Introduction

WANTED: A SITUATION-SHIP

I’m a single female who’s tired of relationships ruining my life. However, there are times when a date would be helpful. If you’re a single man, preferably mid-twenties to late-thirties, and are in a similar situation, we might be a match.

Candidate must be handsome, charming, and willing to pretend to have feelings for me (on a sliding scale, as the event requires). Ability to discuss a wide variety of topics is a plus. Must have your own transportation and a (legal) job.

This will be a symbiotic agreement. In exchange for your time, I will give you mine. Need someone to flirt with you at a football party? Go, team! Want a woman to make you look good in front of your boss? Let me find my heels. Would you love for someone to be obsessed with you in front of your ex? I’m applying my red lipstick now.

If interested, please email me. Time is of the essence.

From USA Today and Amazon Charts Bestselling author comes a “fun and flirty!” fake dating situation between two coworkers that quickly straddles the line between friends and lovers.

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Excerpt

I’m going to kill him.

“Meeting like what? Like we work together?” I ask, dropping my hand and exhaling. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He chuckles.

“You’re an asshole.” I shake my head as my heartbeat returns to normal. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

I walk around the far side of my desk and collapse in my chair. Moss takes a seat across from me.

He stretches his long, lean body until the toe of his work boot hits my desk and his fingertips touch the wall behind him. The hem of his dirty black T-shirt rides up his six-foot-something frame. A hint of his chiseled abdomen is visible above the waistband of his jeans, and it takes everything that I have not to stare.

I’m only human. Even if he can be an asshole, he’s still drop-dead gorgeous.

“Stop it,” I say, shuffling papers around on my desk.

He sits up and flashes me a megawatt smile. “Stop what?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“And what might that be? I’m just loosening my muscles after a hard day’s work.”

I keep my face blank. “It’s early afternoon, Moss.”

“Okay, well, I put in a hell of a half-day, thank you.”

I fold my arms on my desk and look at him. It’s difficult to ignore his pursed lips, arched brows, and stupidly long eyelashes. He’s good enough to eat, and he knows it. That’s one of the problems with him.

We hold one another’s gaze in a battle of wills that I know, with absolute certainty, I’ll win if I make it more than thirty seconds. Why? Because Moss can’t go that long without talking.

“You look very pretty today,” he says, batting those ridiculous lashes at me.

Even though I know he’s fooling around—and even though he does this type of stuff routinely—my cheeks still flush.

“Thank you. Please stop pandering to me now,” I say, shifting in my seat.

“When are you going to learn to take a compliment?”

“When are you going to stop using compliments to distract me from whatever you came here to tell me?” I blink. “You did come here to tell me something and not just aggravate me, right?”

He sighs. “It was so much easier working with you before you understood me.”

“I bet.”

The corners of our lips lift at the same time.

He leans forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. His eyes—one green and one blue—sparkle with mischief.

If Moss is anything besides an excellent superintendent and solid guy, he’s a rascal. Lovable but frustrating. A shameless troublemaker. He’s endearing while also making you want to pull your hair out. It’s a large part of his draw, strangely. 

“You know who doesn’t understand me?” he asks.

“How many guesses do I get?”

“One.” He grins. “You only get one.”

“Great because I think that’s all I need.”

His grin grows wider.

“My guess is …”

I pause for dramatic effect, pretending I have to reach for a name when, in fact, I don’t. While it’s true that Moss has a gaggle of girls at his beck and call, there’s one that seems to think she could be the one to get him to settle down.

Poor girl.

“Courtney,” I say like the name just came to me.

“You are so good.”

I laugh. “What happened?”

“In not one of my brightest moments, I caved.”

“Moss.”

He holds his hands up in a shrug. The small turtle tattooed on his inner bicep wiggles with the movement.

“I felt bad,” he says. “So even though you and I had a conversation—”

“An explicit conversation.”

“An explicit conversation, even though I don’t know what that means, about me not leading her on and how I have to set boundaries … I caved and told her I’d take her out last night.”

I hold my temples. “Why would you do that? She misreads your kindness for interest. This is only going to make things worse for you.”

“She made me feel bad and I figured, what the hell? I’d have to eat anyway—no pun intended, you dirty girl,” he teases, wagging a finger in my direction.

I roll my eyes.

“Anyway, we go out and have dinner. It was a decent time.” He grimaces. “She thinks I’m taking her to the Excellence Awards banquet, I think.”

That would not be a good look for you or for Laguna Homes. “So are you?”

“Hell, no. I’m not taking her. I don’t even particularly like her. I promised Mom I’d find someone to go with me, but it’s not going to be Courtney.” He hangs his head. “Why did I have to be my super charming self accidentally?”

“You were your charming self accidentally?” I slow blink. “Do explain.”

“I tried to tone it down. I attempted for the first time in my life to be less attractive and I failed. I didn’t want her to fall in love with me, Brookie, but I think she did.”

I sigh. “She’s been in love with you for a year. You know this. She knows this. Hell, I know this, and I’ve met her precisely one time when she came by the job site to bring you lunch.” My lips twitch. “Remember that?”

He groans, making me laugh.

“Suffice to say, I’m fairly certain that no amount of toning down your charm, if that’s what we’re calling it now, was going to help,” I say.

He gasps. “I am charming.”

“You are. Absolutely,” I say, nodding exaggeratedly.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“Am I though?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re just used to me. That’s why you don’t find me charming these days.”

“It’s cute of you to imply that I ever found you that way.”

I didn’t mean the words as a challenge. I wasn’t throwing down a gauntlet or calling into question his ability to capture the attention of the female species. The man captures attention way before he opens his mouth. 

Light, golden-brown hair that’s permanently sun-kissed, cut short in the back and longer on the top so it falls into his eyes when he laughs. High cheekbones and an angular, squarish jawline that’s nearly always dusted with stubble. And those eyes. My God, those eyes.

Even though I wasn’t intentionally provoking Moss, he’s provoked.

“Come on,” he says, taunting me. “Don’t act as though you’ve never found me mesmerizing.”

“Mesmerizing?” I laugh. “Right now, you’re irritating.”

His smirk slices right through my resistance. “I’m irritating because I’m right, and every time I’m right, you’re irritated.”

I meet his gaze head-on. “Wow. Have you been thinking about me that much? That’s so great to know.”

“Yeah. It’s almost as much as you’ve been thinking about me.” 

I laugh, pointing a finger at him. “Hardly.” I glance around the room for a tool to assist me in changing the subject. My sight lands on my bag. “Hand me that.”

He lifts it and dangles it over my desk. I take it from him without making any contact with his hand whatsoever.

“Did you come here for a reason?” I ask, sitting it on my desk. “I have work to do.”

Moss typically doesn’t swing by my office just to shoot the shit. He calls me to do that. If he comes by during the day, it usually means he has something he wants to discuss. He’s a lot like his father in that way. He never makes a decision and tries to coerce me to cooperate or thinks that he knows what’s best. It’s one of the reasons I love working here so much.

“I actually have a reason.” He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I want to talk about the sink. I’ve made a list of why we should at least consider trashing it instead of salvaging it.” 

I fall back in my seat. “We’ve been over this.”

“But I made a list.” 

“Your list won’t change my mind. I’m pretty certain you’ve shared your list with me a dozen times anyway and, every single time, we’ve agreed that the sink should stay.” 

All humor and levity vanish from his face. In its place is soberness that he only gets while talking about work.

“Brooke …”

“No.”

He fake cries. “It’s going to be a complete nightmare to get it out of there without damaging it. And I have to take it out to renovate the rest of the room.”

“It’s the centerpiece of the entire kitchen design. We agreed on that, remember? If that sink goes, then the entire design needs to be changed, and we don’t have the time for that nor the money in the budget.”

“Can’t we buy one that looks like a vintage sink but is brand new?”

I shoot him a look. “It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not. It’s new. New is better. New is sturdier. New is shiny and perfect and comes in a box and I can toss the old one and—”

“No.”

He looks at the ceiling.

“Look, we’re spending all of this effort to preserve the original details of the house,” I say, reiterating our theme for the project. “It’s what makes this place so special. The sink is such a treasure and I don’t want to lose it.”

Slowly, his head drops and he’s looking at me again. I bring my bottom lip out, jutting it forward ever so slightly—just enough to tickle his compassion.

“I gave in on the window in the living room,” I remind him. “All I’ve really asked for is the sink.”

He snorts. “The fact that you can say that with a straight face is alarming.”

“The fact that you can come in here and ask me again to remove the sink from the design plan is what’s alarming. Don’t you fear for your life?”

“I fear for something but my life ain’t it.”

“Don’t make me go to your mother.”

He throws his hands up.

“I will,” I say, grinning. “I’ll call Damaris right now and tell her that you hate the amazing almond-colored vintage piece, which she absolutely loved and—”

“Fine. Fine, fine. You brought out the mom nuke on me. What can I say now? There’s nowhere to go.”

I smile. “Thank you for your willingness to see the right side of this argument.”

“I’m losing my touch.”

“That’s not what Courtney said,” I say with a wink. 

He tries to glare at me, but we both start laughing instead.

Gina walks past the doorway and peers into my office. “I should’ve known,” she says, her bun wobbling on her head.

“Hi, Gi-na,” Moss says, singsonging her name.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” Gina tells him. “Come see me before you leave.”

I wave at her just before Moss closes the door, sealing us away from whatever grievance Gina has with him.

“What did you do to her this time?” I ask, smiling.

“Nothing.”

I lift a brow.

“I know what she thinks I did. But it wasn’t me. It was Banks,” he says, referring to his youngest and wildest brother. “But I can’t tell her that because I’m not a snitch.”

“And because Banks knows that you put a dent in the side of your dad’s truck with that two-by-four last week and blamed it on a nameless pizza delivery man.”

He grins. “Well, and that too.”

I pull my gaze away from his pouty lips and perfectly straight teeth. It lands on my computer. Suddenly, the entire birthday party situation suppresses my spirits again.

Jovie is definitely right. I can’t post that ad. 

Moss cocks his head to the side. “What?”

I hum, unsure what he means.

“What happened?” he asks. “Your whole face just wiped out.”

I blow out a breath.

If there is anyone I don’t want to talk to about this it’s Moss. For one, he wouldn’t understand a dysfunctional family if his life depended on it. Two, he’s my co-worker. Unlike him, I don’t love oversharing. And three, it’s a little embarrassing to admit that my mom thinks I’m a loser.

“Brooke?”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “I just … My life would just be easier if I were more …”

Normal? Traditional? Unaffected?

“I’m waiting,” Moss says, shaking his boot side to side while he watches me.

“I don’t know how to finish that sentence.”

“Well, I’d love to know what you think you’re not enough of. Humor me.”

The tenderness in his voice hits my heart in a way that I’m unprepared for. I’ve seen this side of Moss many times over the years, and it throws me off-kilter every damn time.

My face flushes, and I pick up a pen. Twirling it in my fingers, I try not to get sucked into a serious conversation.

“My life would be easier if I was a relationship kind of girl,” I say, figuring it’s enough of the truth to suffice but not too much to make things heavy.

His face lights up. “What do you mean?”

I toss the pen on my desk. “Have you ever seen me seriously date a guy? Ever?”

“No. Not once. Well, you had the guy from the bank for a couple of weeks, but that was never going to last.”

I don’t know why I find that offensive, but I do.

“Hey,” I say, furrowing my brows. “That could’ve worked.”

He makes a face. “Come on, Brookie.”

“Don’t call me Brookie.”

“I always call you that,” he protests.

“Not when you’re being …”

He grins. “What? Honest?” His grin gets wider. “You were never going to stay with that guy. He was a dweeb.”

“He was not a dweeb.”

The longer we watch each other, the more my resolve wanes. He was kind of a dweeb.

“No one uses that word anymore,” I say, shifting in my chair.

“I do. I’m bringing it back.”

“No one is going to catch on. It’s not coming back.”

He extends his legs out in front of him again. “Back to the no relationship thing.”

“Let’s not.”

“Let’s.” His eyes sparkle again. “Why do you not like them?”

“Why do you not like them?” I ask, trying to turn it back on him.

“Because once you commit to a woman, it can only go downhill from there. Period. Now your turn.”

Shit.

His smug grin tells me that he knows he has me backed into a corner. He gave me a straightforward answer. The fact that he’s quiet suggests he’s not letting me get out of it either.

I sigh again. “I am unequivocally unhappier in relationships. Period.”

Moss watches me closely, taking in every reaction I give him. “That’s not an answer.”

“Oh, but it is. Besides, we’ve talked about this before,” I tell him. “It isn’t new information.”

“Eh, I don’t think we have talked about this.”

“What does it matter?” I run my palm across my forehead, hoping to ward off a headache. “We have shit to do. You have a sink to save, and I have lighting fixtures to locate. We both need to get back to work.”

He groans and gets to his feet.

“Did the garage conversion get started today?” I ask, sorting through the various price sheets on my desk.

“It’s starting this afternoon. I’m heading that way now.”

“Awesome.” I lift my eyes to his. “I’ll come by tomorrow and take a peek.”

“Okay.” He heads to the door and wraps his hand around the knob. “Are you coming in the morning then?”

I nod. “Around eight, probably. Depends on how long the line is at the coffee shop.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there too,” I say.

He tosses me a playful wink before walking out of my office. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

At the beginning of the story, Brooke is looking for a fake boyfriend to accompany her to her grandmother’s birthday party. How did you feel about her unwillingness to attend this function alone?

Do you think she would have posted the ad on purpose?

Banks and Maddox conspired to set Moss up with Brooke. The brothers also have a history of invading each other’s lives. Do you think their lack of boundaries is heartwarming or frustrating? Does it infer a close-knit family or the need for hard conversations about personal space?

The party was a big moment—not just for Brooke, but also for Moss. How do you feel about the way he handled himself? How do you think she reacted to the events of the evening?

While a lot of the book centers around the romance between Brooke and Moss, a lot of time is also spent with the secondary characters. Which character did you relate to the most? Which would you like to know and spend time with in real life?

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