Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I swore I would only get married if my life depended on it. Oh, the irony.
Many things have happened over the past few weeks that I didn’t see coming. My family imploded. Our business was turned upside down. And someone threatened to harm me if I didn’t make good on my father’s promises.
But the biggest thing I didn’t see coming?
Foxx Carmichael demanding marriage.
He’s doing it out of loyalty to my brother. I know that. But I can’t help but think if, through that deliciously hot, grumpy exterior, my bodyguard doesn’t have ulterior motives.
There’s no denying the fire in his touch or the heat in his blue eyes. He protects me with a ferocity that leaves me breathless. He makes me rethink many things I thought I knew for sure—like my position on marriage.
But how we dance around our fake relationship makes me wonder what part of this is pretend. None of it matters if he doesn’t admit he feels the same way.
Our sham wedding will fall apart as soon as the threat is contained. But what happens if the flames between us burn everything to the ground first?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Foxx
“Are you having fun?” Banks slides next to me, a glass of lemonade in his hand. “That apple pie Honey made was the best pie I’ve ever had. Did you try it?”
I cock my head to the side and stare at him.
“Want me to get you a piece?” Banks asks, a wide smile plastered across his face.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
The air is filled with spices from the chili cook-off that took place an hour ago to benefit the local school’s arts program. Conversations flow into a giant stream of noise as people catch up, recounting old high school sports games and current gossip.
So much wasted energy.
And in the midst of it all, my youngest brother is up to something. This isn’t a revelation, nor is it a surprise. He’s always up to something.
In the past few weeks, I’ve picked Banks up from jail in the middle of the night. I watched him walk across the street covered in glitter—retribution for attaching stickers of his face to every surface of our brother Jess’s house. One morning, I looked out the window to witness a giant metal rooster staring at me from across the road, thanks to Banks’s handiwork and toddler-esque humor.
The guy is a menace but a predictable one. His tells are as clear as day, and right now, they’re screaming.
“I’ve socialized enough,” I say. “I’m heading home.”
“Already? You just got here.”
“I said I’d support the cause. I didn’t say I’d stay all afternoon.”
“But there’s still so much to do. Did you even see my calendar? And I—”
“Why do you care what I do?” I cross my arms over my chest. I’m curious despite curiosity being against my better judgment. “I showed up. Yes, I saw your ridiculous calendar. I bought a pie. What more do you want from me?”
He points at me. “Can I have that pie, by the way? You snagged the last coconut cream.”
“No.”
He holds up his hands. “Easy, tiger. I was kidding.” He grimaces. “Kind of. Anyway, about you leaving …”
I look at the ceiling and sigh.
This is precisely why I avoid human interaction as much as possible. I always walk away worse for the wear. I’m pushed too far or needled too much. Things are expected of me. My time and energy become commandeered, and I’m not into that sort of behavior.
It’s not that I don’t understand the concept behind group activities—I do. I took enough psychology classes to wrap my brain around it. People need to share their experiences and feel seen. The potential for success rises when people work together. Groups allow for high-level problem-solving and cooperation.
But me? I’d rather not be seen. I don’t want to share my experiences. And I can damn well solve my own problems without someone like Banks weighing in.
“Are you listening to me?” Banks asks.
“No.”
We turn our attention to the makeshift platform beside us. Gloria, an older woman Banks befriended in one of his silly schemes, taps a microphone. She beams from center stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” she says, the microphone entirely too close to her teeth. She smiles at me. “It’s time for the final event—the one you’ve all been waiting for. The bachelor auction is about to begin!”
My stomach knots at the look she’s firing my way. What’s that all about? Does she think I’m Banks?
He waves at her from beside me. She looks at him, then back at me, before returning her gaze to my brother.
Yeah, Gloria. It’s this goofy-ass guy you’re after. Not me.
Chatter breaks out through the room, and women scramble to find seats. Banks and I are nearly trampled as a group of ladies makes a beeline for the front row.