Fake Fiancé Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Carter

  Emma

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next Bad Boy Billionaire…in Rock Me

  Books by Jessa James

  About The Author

  Fake Fiancé

  Bad Boys With Big Sticks, Book 1

  By

  Jessa James

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Carter

  Emma

  Carter

  Emma

  Carter

  Emma

  Carter

  Emma

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next Bad Boy Billionaire…in Rock Me

  Books by Jessa James

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Fake Fiancé: Copyright © 2017 by Orange Poodle LLC

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, digital or mechanical including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning or by any type of data storage and retrieval system without express, written permission from the publisher.

  Published by Orange Poodle LLC

  James, Jessa

  Fake Fiancé

  Cover design copyright 2017 by Orange Poodle LLC

  Images/Photo Credit: Graphic Stock

  Chapter One

  Chloe

  As Blake Collins walked into the room I took a close look at him. He had a defiant swagger in his step and a determined look in his eyes. The man was drop dead gorgeous. I’d seen him on TV, but never in person. Never when he wasn’t on for the cameras, whether on the ice or off. I could tell he didn’t care for meetings, and especially didn’t like being summoned to one, like some kid to the principal’s office.

  But rich playboy looked good on him, and I wasn’t immune, no matter how much I pretended to be. Everything about him made me want to touch, from the slight wave in his hair, the well-groomed beard he kept just long enough to make me wonder what it would feel like brushing over my inner thighs, to the designer clothes and Italian shoes. Player. Bad boy.

  Trouble.

  His presence matched his persona, so predictably that I had to smile.

  “Blake, this is Chloe Hansen,” Frank Stell said, glancing at me, then the others in the room. Frank was my boss and ran the whole West Coast division of SportsAds. And he’d already agreed to my plan…we just hadn’t filled lover boy in on the details yet. Frank gave me a look that screamed—I hope you know what you’re doing—before turning back to Blake. “You know the others.”

  The others were Tom Lassiter, the white-haired owner of the Detroit Blizzards, some soft young man with glasses that reeked of lawyer, and Ralph Dodge, a sports agent and an all-around decent guy—from what I’d heard—which was probably one of the reasons he couldn’t control his client.

  Blake ignored the men and turned to me. His wide grin and deep green gaze captivated me as he shook my hand. It was a strong grip, warm and confident. An electric jolt ran through my bones as his skin contacted mine for the first time. He let his eyes run over my body in a practiced glance, the kind that a man gives a woman at a bar, not in a conference room; exactly what I expected from him. Real bad boys played true to form and I grew more confident as he acted like he was reading off a cue card. Frank rolled his eyes behind Blake’s back and I smiled, a genuine, full mega-watt smile. I didn’t need Blake to like me. Nor did I need to like him. He just had to listen, and my certainty grew to a rock solid knowing in my chest. Blake was going to go along with my plan. He had no choice. He might be a bad boy, but he wasn’t stupid. Far from it.

  He took a seat across the room, leaning back and turning his attention to the men in suits. I used the opportunity to let my eyes move up, down and over him. His tall and muscular build, the perfected form of an elite athlete that usually lay well hidden beneath his hockey pads. His chiseled facial features gave him an irresistible, rugged look. I had to stop myself from wondering what his skin tasted like, even as ludicrous as it sounded. He flashed a quick smile in my direction, as though he could sense my roaming eyes, showing his perfect white teeth.

  This was a business meeting, not a bar pick-up. I shook my head and looked away, irritated with myself for letting a guy like him get me distracted.

  This was a job. He was the job.

  Although easy to look at, my interest in Blake was professional. I already knew the purpose of the meeting. That luxury gave me the chance to turn my attention to his reactions as he got his ass chewed out. The team boss gave him an ultimatum. I could tell by the way he held himself that what they were saying did not make Blake a happy man―I watched his posture change as their words sank in.

  “What do you expect me to do?” he demanded, sitting up, his casual demeanor and cocky smile gone. “Pretend to be someone else? Hide in my house?”

  I crossed my arms, my smile back. Even if I hadn’t known his reputation as a bad boy, the tone of his voice was proof enough. Blake always got his own way and expected it would stay that way. The hockey star needed to change and he didn’t like it one little bit.

  Better get used to it, Blake.

  Seeing him squirm amused me. A satisfying vindication washed over me as I watched the shit show play out right in front of me. I lived for bearing first hand witness to unfolding drama. Cleaning up celebrity public relations disasters was what I did. The challenge Blake presented brought a different kind of excitement to the job. Blake Collins, always in control, always perfect for the cameras, appeared to falter when the word fiancée came up.

  I knew I’d do my part to keep him uncomfortable for some time and a part of me enjoyed that. When I dealt with macho guys who thought being tough meant they should always get their way, the challenge to see if I could get them to bend, even a little, was intoxicating. There was nothing I loved more in the world than an alpha male. Hot. Dominant. Confident. Most of the posers in the celebrity world folded when the pressure got too high. But Blake?

  He was cornered, but he wasn’t down. The fire burning in his eyes made my heart race. God, I’d bet he was incredible in bed.

  His gaze darted to mine and the heat there made me forget to breathe. We stared for long seconds and I couldn’t stop wondering what kind of lover he’d be. Guys like him usually went to one extreme or the other. They either took what they wanted and didn’t care much whether or not their woman enjoyed the ride…or they prided themselves on breaking a woman into pieces, devouring her until she was wrung out on pleasure and totally under their command.

  My panties gr
ew wet and my nipples hardened beneath my blouse. Thank goodness I’d worn the thick push up bra today. I was giving nothing away, showing no weakness. Not to a predator like him.

  Having the tables turned on guys like Blake always got them worked up. I could feel his frustration, and that just added more fuel to my fire, provided the extra spark and drive I would need to hold up my end of the bargain. It made my job all the sweeter.

  I couldn’t change him, of course. I knew that. A leopard didn’t change his spots, or whatever. Blake might play along and follow orders and pretend for a time, if the stakes were high enough. He’d behave while the pressure was on, but he wouldn’t accept this as the new normal. Bad boys always reverted. When the shackles come off a couple months from now, there would be fireworks. He’d probably party for a month straight and fuck a new woman every night. It was in his DNA.

  Fortunately, what might happen after this job didn’t concern me. I just needed to put him through his paces for a time. I’d be well paid for the effort, and I looked forward to seeing him squirm. I could even argue that it was for his own good.

  Blake happened to be a star hockey player. He was thirty-two and, in my opinion, peaking. Total man-candy. He was big and rough and self-assured—too much so. His physical strength, skills in playing the game, and bad boy attitude had taken him to the top. At six-foot-two, two hundred and ten pounds, Blake played an aggressive left wing for the Detroit Blizzards. He’d earned a reputation for mixing things up on the ice in a seriously physical way. He’d become the enforcer on the squad. His brutal forechecks rattled the opposition and had played a significant role in putting the team into the final best-of-seven round of the playoffs against Winnipeg, which were about to start.

  Blake’s rough style of play also made sure the penalty box didn’t stay empty. Not that he got thrown in there more than others, but he had a way of goading the other team into going too far and paying the price.

  I didn’t consider myself a great hockey fan, but I knew the guy’s stats like the back of my hand.

  I’d prepared for this job.

  Most important, I’d watched videos of his press conferences, spent hours poring over raw material without noticing the time slide by.

  And now in this room, in his presence, I understood his reputation as a lady killer. He radiated a sexual heat, even at a distance, and shaking his hand I’d felt a hot longing radiate to my core. I’d love to hear him lean in and whisper dirty words in my ear. Carnal promises. Then fulfill them at the end of the night.

  He glanced over at me, and I saw the flick of his tongue, wetting his lips. I imagined that tongue between my legs working my clit and I had to suppress a gasp. I hated myself for falling into his sexual trap for a fleeting second. I refused to squirm, to let him know how affected I was by such a simple gesture.

  Idiot! I had to control that kind of response. This stud might be hot and desirable, but he was also an asshole who brought nothing but trouble for himself and his team. I needed to get him on track in public, not in my bed. He was my project. My job. I told myself that it was good to know that I found him so damn attractive. If I stayed aware of it, I could watch myself. Keep my walls up, and the batteries in my vibrator fully charged.

  He’s an asshole, I reminded myself, as if that made him less hot. I blew out a deep breath, trying to regain my mental composure.

  “We’ve said our piece,” Tom Lassiter said, putting his hands on the table and standing. The lawyer jumped to his feet and Tom nodded toward me. “As the head PR rep of this little project, Chloe has developed the strategy. She’s in charge and will tell you what you need to do.”

  “Wait,” Blake said, holding up his hand. “What, exactly, am I supposed to do?”

  Tom smiled. “Blake, you do whatever the fuck she tells you. This is her specialty. All I care about is results.” He narrowed his gaze, all rainbows and unicorns were gone. “I expect you to cooperate with her.”

  The men left with an “or else” hanging in the air.

  Blake turned to me and blinked. “You?”

  “Me. The name’s Chloe,” I reminded him.

  “You’re going to fix what ails me?”

  I laughed. “I’m going to fix what is failing you―your image.”

  He snorted. “And you can do that?”

  “Actually, you have to do it.” I pointed at him. “You’re a mess, Blake. And if you don’t clean up your image, you’re going to get traded to a losing team. After that, watch all your endorsement deals dry up like mist in a desert.”

  His gaze was so intense, I could barely breathe. “Fuck you, Chloe.”

  I’d expected that, the crude words, the tough guy behavior meant to test me, to knock me off balance. But I was not a little girl to be intimidated. I had the upper hand here, and we both knew it. “Not even on a bet, Blake.”

  Ralph Dodge sighed and put his hand on Blake’s shoulder, taking his turn to reassure this grown man who, even in his thirties, appeared to need a whole bunch of coddling. “You want the team to renew your contract, right? You want me to score that endorsement deal I’ve been whispering about? Well, son, both of those are within reach, but they’re hanging by a thread. No one wants to put your face all over their promo and then have you shit on them by getting busted for a DUI or showing up in tabloids naked at some pool party orgy.”

  Blake flinched and turned away as his face reddened.

  I had to smile. Neither example was hypothetical. Blake was known as a party animal—a work-hard, play-hard sort of guy. But the good times had caught up with him. A week prior he’d gotten caught up in a drug bust at one of those parties and that had tipped the scales. The team was making calls, talking trade. It was only a matter of time before it leaked to the press.

  “Look, Ralph,” Blake began. I recognized the tone. “First thing is, don’t call me son. Second is, I’m killing it on the ice. We’re in the playoffs with a good chance of winning. Why does the team give a fuck about my private life?”

  “Because it’s not private, Blake.” I held up my cell phone where I had an image from my feed featuring his mug shot from the other night. “It’s public, and loud, and making your team look bad.”

  “I had nothing to do with what happened at that party. I like women. I admit it. But I don’t do drugs, and I sure as hell don’t deal them.”

  Roger cleared his throat. “We know. But Frank Stell’s agency is connected to a lot of big corporate players, and he doesn’t like the message your behavior is sending. Didn’t you hear Frank talk about the trend to make hockey a more family-oriented sport? It’s not just you, and it’s not just the Blizzards.”

  I watched a smile spread over Blake’s face, a cocky smile, one that got women to drop their panties and men to change their minds on deals. “So, they want me not to party so wild? I can do that.” He glanced at me. “I don’t need a PR lady to do that.”

  “They expect you to rehabilitate your image and they’re giving you thirty days.”

  He frowned. “What the fuck does that mean, Ralph?”

  Ralph sighed. “They want to see that you’ve matured, found a new, more wholesome path.”

  “They want you to show them that being a barbarian on the ice doesn’t have to mean a life of sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” I added as I linked my fingers together on the table. “They want players to be more civic-minded these days, to set a good example for the young players. They want mom and dad to pay two hundred for a ticket so little Johnny can come watch you play and get an autograph.”

  He laughed. “How am I supposed to reinvent myself in a month? Find religion?”

  “That would work,” I replied. He looked shocked for a second. “It doesn’t need to be that extreme, but we do need to convince the world you think there’s more to life than partying.”

  I moved to sit on the table and position myself above the superstar. “If you aren’t ready to join a church just yet, then I have another plan.”

  A knowing half
grin spread across his face and he shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “You think you have a plan?”

  “One that will show them that you’re a bad boy who’s decided there are some limits.”

  “I hope it’s better than the plan you’re working at right now.” Blake stared intensely into my eyes and I could feel the heat of his gaze. “And who exactly are you again?”

  “A specialist in handling asshole macho celebs who’ve fucked up their public image and need to fix it quickly.”

  “Right.” He moved to stand. “Well, thanks for the thought, but I already have a coach on the team. Why should I let you write the playbook for my off-time?”

  “Do you want to play hockey for the Blizzards next season, Blake?” Ralph asked. “I want you to. But your contract is up and management is deadly serious about this.”

  He puffed his chest and pointed at Ralph. “This is my team, I hold this franchise together. Did you lose count of how many times I’ve been MVP?

  Ralph tried the father act again. “How well you play the damn game is only part of it now. This team is a business with sponsors and investors. The city and state political types need to be made happy, too. You, behaving like a juvenile delinquent, needing favors from the cops so often…those things make it harder to get what the team wants. They wonder if you’ll be in jail when they need you and the sponsors start to balk. That’s when they look at your contract renewal and think of all the other players who might work better for them―even if they aren’t as good at left wing, maybe they’re damn close. And maybe they’re better for the team off the ice.”

  Blake sagged down into the chair and glared at me as if this was my doing. “So, I’m fucked?”

  I sighed. “Not if you do what I say. There are three months until your contract expires so we have time to clean you up. As long as we make good progress in the first thirty days, we can do this.”

  “And that means what?” He turned to gaze out the office window.

  “There’s only one thing, one believable thing, that could happen to make a bad boy straighten up in the public eye…something that might give you a reason to change.” I let him wait a beat before dropping the bombshell. “True love.”