Home > Fake it For Good

Fake it For Good
Author: Weston Parker


DESCRIPTION

 

 

I need a fake date as Mrs. Claus to prance around town this holiday.

And some lucky girl is about to have the ride of her life. In more ways than one.

The pretty little thing that signs up for the job is almost too good to be true.

Charity work is her middle name, and she’s beyond giving in the sheets.

I’m a guy who can appreciate balance.

A good girl with naughty-list tendencies? Sign me up.

And once I get a taste of what I want, there’s no stopping me.

She’s a gift I want to unwrap every night.

The problem?

She has ulterior motives.

My sweet date has me sweating, and it’s not just for her curves.

She’s only in it for her charity.

But two can play that game, baby.

This charade might have been fake to start, but now we’re both in too deep.

I’ll make it so good she can’t fake it anymore.

Kiss me under the mistletoe tonight for fun, but tomorrow?

We’re gonna fake it for good, ‘cause this woman?

She’s mine.

 

 

Introduction

 

 

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DEDICATION

 

 

To my Mrs. Claus. It wouldn’t be Christmas or any other time of the year without you, baby.

 

-Weston

 

 

1

 

 

CANE

 

 

“No,” I said. “No way. That is total bullshit.”

“I’m sorry,” my divorce attorney, Ronnie, said with a sigh. “There’s no way around it. She gets half. Half of everything.”

I clenched my fist and tried to contain the flurry of curse words fighting to spew from my mouth. My jaw was clenched, and my brow furrowed so hard it physically hurt. Every muscle in my body was tight to the point if I didn’t release, I was going to be howling with painful cramps.

“She had zero to do with my company,” I insisted. “How can that be fair?”

“You were married before your company took off,” he explained. His voice was soft, like he was talking to a toddler on the verge of a meltdown. I supposed I was on the verge of melting down. My entire world was being split down the middle and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Not even the most expensive lawyer in New York could help.

I put my hands over my face and gently rubbed in an attempt to relax the tension in my muscles. “She can have the house, the car, whatever. Hell, I’ll pay more alimony. I cannot give her half my company.”

“Technically, she isn’t asking for half the company, as in control,” he replied. “She wants half the value. If you refuse to pay her a fair price, she would own half the company. You would have to allow her to have an equal partnership in the company. She would make decisions about expansions and even the products you bring to market. I think this is the best way out.”

“She took everything,” I murmured.

“I’m sorry, Cane,” he said and put a hand on my shoulder. “Divorce sucks.”

I snorted. “I don’t think it’s the divorce that sucks. I think my marriage to the bloodsucking whore was worse.”

“Try not to say that when we get into the courtroom,” he joked.

“This is really my only choice?” I asked. “Do you know what it’s going to cost me to give her half the company? All my plans for the future will be derailed. My business plan for next fiscal year goes up in smoke. Investors are going to think I’m failing. They’re going to pull out their money. I will fail.”

“You’re not going to fail,” Ronnie insisted. “You built this company in your tiny little apartment from nothing. You’re going to rebuild, and it will be better and stronger. She’s getting your money, but not your company. Not your ideas and not your business savvy.”

“She got my house, my boat, and even my fucking dog,” I spat. “I don’t understand why she wants the company. We said we would pay.”

“She wanted more,” he said, sighing. “In my experience, it’s never about the money. It’s spite. It’s revenge. It’s making the other party bleed.”

“I’m hemorrhaging at this point,” I said.

“And today we’ll stop the bleeding,” he said. “If the judge agrees to the terms, it’s done. She’ll never get another penny from you.”

“I’m not going to roll over,” I said. “You told me you would fight. I want you to fight. I’m not paying you a thousand dollars an hour not to fight.”

“I have the paperwork drawn up,” he assured me. “We’ll go in there and fight, but I just need you to be prepared to lose.”

“I hate losing.”

“Everyone does,” he said and snapped the briefcase closed. “You’re not the first man I’ve represented that has lost more than half of his assets to a pissed-off woman.”

“I’m the one that should be pissed,” I said. “She cheated on me. Why is she getting rewarded for being a whore?”

“Because Kelly was smart,” he said with a shrug.

“Excuse me?”

“She met you and saw her meal ticket,” he answered. “You were her golden goose. It’s a story as old as time. I’m sure she was beautiful and said all the right things. You fell madly in love. You never imagined you would amass the wealth you have. She did. She took one look at you and knew she had found her moneymaker. She sank her claws in and offered you all the pretty words and support you needed to take your company from a tiny storefront to the massive business it is today. That’s why she’s fighting for half. They all do. They claim that, without them, their men wouldn’t be successful. They might not have actually helped in the business, but they tended the home fires. Judges like to reward loyalty.”

“She wasn’t loyal!” I threw my hands up and got out of the chair. “I was busting my ass and she was spreading her legs for any man that gave her a wink and a smile. She didn’t support me. She constantly bitched I worked too much. She complained I wasn’t making enough money. She was spending it faster than I could make it. She didn’t have dinner waiting for me or offer to rub my feet. She wasn’t a wife.”

“I believe you, but a judge is going to think she is the wounded party,” he said. “I’m just telling you what I have seen over the years. The little woman was at home toiling away while you worked.”

“She didn’t want a job,” I muttered. “I offered her a job in the business. I encouraged her to go back to school.”

“She didn’t need a job,” he said and got to his feet. “She had you, her golden goose.”

“Such bullshit,” I said again.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said. “Try not to look so pissed. If we want the judge to have any sympathy for you, you need to look like the wounded party.”

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