today, I never had to fake anything with Wyatt Westland—owner of a demon
cat and my high school sweetheart-turned-nemesis-turned-billionaire tech
genius. But I wouldn’t be here by his side right now if I could’ve found him a
I swore I’d never let myself get involved with Wyatt again after he broke my
heart all those years ago, but he moved in next door with his adorable
daughter. And the sexy single dad vibe he has going on began to thaw my inner
ice queen—the one I perfected just for him.
eccentric boss asked me to find Wyatt a date to his ex-wife’s wedding. My boss
even put a cherry on top of a huge bonus, and I couldn’t resist. Of course, not
a single one of the heiresses I set Wyatt up with worked. I’m convinced he ruined each date on purpose, leaving me with no
choice but to step up and stand in as his date myself.
How hard can it be to fake it for just one day, even if every moment reminds me
of all the ways I fell for him the first time?
It with the Frenemy is a second chance, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers reunion
romance with a matchmaking mom determined to make the heroine marry for money
(love is optional), a billionaire single-dad hero who was the heroine’s first
love, a cat that wants to be a queen, a dog that loves what the cat brings
every morning, and a wild party with certain very inappropriately named treats
from Japan. Love a book with lots of laughter and heart? Then grab Faking It with the Frenemy today!
why; I need to get ready for work, pronto!
the towel can absorb the water. Not for the first time, I thank my stars that I
won the genetic hair jackpot. It doesn’t go poufy or frizzy. Just stays nice
and sleek without needing to be blow-dried. Another huge towel wrapped around
me, I trot to the kitchen to grab my vitamin C serum from the fridge. I put it
on every morning and night. Looking my best is part of my new identity, and
that means taking care of my skin, among other things.
in the fridge, the door to my apartment unlocks. Adrenaline spikes, making my
into a place this early? It’s barely seven in the morning. Criminals would be
doing it at night or when people are at work. Not to mention the apartment
complex has a locked entry that requires you to have a key or be buzzed in.
into a Vegas marriage, but plans to move back in as soon as she manages to
divorce her crazy boss-cum-husband. Hopefully she isn’t here for moral support,
because I don’t have time to lend a shoulder right now.
baseball cap is pressed low on his head, covering most of his face.
fist as lurid crime headlines flash through my head.
Wrong: Secretary Slaughtered.
Assaults His Ex.
back to the bedroom—the kitchen’s in a nook and the fridge is closer to the
door. The scum’s going to get me—he has a straight path to grab me if I make a
move back to the bedroom. What can I use as a weapon? A knife? I don’t know how
to throw it right, so that’d be like handing it over. Jut slash at him? What if
he knocks it out of my hand and uses it against me? Besides, a kitchen isn’t
the best place to fight. I have a gas stove, and every action-flick kitchen
fight ends with a gas explosion.
and shatters on the wooden floor at his feet.
Should I just go for a knife anyway? I really wish I had a gun! Or a nice,
large, intruder-fending-off boyfriend like Jo was saying yesterday.
shocked and upset?
you know…” Finally he looks up, and I see the still-gorgeous blue eyes and sexy
mouth. The broad forehead and lean jaw line. Recognition hits me like a cast
iron skillet in the face. “Wyatt? What are you doing here?” I
demand, my terror turning into outrage.
He’ll probably say something asinine, like how he won this place on a bet, too.
cops and getting this crazy bastard arrested. Getting a wedding date will be
the least of his worries. Hopefully he’ll resist, so the cops will have a
reason to rough him up. I’m not asking for blood—just some good, solid punches.
Maybe a broken jaw.
widen—ha! Bet he wasn’t expecting that!—and he starts toward me.
the phone, in my best grand jeté style,
but he catches me with my toes still a few inches above the floor. His arms
squeeze so tight that the air gets forced out of my lungs like ketchup from a
make about as much progress against Wyatt as I would against a piece of heavy
construction equipment. This close, he smells like fresh pine soap and laundry
detergent, plus a hint of mint toothpaste on his breath. I should’ve taken up
karate instead of ballet. Then I could’ve broken his nose and legs by now, and
been inhaling the scent of his blood instead.
and there’s a definite crunching noise from the floor.
me the key to this place. I’m moving in today.”
emotional contemporary romance. Born with a love for excellent food, travel and
adventure, she has lived in four different countries, kissed stingrays, been
bitten by a shark, ridden an elephant and petted tigers.
trees in Japan with her husband and son. When she’s not writing, she can be
found reading books by her favorite authors or planning another trip.