Faking Paradise Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Lily Montgomery

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design By: Amanda Walker PA & Design Services

  Edited By: Editing Done Write

  Formatted By: Christina Butrum

  This one’s for Miranda. If it weren’t for you, Faking Paradise wouldn’t exist. You built me up when I was doubting myself and kept pushing me. When I asked you what you wanted to read, you said “fake boyfriend” and Faking Paradise was born. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lily Montgomery

  1

  I shoved the wedding invitation in my desk drawer and slammed it shut. My little sister, Rebecca, was getting married in T-minus eleven days and counting. I’d been having a little bit of a dry spell lately, but a cute guy winked at me on the subway this morning, so I’d say things were looking up. Still, I didn’t need the reminder staring at me while I was trying to be productive.

  Wiping cheese dust from my fingers, I used my pencil eraser to dial the bookstore, doodling on the corner of a sticky note while waiting on someone to pick up.

  “This is Sophie McAllister, Angela Norwood’s agent. Is Samantha around?”

  The associate asked if I’d hold, and I agreed, wondering what the poor girl would have done if I’d just said no. I tried to pinpoint what song I was hearing the instrumental version of. Why was hold music never good music?

  I’d been organizing this book launch for months, but I still had a few last-minute details to iron out with the bookstore’s manager, Samantha. Normally, the publishing company would head this up, but Angela Norwood’s previous book had flopped, and I was desperate for this to do well. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

  “That book wouldn’t have flopped if Brenda had listened to me,” I muttered.

  I’d tried to tell the senior agent that the book wasn’t quite there, but obviously I didn’t know anything. She’d insisted that an Angela Norwood mystery would be a hit no matter what. We’d been trying to save face ever since.

  Tired of the muzak, I dropped the phone back in its cradle and leaned my chair back, chewing my thumbnail and telling myself that everything would work out. I’d buy a million copies my damn self if that’s what it took to make this book a hit. All I’d need is to win the lottery or inherit several million dollars from a dead relative.

  “Biting your nails is actually worse than licking a toilet seat, you know that, right?”

  Grant, my fellow junior agent, stepped in my doorway with a stack of folders.

  “Neither is as bad as kissing ass, but that doesn’t stop you.” I pulled my fingers from my lips, rubbing the wetness from my thumb onto my pants before pretending to be productive, shuffling papers and moving files with no rhyme or reason.

  Grant was Brenda’s golden boy, and he knew it. All he had to do was wink and she’d believe the sky was green and pizza was calorie free. I worked my ass off and she still treated me like I was an intern that had learned to read last week.

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  I snatched the folders he was extending my way, ignoring his dimpled smile. Well, at least I was trying to ignore it. He was a shameless womanizer, and I looked away, refusing to get caught in that spider’s web of broad shoulders, great fashion, and tight ass. He winked, and there was a hint of mischief in his brown eyes.

  “Anything else?” I flipped through the folders, realizing it was a collection of first chapters.

  “Those are manuscripts that sounded like something you’d like. They’re not quite for me, but one of the heroines reminds me of you.” He winked again, damn him. “Kickass, but a little cranky at times.”

  “Why, Grant, that was almost a compliment. Don’t you have a bridge to slink under? Or grapes to feed Brenda?”

  He raised his brows playfully and slid from the doorway.

  I opened the first folder. A cozy mystery with a main character that owned a bake shop. Dessert puns were the quickest way to my heart, second only to desserts themselves. The author’s humor was snappy and witty, easily sucking me in. I grinned, glad that Grant had thought of me, not wanting to put it down when the phone rang.

  “Sophie McAllister, Brenda Noble Agency.” I held the phone between my ear and shoulder, putting the Puddin’ Pie Mystery folder in my “yes” pile.

  It was Samantha, who was trying to weasel her way out of our previously agreed upon time slot. I wasn’t having any of it. We’d agreed on 7pm, and it was going to be 7pm. She wasn’t about to shoehorn us in tomorrow afternoon at 2pm because Calvin Lewis, some bigwig author, was in town for one night only and wanted to make an appearance. She’d taken the hint when I threatened to go to the store and lie down on the floor until Angela got there. I wasn’t above it, either.

  I had just enough time to catch the subway home, change, have a light dinner, and make it back to the bookstore to help set up. If I timed it right, I’d arrive when the champagne and hors d’oeuvres got there. If I hadn’t timed it right, I’d get there to find Angela sitting on the curb with a stack of mysteries and no one to sign for. Somehow, the stars aligned and there were no disasters on my way home, so I made it just in time.

  Digging in the bottom of my purse for my keys and ringing phone, my grip slipped, and I cursed as the contents of my purse went skittering across the linoleum. The ringtone told me it was my sister, Maisy, and I picked my phone up first, answering it as I scooped everything back in my bag.

  “Hello?” My favorite lip gloss had rolled beneath the small table in the hallway, and I pressed my face against the floor as I reached for it. It plumped and stayed on all day. For $27, I wasn’t about to buy another tube when this one was full. “Aha!”

  “What are you doing? You sound like you’re running around,” Maisy said.

  “I spilled my purse.” My keys were the last of it, and I opened the door to my tiny apartment and kicked off my shoes. “What’s up?” I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge on my way to the couch and flopped down and removed the foil lid, licking the excess off.

  “When is your plane landing?” she asked.

  “Saturday night. It takes a long time to get to Hawaii from New York.” Too damned long, if you asked me. I wasn’t looking forward to the flight, and I quickly shoved the panic that was forming back down.

  “It’s no short trip from Colorado, either. We’re getting in on Sunday.”

  By “we,” she meant herself and that shitty boyfriend she’d been with for four years, which was four years too long. At least she wasn’t the one getting married. I’d never wanted to punch a man more than I wanted to punch Derrick. Maisy had called me more than once in the middle of the night after they’d fought, and she’d told me all the awful things he said. I kept reminding myself that once in Hawaii, he’d be close enough to kill. Or at the very least seriously maim.

  “Are you bringing a date?” she asked.

  I stopped the spo
on in front of my lips.

  “Did Mom put you up to this?” I knew she had. Unbelievable, that woman. Maisy was dating an overgrown manchild, but my single status was more upsetting. Typical.

  “You know she did. She’s worried about you. You’re thirty now. That means you need to be settled down, pushing out babies, not off gallivanting in New York.”

  “Oh, gallivanting, that’s what I’m doing?” I wasn’t a successful literary agent; I was just gallivanting around this big city, wasting my childbearing years.

  I could hear Maisy’s muffled voice telling someone who she was talking to. Derrick.

  “You just tell Derrick he can kiss my ass. I can talk to you whenever I want. And tell Mom not to worry. I’m bringing a date. But I’m not settling down and having babies. I like gallivanting in New York.” The heavens knew I hadn’t done anything even remotely close to gallivanting in going on three years. That’s quite the dry spell, Soph. “Look, I’ve got to get ready for a book launch party. I’ll see you in a couple of days. I love you. Tell Derrick I hope he dies in a garbage fire. Smooches.”

  She sighed heavily as I hung up.

  My words finally sank in. I had just told her I was bringing a date, and the last time I shaved above the knee was last year when I went to the beach for a weekend. My date dress had cobwebs, and the condoms in my dresser drawer were old enough to start earning compounding interest. The closest thing I’d gotten to a date was that wink on the subway.

  Shit. Where would I find someone who was willing to go to Hawaii with me in two days’ time who wasn’t a creep or an axe murderer?

  I was half dressed for tonight’s launch when Grant called.

  “What could he want? Hello?”

  “Calvin Lewis is here.”

  “What?!” I unsuccessfully tried to balance the phone while putting on trousers, and the phone clattered on the hardwood. “Wait! Hold on, I dropped you!”

  I placed the phone on the bed and hit speakerphone. Thankfully, I hadn’t shattered my screen.

  “I’m getting dressed. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, maybe I should have come by instead.”

  “Just tell me what’s going on.” Honestly. I yanked a blazer from my closet.

  “Calvin Lewis is here claiming that he and Samantha agreed to this months ago. Poor Angela said she’d tried to call, but you didn’t answer.”

  “Damn it, Samantha! I must have been underground. Just keep Angela calm until I get there. I’ll figure something out on the way.”

  Hopefully. Sliding the phone in my pocket, I grabbed a granola bar as I ran out the door. I had planned on a light dinner, but this was too light, even by my standards. I’d been trying to lose a few pounds before the wedding, but the scale hadn’t budged. I refused to blame the midnight ice cream. I’d just have to blaze the Hawaiian trails as a size twelve. Whatever. I’d get a one-piece and sarong before leaving. Damn. I had a lot to do tomorrow, which now included finding a man willing to pretend to be in love with me for a week. Maybe I’d settle for a man willing to tolerate me for a free trip to Hawaii.

  Traffic didn’t look too bad, so I opted for a cab, promising a fat tip if he got me there fast and in one piece. Holding onto the handle, I sent Grant a text letting him know I was on my way. At the rate the cabby was driving, I’d be there before I finished sending the text.

  I’d hoped for once that I’d done enough preparations for this to be a success, but here I was, squealing in at the last moment, trying to pull things together. Mom always said getting things done in the five minutes before it was due was a superpower, but it was starting to become super annoying. Next time, I’d prepare better. Swallowing my granola bar in one bite, I paid the driver and hopped out, hoping that I could still salvage the evening.

  2

  Hordes of people were milling about, some with Angela’s book, some with Calvin Lewis’s, all with varying degrees of confusion. The manager’s office was behind the register, and I ignored the poor girl at the counter, running into the backroom to see a distraught Angela, a pissed Calvin, and a guilty Samantha.

  “I’ve seen this look before. I’m going to talk to the caterer.” Grant excused himself, likely not wanting to associate with me as I made a fool of myself. He made a subtle wiping motion at his lips, and I took the hint, brushing the remnants of my granola bar from my lips.

  “Explain,” I said.

  “We overbooked,” the tall blonde manager said. She had long straight hair, a severe nose, and a wide mouth. Her pantsuit was perfectly pressed, her white shirt crisp and bright.

  “I can see that.” I tried to tug my blouse straight. I should have brushed my hair.

  “We’ve had this planned for months,” Calvin said. It probably stung his ego that Samantha had somehow overbooked on his big night.

  “So have we,” I countered. “And we hired a caterer. It’s non-refundable, and unless you want to pay me back for that, we’re staying.”

  “Calvin, you may have the 7pm-8:30pm time slot, Angela can go afterwards? That should be sufficient.” Samantha’s voice was void of any remorse, and it renewed my ire.

  “No.” An idea was forming, and I needed to speak fast before plans were solidified. Plans that left me with cold hors d'oeuvres and a crappy time slot. “We have food and fans waiting. Calvin, you have fans and fame. What if we did a dual launch? Have a table for Calvin, and a table for Angela. Let the fans mingle and discuss their favorite books. Calvin, you may gain new fans. Angela, if your book has Calvin’s stamp, it’s a shoo-in.”

  “I haven’t even read it,” Calvin protested.

  “I have. Trust me, it’s a good one,” I said.

  “Sophie has good instincts. Trust her.”

  Hearing Grant say that my instincts were good made my insides go all liquidy. At least he believed in my abilities. He leaned in, placing a hand on the small of my back. The scent of his cologne did nothing for solidifying my knees. “The caterer is just waiting for instructions from you.”

  I nodded, trying to be subtle as I took in one last whiff. “Tell her to go ahead and set up.” I could feel the absence of his hand but shook it off, thinking of how many women he’d touched in the same way. “Samantha, we can set the tables up at the top of the escalator. Angela’s fans can ascend one, Calvin’s, the other. They’ll be off, of course. I’m expecting long lines. Once their book is signed, they can either mingle with the other guests or exit the front steps. Is this plan satisfactory?” I held Samantha’s gaze, daring her to say no. This mess was her fault, and I’d be damned if I caught the shit end of it because of her poor planning.

  Tight-lipped, she gave a nod and dispersed the booksellers to do her bidding.

  “Calvin, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry it wasn’t under less annoying circumstances. This is my client, Angela.” After shaking Calvin’s hand, I gestured for Angela to do the same. Where Calvin was an extroverted author, asserting his presence wherever he was, Angela was a wallflower. During the entire exchange with Samantha, she’d sat, doe-eyed, and watched. If I hadn’t been here, she’d likely have just let Calvin have the store for the evening.

  “It’s nearing 7. How about we go get the crowd hyped up?” I led the two authors to the elevator on the other side of the store, followed by a surly Samantha.

  The elevator doors opened to reveal a crowd that was better than I could have hoped for. As we stepped out, I pulled Angela to the side. Her mousy brown hair was in frizzy disarray and I cursed myself for not putting a brush in my purse. Angela made enough money as an author to buy a historic little cottage on a beach in Maine, and she never left. This was her first public appearance, and it had taken months of coaxing to get her to agree to it. She was batshit, that’s for sure, but she was a genius.

  “Listen. We talked about this. You’re charming, you’re smart, and these people are here for you. Just schmooze them like Janey when she needs information.” I hoped that she could get in the headspace of her character and all would go
well. I tried to smooth her hair. “Calvin is going to go first. Watch how he works the crowd. Answer questions if they have them, but don’t give anything away. Be aloof and coy.”

  “Aloof and coy. Right.” She nodded, petrified.

  Grant stepped in, guiding her toward her table.

  “All right, gorgeous, let’s get you set up over here. I love that sweater on you, brings out the blue in your eyes.” Grant gave me an impish wink as he whisked her away from me. The hand that had recently vacated my back was resting on her pleated mom-pant clad hip. They were an awful turquoise color, and her shirt matched.

  “You’d think with all that money, she’d buy a stylist.” I made a note to talk to her about that later, but now, she was smiling like a loon at whatever it was Grant was whispering into her ear. “This may just work.”

  Calvin, of course, had the crowd charmed before he even stood on the stage; the ladies enraptured with his salt-and-pepper hair and sparkling blue eyes. I’d have been enchanted myself if I didn’t know how full of himself he was. He joked, he flirted, and hinted at a few spoilers, which had everyone tittering amongst themselves.

  Grant and Angela were standing to the side of the podium, and she couldn’t stop grinning as he tucked a strand of stringy hair behind her ear. He was awfully close, and I knew she could smell his cool cologne. As enamored with Grant as she was, she almost didn’t notice the microphone that Calvin was offering. Grant flashed the dimples and she practically danced onto the stage.

  Whatever he’d said worked. She was grace, she was charm, she was funny.

  “Amazing what a little compliment can do, eh?” Grant was suddenly beside me.

  “Mmm. If only she knew how many women were on the receiving end of that charm.”