My Super-Hot Fake Wedding Date Read online

  MY SUPER-HOT FAKE WEDDING DATE

  Leigh James

  CMG PUBLISHING

  My Super-Hot Fake Wedding Date © 2019 by Leigh James.

  All Rights Reserved.

  CMG Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design © 2019 by Damonza.

  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.

  v. D2D 5.11.2019.

  Sign up for Leigh’s mailing list at www.leighjamesbooks.com for special sales and new release news!

  Contents

  1. MADISON

  2. MADISON

  3. BOB

  4. MADISON

  5. BOB

  6. MADISON

  7. BOB

  8. MADISON

  9. BOB

  10. MADISON

  11. BOB

  12. MADISON

  13. BOB

  14. MADISON

  15. BOB

  16. MADISON

  17. BOB

  18. MADISON

  19. BOB

  20. MADISON

  21. BOB

  22. MADISON

  23. BOB

  24. MADISON

  25. BOB

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A Note to Readers

  Also By Leigh James

  Special Thanks

  Escorting the Billionaire

  Chapter One

  MADISON

  COUNTDOWN TO THE WEDDING FROM HELL: ONE MONTH

  “You have to find a date.” Josie sloshed some more wine into my glass. “Maddy, are you listening to me?”

  “Ugh. I’m trying not to.” I wrinkled my nose and peered at my best friend. “Let’s not talk about it. I still have plenty of time.”

  “Girl, please.” Josie waved her finger at me. When she drank too much, she often called me “girl” and started wagging her finger in the air as if she were a star on one of those Housewives shows and about to start a fight.

  “Don’t you wag your finger at me!” I giggled. “It’s a whole month away.”

  “A month is not a lot of time to find someone who’s going to pass the Delaney test.” She crossed her legs and settled against the cushions of my couch. For someone who’d had way too much wine, Josie still managed to look pretty. Her pink scarf was perfectly draped around her neck, and her black dress and leggings were stylish and immaculate, even after a ten-hour workday.

  Josie always complained that she needed to lose forty pounds, and I cross-complained that she was completely gorgeous. That should have been the end of it, but listening was not always her strong suit. We’d been best friends since we were thirteen. She was more like my sister than my own sister.

  “I don’t want to talk about the Delaney test. Stop, I beg of you!”

  The Delaneys were my family. They were hardcore, society-pages, tea-at-the-Four Seasons, Holy-Cross-educated Boston socialites. And I, Madison J. Delaney—in spite of being decorated with a Harvard MBA and running a successful tech startup, or perhaps because of it—was my mother’s greatest disappointment in life.

  Now my little sister was having the wedding of the century, and I was supposed to bring a date. FML!

  Desperate to change the subject, I fixated on Josie’s perfect makeup. “Your lips are sparkling. Why are your lips sparkling? Do you have a new magic product that you’ve been keeping secret?” Josie was a makeup buyer from a national department store. She had makeup that could change lives. A woman could literally look like Dracula with a boxed-wine hangover, and Josie’s special voodoo makeup would transform her into Sofia Vergara.

  “Let’s not change the subject!” Josie rolled her eyes. “I’m sparkling because I put lip gloss on before I came over. Now let’s talk about you-know-what. We need to deal with this.”

  “But it’s not fair. Look at you—you’re so pretty, and you don’t have a stupid date for this stupid wedding.”

  “That’s because I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t have to pretend I do. It’s not my evil little sister who’s getting married.” She gulped her wine. “It’s yours.”

  “I know. I know.” I rubbed my temples. “Stupid Sienna!” I often referred to my little sister, Sienna, as Evil Sorority Spawn. She was having a black-tie, three-hundred-guest wedding in four weeks, and I was pretty sure I wanted to throttle her for it—and a whole lifetime’s worth of other grievances.

  “Why did I say I’d bring a plus-one?” I wailed.

  Josie laughed. “Because your mother nagged you about not having a boyfriend. So you lied and said you did!”

  “I was provoked.” My wine was disappearing fast.

  “You’re always provoked when it comes to your mother.”

  I frowned. “I was drunk. It was Easter!”

  “You’re always drunk at Easter.”

  “You try spending the holidays with my family. You’d be drunk too!”

  Josie snorted and poured us each more wine. “I have spent the holidays with your family. And I was quite drunk, thank you very much.”

  “See?” I giggled. “It’s not just me!”

  Josie laughed for a moment but then frowned. “You need a super-hot, super-perfect boyfriend in four weeks. This is serious. We need to mobilize.” She got out her cell phone and started opening God only knew what apps.

  “No phones, no dating sites. Not tonight, please.” I fist-pumped when she put the phone down. “Four weeks is plenty of time. No problem. If I can organize investors in four weeks, I can totally find a date. It’s not rocket science.”

  “No, it’s not, and that’s the problem.” Josie sighed. “You’re doing great with your investors. Your personal life? Not so much. I hope I’m not hurting your feelings. But you’re putting it off, and I know what your mother’s like. I just don’t want this wedding to be a total shit show.”

  I peered at her over my glass. “Of course it’s going to be a total shit show.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “It would be better with a buffer. A hot buffer.”

  “I know—I’ll find one. I promise. Is there more wine? Because my only mobilization tonight is going to be from this couch to my bed.”

  “There’s always more wine.” Josie tsked and headed to the kitchen. “What sort of bestie would I be if I didn’t bring reinforcements?”

  COUNTDOWN TO WEDDING FROM HELL: TWO WEEKS

  “You have a call, Madison.” My assistant, Marc, sounded as though he’d been laughing.

  “Who is it?”

  “Josie.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Put her through.”

  “Hey!” She sounded so nice, but I knew she was calling to harass me. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Like I don’t know that? I didn’t respond to your sixteen messages for a reason.” She’d been sending me one-word texts all afternoon, like Date? Progress? Anything? Bueller?

  “What reason was that?”

  “I think you can figure it out.” I sighed. “I don’t have a date yet. I’ve made zero progress in that department. I did, however, get that grant written—”

  “That’s great—yay, grants!” she interrupted. “But what are you going to do? Did you check Match? Or LinkedIn?”

  “Ugh and gross.” I tapped my pen against my desk. “Losers and man-whores, respectively.”

  “You’re not supposed to slut-shame anymore, not even those who’ve sunk to the level of hooking up on LinkedIn, thank God.” She paused for a second. “Not that I’ve ever done that or anything.”

  “We both know you have, and I’d love to harass
you about it, but I have to go. I have a meeting.”

  “You have your mother in two weeks.”

  “Don’t remind me!” I hung up before she could hear the panic creep into my voice. I had my mother, my father, my evil sister, Sienna, and her insufferably perfect fiancé, Tim… not to mention our extended family and friends.

  And then there was Dean Smith. I still couldn’t believe Sienna had invited my high-school ex-boyfriend to her wedding. I hadn’t seen him in years except on social media with his beautiful wife and their adorable cherub-cheeked children.

  Did I mention that his beautiful wife was my cousin? They started dating right after I broke up with him our senior year. They’d been together ever since, married right out of college. I vividly recalled the fit my mother had pitched about that.

  “That should have been you walking down that aisle, young lady!”

  I tried to tune her out as she railed against the injustice of my cousin marrying perfect Dean Smith.

  “He went to Duke…”

  “…massive trust fund…”

  “…house on Nantucket…”

  “…going to get pregnant…”

  “…of course Wellesley has the best schools…”

  Blah, blah, blah. I didn’t care about stupid Dean Smith, my pretty cousin, their gorgeous home in Wellesley, or the injustice of it all. He’d bored me in high school. His wedding had been boring too. All I’d wanted to do was get back to the city and get back to work, but I’d had to listen to my mother as she’d rambled on about her sister, Aunt Evie, and how Aunt Evie got everything she wanted because her daughter was a good girl, putting family first, and her daughter had managed to get a degree and still get married and, and…

  Blah, blah, blah. Did I already say that? Sorry, but it’s sort of a theme with me and my mom. If she wasn’t annoying me, she was making me cry. She was a very complicated woman, one who had too much time and energy on her hands. All my mother wanted was for Sienna and me to get married, have babies, and attend charity luncheons in skirt suits so that we could be in the society pages, too.

  Game face, ladies! That was what she always said to us. What was going on inside, removed from our exteriors, didn’t matter to her. As long as we slapped on nubby Chanel and a smile, we were good to go.

  As for my mother’s interior, it was a hot mess. She claimed it was because she was a Gemini, the sign of the twins, but I wasn’t convinced.

  My sister was excellent at game face. I didn’t begrudge her that, but my black-sheep status was going to be confirmed shortly, especially if I didn’t have a date for her godforsaken wedding. I tapped my forehead against my desk. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

  Marc knocked and stuck his handsome face inside my office. “You okay?”

  I stopped smacking my forehead for a second. “Do I look okay?”

  He scowled at me. “No. How can I help?”

  “Do you have any straight friends?”

  His shoulders slumped beneath his jacket, which was fitted and showed off his muscular frame. “You know I don’t. But hey, I have a cousin in Philly. Maybe I could give him a ring.”

  “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I freaking hope.

  He came in, closing the door behind him. “I’d offer to go with you, but I’ve met your mother. She knows I’m married. To a guy.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “I appreciate the offer about your cousin, but I should meet my date first. I need to…you know.”

  Marc chuckled. “Inspect the merchandise? I get it.”

  I put my face in my hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Have you thought about hiring someone?”

  I gaped at him. “You mean a prostitute?”

  He shrugged, looking a little sheepish, but not enough for my liking.

  “You’re serious.”

  He shrugged again. “You don’t have to you know. He could just be hired arm candy.”

  “I don’t think there are any male prostitutes in Boston.” I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation. “I think I’d have to go to New York for that.”

  “I actually know an agency if you’re interested.” He chuckled. “It has a funny name, even—AccommoDating. Get it?”

  “Um, yeah. Super funny. Ha ha.” I scowled at him. “But how on earth do you know an agency? You’re married!”

  “I have a friend who needed a date for a family wedding. You know. He needed a woman.”

  “Ah.” All of Marc’s friends were gay. They were also handsome, wealthy, and incredibly stylish. They didn’t kill their houseplants. They voted. They were perfect. Josie and I often moaned about not being able to find straight men like Marc and his friends, and yes, that was a stereotype, but it was also true.

  You try living in Boston and being a female CEO who works upward of eighty hours a week! Tell me who you meet!

  “I’ll think about it. I have to finish this budget.”

  Marc nodded, and I sank back into my seat.

  I was so screwed. I was never going to find a date.

  Chapter Two

  MADISON

  Week Of The Wedding From Hell: Monday

  Fuuuuuuuck.

  WEEK OF THE WEDDING FROM HELL: TUESDAY

  Fuuuuuuck meeeeeeee.

  WEEK OF THE WEDDING FROM HELL: WEDNESDAY

  Do I have strep throat?

  Cough, cough.

  Or the flu?

  I felt my forehead. It felt perfectly fine, unlike the rest of me.

  I checked my phone and found twenty-seven texts from Josie, twelve from my mother, three from my cousin Claire, not the cousin married to Dean Smith. Claire was my other best friend. I was looking forward to hanging out with her over the weekend. That was literally the only thing I was looking forward to.

  I was headed to my parents’ house on Nantucket first thing the next morning to help prepare for the rehearsal dinner. Sienna and her other bridesmaids had already been on the island all week, getting facials and massages and preparing for the big day. Sienna had twelve bridesmaids—me, my cousin Claire, and ten of her sorority sisters from Delta Chi Phi Delta. Claire and I literally had nothing in common with Sienna and her sorority sisters, but my mother had insisted that we be included. She’d asked Claire mostly because it would make my pretty cousin who’d married Dean Smith feel snubbed.

  Maybe I would get struck by lightning on the way there. That would solve everything!

  I was supposed to bring my boyfriend. Everyone was expecting a plus-one. But I’d been to a bar, I’d been to a Thirty Under Thirty luncheon for young entrepreneurs, even though I’d aged out, and I’d trolled LinkedIn. Marc had given me the business card for the escort agency. All I had to show for any of it was a pounding headache.

  I left work early to go home and pack. Josie called me on my way. “So?” Her voice boomed through my Bluetooth speaker. “Did you tell your mom yet?”

  “No.” I sighed and rolled to a stop. The traffic getting to Beacon Hill was insane for that time of day. “Do you think she’ll notice if I just show up alone?”

  “Why didn’t you tell her? You said you were going to.”

  “I talked to her last night, but only for a minute. It didn’t come up.”

  “You mean, the words just didn’t come out of your mouth.” Josie groaned. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. Just send her a text. Tell her your boyfriend got the flu, or he has to crunch for his new technology launch, or whatever.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking about it.” I got off the exit for the Boston Common and sat in more traffic. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining through the trees. In mid-October, the fall foliage was just beginning to peak. A riot of orange, red, and yellow lined the park. The green grass looked so pretty next to all that color. I wished I could grab a sandwich and an iced tea and just sit in the park for the rest of the day. Then I’d go home, have a glass of wine, watch Grey’s Anatomy, and get up and go to work again. I w
ould work all weekend, and I would love it. Work was safe and fun. I was in charge, and I was good at it.

  But instead, I turned into the underground parking lot located beneath my neighborhood. I trudged up the stairs to my street with its beautiful cobblestone path and pretty brownstones. My neighbors had their pumpkins and their mums out.

  I smiled to myself—I loved where I lived. My house had cost a fortune, and I’d paid for every cent of it myself, which was important to me.

  I saw Mrs. Lindenmeyer walking her Yorkshire terrier, Bibi, and we waved to each other. Then the UPS truck stopped at the end of the street. The deliveryman climbed down the stairs, a huge package clamped in between his muscular arms. I fanned myself. Lucky package…

  Oh crap! He was heading my way. That big box was probably my bridesmaid’s dress. Sienna had insisted we all fly to New York to go to some crazy wedding boutique where the cheapest dress was nine hundred dollars. Mine had cost over three thousand—I’d almost choked when I’d gone to pay for it. My mother had insisted on buying everyone’s gowns, but I wouldn’t let her pay for mine. I liked taking care of myself. I enjoyed being able to pay for a three-thousand-dollar dress, even if I thought the price was borderline immoral.

  The UPS guy stopped to chat with Mrs. Lindenmeyer, and I stared at his legs. I couldn’t help it! He wore those brown shorts through October, and I understood why. The dude clearly worked out. His boots accentuated his still-tan, muscular calves.