SYNOPSIS
SEEKING AN EX-HUSBAND
I need a fake ex-husband.
Let me explain …
I may have let it slip to my new coworkers that I have an ex-husband. Now they’re fascinated with the details, specifically with him.
Why wouldn’t they be? He’s gorgeous, has exceptional skills in the bedroom, and is determined to win me back.
But there’s a problem. He doesn’t exist.
The bigger problem? I have to produce him to save my job.
This is where you come in.
I’m seeking someone to play a smitten ex-husband for two weeks. You’ll need to remember our love story—details matter when it comes to romance! I need you to be prepared to travel in-state at a moment’s notice. We may be in close proximity; sharing a bed may be required.
One more thing—kisses are essential for optics as necessary.
If this sounds interesting or, at the very least, entertaining, let me know.
Signed,
Your Future Ex-Wife
Buckle up for a steamy adventure between friends-turned-lovers in this new “fresh twist on a favorite trope” take on fake dating, close proximity, and romance in the workplace from USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke.
1
PIPPA
“Seeking a fake ex-husband.”
My words fall into the air, sounding just as ridiculous as I imagined they would. I sigh and lift a brow at Kerissa, my best friend and troublemaker extraordinaire, sitting across the table from me. The mischief in her eyes complements the smug grin on her face, and I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I need to rethink this attempt at crisis management.
“I can’t do this,” I say, slamming my notebook closed.
“And why not?”
I level my gaze with hers. “You’ve come up with a lot of bizarre things in your life, but this one takes the cake.”
“Takes the … wedding cake?”
She laughs at her joke—one that I don’t find especially funny under the circumstances.
How do I get myself into these situations?
I grab a couple of Cajun fries—the whole reason we came to Shade House for happy hour—and pop them in my mouth. Tables around us begin to fill with patrons ordering drinks and appetizers. I side-eye my root beer float and consider breaking down and ordering an amaretto sour. The only problem is that my problem-solving abilities go down with each drink. At this point, I need all the help I can get.
“We could use this as an excuse to throw a divorce party,” Kerissa says.
“Kerissa—”
“Will you just think about it? Hear me out.” Her eyes twinkle. “We’ll go to Savannah and get a room at Picante.”
I sigh happily. “I do love that hotel.”
“Right? We can hit up a Georgia Hornets game, get a massage, and shop. Maybe find a couple of unassuming bachelors to ravage for the weekend.”
“Well, I did see that Lincoln Landry is the general manager of the Hornets now.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’m thinking about buying a Hornets shirt with Landry on the back.”
She laughs. “They don’t have shirts with the GM’s name on them.”
“Oh, no. They do.” I point at her. “You can get them online. I’ve already looked.”
“How did you know all this, Miss I Hate Sports?”
“Because Lincoln Landry transcends baseball. He went viral last season for nothing other than a smirk and the way he licked his lips.” I shrug. “Who am I not to follow a fan account dedicated to giving me delicious videos every morning? LandryLover0808 works hard at her craft, and I support content creators, thank you very much.”
Her laughter grows louder. “Sometimes I wonder if I even know you.”
I laugh too.
“There’s this little place called Judy’s down the street from Picante,” Kerissa says. “We can grab breakfast there.”
“Yes, and maybe we can …” I stop as reality knocks me sideways. “Wait a minute. I’m not actually getting a divorce, remember?”
Kerissa frowns.
I flop back in my chair, the legs rattling against the tile floor, and huff.
Ten minutes ago, I was frustrated that I was a fake divorcée. Now I’m irritated that I’m not a real one.
Why am I the way I am?
Kerissa leans forward, folding her hands on the tabletop. “Is it wrong if I say I’m sad you don’t have a marriage in trouble?”
I can’t help it. I giggle.
“I’m kidding,” she says, although I’m not sure she is. That’s okay because I’m not sure I am either.
A trip to Savannah sounds like the perfect antidote to the mess at work. But taking trips to avoid my problems is almost as unhealthy as working with Chuck “the Schmuck” Collins.
My jaw clenches at his name rolling around in my head.
I shouldn’t let him get to me. I’m a grown-ass woman who should be able to bite her tongue and let douchebags be douchey. But I was born lacking a filter to prohibit myself from snapping back at assholes.
It’s not one of my finer qualities and certainly doesn’t do me any favors. If I wanted to play the blame game, I could credit it to having two uber successful, brilliant parents who embodied the definition of hubris. The only way to survive surgeons as parents when you grow up wanting nothing to do with the medical field is to learn to stand up for yourself. It took me a long time to learn that.
Ten years later, I’d say I’ve mastered it—maybe a little too well.
“Now that you’re calm-er,” Kerissa says, “tell me what happened today.”
Ugh. I take a deep breath. “My boss, Bridgit, wants to expand Bloom Match again. Originally, it was a small online matchmaking service. Then they got the idea to make it a regional thing where we blind-match people from this area, set up the dates, host mixers—all that stuff.”
“Right.”
“Business has been going well—exploding, even. Bridgit asked everyone a couple of months ago to brainstorm ways to take the company further. We all proposed our ideas, and it’s come down to me and Chuck the Fuck.”
“We hate him.”
“We do.” I nod, my blood pressure rising. “I dislike him on a good day. Even if I got up on time, had the perfect latte, and a great hair day, I’d still hate Chuck. If I had to nominate someone for the Hunger Games, it would be him. I wouldn’t even have to think about it.”
She snorts.
“I hit the alarm three times this morning, Muggers screwed up my latte, and my hair looks like this.” I point at my head. “I woke up emotional, which makes me ragey itself because emotions are inconvenient and make me feel weak.”
Kerissa rubs a hand against her forehead. “This does not bode well for Chuck.”
My teeth clench as I remember the smarmy look the jerk gave me.
“So we’re going back and forth about our ideas, right? The whole office is in the conference room listening to us weigh the pros and cons of our proposals. I wrap up my little impromptu presentation—which I nailed, by the way. He must’ve felt threatened or something because he leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head like he’s proudly displaying his sweat stains in his armpits, and says”—I pause to channel my inner Chuck voice— “‘I’d like to point out that we’re taking relationship advice from a woman who has no verifiable experience with them.’”