’d have to read over the fine print, but I’m sure there’s some stipulation, like I have to be married until one of us dies, or some horrible crap like that.”

  “I’m so glad you appreciate the whole till-death-do-us-part matrimonial fantasy.”

  Jill jammed her key into the ignition. Maybe it was a little cynical. Maybe she had lost the ability to love. It’d been a long time, and too many guys had proven that the only thing she could count on a man to do was leave.

  “All I’m saying is that you should at least give someone a shot. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up finding someone you really get along with.”

  “You mean like Jake?” Look up “stand-up guy,” and her baby daddy was the first antonym that popped up.

  “Lord, no. That man is an abomination to the Y chromosome. Stay far away from people like that. All I’m saying is, let’s go to a singles event and have some fun.”

  “We?” Her mocha churned in her stomach. Nothing good ever came from Kate’s schemes.

  “Duh, someone has to be your wing-woman.”

  Jill sighed. This had to be some sick joke Grammy was playing on her. “Do you even hear yourself? No decent guy in his right mind would voluntarily go to one of those things. I’ll probably meet someone who wants to make my skin into a nice leather bag.” From what she knew, totally desperate people went, at least in the TV shows she watched. Then again, her situation did call for some desperate action.

  “Then we’ll call this a practice run. When was the last time you went on a date?”

  “Recently.” She did the mental math. Maybe if the definition covered “in the last decade,” then yeah, recent. Although, Emily might have still been in diapers.

  “Liar. Just come out this once. What could it hurt?”

  “Besides my pride?”

  “Exactly. Who needs that, anyway?”

  “You make it sound so appealing when you put it that way,” she deadpanned, pulling out into the street.

  “See, I knew you couldn’t resist. The worst-case scenario is that you don’t find anyone, and we’ll invest in a mail-order husband.”

  “Right. I’ll get right on that.” This was a disaster. But she didn’t have time to think about this crap right now—she had to spend a half hour in the dreaded pick-up lane at Emily’s school, aka the second circle of hell.

  “Jill, c’mon, it’ll be fun. Plus, there’ll be alcohol. How can you pass that up?”

  “Fine. One singles mixer, and that’s it.”

  What the hell was she getting herself into?

  Chapter Two

  Jill may have been a little rusty when it came to girls’ night out, but last time she checked, it didn’t involve middle-aged men with comb-overs and peanut breath ranting about alien invasions. Especially not when Kate ran up to her hotel room to grab a tube of lip gloss (obviously, her best friend was shirking her duties as wing-woman) and not helping fight off Dwight Reynolds Xavier Trout the third. There was not enough alcohol in the world right now. Because she was learning the hard way that “girls’ night out” was really code for speed dating WTFery.

  One more mention of colonization on the moon, and she’d jam her damn steak knife into her skull. It’d be far less painful than this conversation.

  “And did you know that when we start colonization, I will be one of the first ones up there.”

  Her fingers inched toward the cutlery. This was it—death by horrible small talk. And with her stint as a bartender a few years back, that was saying a lot.

  “I’ve already bought a share in the company, so I’ll be an automatic contender to go on the first flight.”

  Her moral compass must have taken a nose dive if this seemed like a sweet deal. Sure, Dwight, go on that scouting mission. Let’s hope it doesn’t have a return ticket. That was pretty negative, even for her cynical self. No wonder she sucked at dating.

  “Will you excuse me, please?” She scooted away from the table without waiting for his reply. In fact, he hadn’t stopped talking, even when she edged around the other couples along the rows of speed daters. This was stupid. And if Kate ever mentioned a girls’ night out again, Jill would squash that suggestion like a cockroach in a millisecond.

  Obviously, she hadn’t been in her right mind if she let her best friend and her deceased grandmother, of all people, rope her into this.

  Instead of making her way to the bathroom, she ducked into an empty hallway at the Sea Glass Inn and pulled out her cell. She contemplated calling her mom, but really, at twenty-nine, that was beyond lame even for her. Her mom promised Emily would be fine. Jill didn’t doubt her seven-year-old daughter was in good hands, but…hell, she’d rather sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in an empty hallway than go back in there to Dwight or the other seven men who were as interesting as reading a nutrition label.

  Leaning against the wall, she texted Kate: SOS ABORT MISSION. Their other best friend, Mia, was joining them after she got off her shift at Rick’s Pancake House. In Mia’s words, “There’s not a chance in hell I’m passing up free wine and cheesy pick-up lines.” She wasn’t going to get in the way of her friends’ fun. With a hotel room all to herself, bundling up in blankets and binging on Cake Wars called to her on a visceral level.

  She cursed under her breath, wondering how she let herself get roped into this in the first place. Of course, her grandmother would put her up to something like this.

  C’mon, Jill. You’re only going to be young for so long. Then you’ll start to get saggy tits and no one’s going to want that.

  Yeah, no one ever accused Grammy of being tactful, but she was endearing, in a Betty White kind of way. Twenty-nine didn’t constitute enough years for boob-saggage, but who knew what the thirties held for her.

  Jill stared at her messaging app, willing her friend to respond. Five minutes remained of her speed-dating time with Dwight, and there was a better chance of finding prince charming in the utility closet than of her going back to that table.

  Jill: Where the hell are you? Does it take twenty minutes to find lip gloss, or did you fall into someone’s mouth? Meeting men who want to take me to outer space is not my idea of a first date.

  Kate: C’mon, give him a chance. Mr. Moon Man must have something going for him. You promised you’d let go tonight and have fun.

  Jill: The only thing he has going for him is a first-class ticket to space. Not exactly what I need atm.

  Kate: I swear I saw a bulge in those polyester pants. Seriously, girl, you’re just rusty.

  Maybe he has a major hard-on for women who let him rant about the solar system.

  She sighed. Yes, she was rusty, but dammit, she wasn’t desperate.

  Jill: STANDARDS.

  She added the middle-finger emoji.

  Kate: Fine, when Mia comes, we’ll find you
someone else, but you promised not to bail on this weekend until you’ve found someone to bring back to your hotel room.

  Ah, yes, the other condition of this trip from hell. At this rate, she should sign up for a convent.

  Truth time: she was way out of practice. She hadn’t dated a guy since her ex, Jake, left her and Emily high and dry. Bastard. She swallowed hard and crossed herself. She really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, not when he passed in a motorcycle accident last year. Her life may have been a crumbling mess, but at least she still had her daughter and food on the table.

  Someone once told her that the twenties were a learning experience, and once you hit thirty, that’s when people started getting their shit together.

  “Please let that be true,” she whispered. Because her twenties were a goddamn dumpster fire that could really benefit from a fire extinguisher and trash service.

  Just last month, she’d taken a second job as a receptionist at a radiology center just to make sure the electricity stayed on and organic fruit, which the school insisted on—more like guilt-tripped to the nth degree—stayed on the table. Whole Foods owned half of her paycheck and possibly her soul.

  Damn. She did need a break from reality. Yes, just one night to let it all go, and then she could worry about all her responsibilities once the sun rose.

  Jill: Fine. I will find a guy.

  Kate: Very next guy you see.

  Jill: What if he’s a biker with spider neck tats?

  Kate: Even better. A pierced peen would do, as well.

  Jill: Seriously, you’re sick in the head.

  Kate: What is that? Oh yeah, the thing formerly known as your vag is calling. It says you need a hefty dose of vitamin D, stat.

  Jill rolled her eyes. So she had severe vitamin deficiency. Since when was lack of a love life a crime?

  Jill: Ignoring that. This is giving me a headache. What room are you in?

  Kate: You know what gets rid of headaches…? ;-)

  Jill: ROOM NUMBER

  Kate: 1162. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? Jill shrugged off the comment and made her way to the elevators, avoiding Dwight’s line of sight, and pushed the button for the eleventh floor.