A Fake Love Deal

The Lord Brothers of Manhattan

1 - Crossing The Line

2 - A Fake Love Deal

3 - Boss On Notice

A FAKE LOVE DEAL: THE LORD BROTHERS OF MANHATTAN (BOOK 2) - STANDALONE

CHAPTER 1 EXCERPT

That was brutal.

The pressure in my head builds toward an explosion as I
flee a live set where an actual TV show is being filmed. I force the tears that
want to come gushing from my eyes to stay put, thereby refusing to give Liam
Caruso, our jerk director, the satisfaction of learning that he made me cry.
He’s been on a mission to break me since day one, and maybe he finally has.
It’s too soon to tell.

“The horses are famished, Father—are you certain they can
take the journey?” I whisper in the accented voice of my character.

I have such a horrible English accent. And damn it—it’s
“make the journey,” not “take the journey.”

I stop at the edge of a wooden floor between two long
rows of star trailers and lift my face to Iceland’s gray overcast sky. My eyes
flicker closed as I groan in misery. Before botching “make,” I said “Mother”
instead of “Father.” And before that, I said “hamished,” which isn’t even a
real word, instead of “famished.” 

The sobering truth is that I’m a horrible actress. I also
own up to the fact that I would have never landed the role of Raylene Preen,
the king’s favorite daughter who will eventually get her head chopped off in
episode four, if it weren’t for the worst kind of nepotism. I’m engaged to
internationally famous actor Simon Linney, and I got the role because of him.
That’s why everybody around here thinks I’m a spoiled heiress who’s making a
mockery of their thespian profession. And nobody thinks that more than Caruso.
But I am by no means spoiled or rich, not anymore at least. It’s been ten years
since I received money from the family trust.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to ease the
tension in my head. It doesn’t matter what Caruso thinks of me anymore. It’s
time I free myself from my current definition of hell on earth. I was on the
verge of ending things with Simon before he proposed I play a part in Marked
by the Sword to end my cash flow problem. I bought a restaurant. I made it
popular. One would think that popularity meant prosperity, but that’s not true
in my case. I’m approximately one month away from being forced to close the doors
of my restaurant, The Chest of Chelsea. The establishment is costly to run. And
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but being here doesn’t help me figure it
out.

Although Simon landed me my current gig, my contract is
with Jaycee Wilding, the executive producer, who found my twenty-six million
social media followers appealing. She wants me to tell them to watch her show.
I’ve been thinking… Maybe I can broker a new deal with her to end this charade
of me trying to be an actress. 

I sigh with dread as my fiancé’s face comes to mind. He’s
not going to like it, but I know what I must do, and I have to do it now.

* * *

Fist balled and ready to knock on the door of Simon’s
luxurious trailer, I fill my lungs with crisp Icelandic air, preparing to break
the news to him. Tomorrow at this time, I want to be waking up in my bed back
in New York City.

Out of nowhere, a thought flashes through my mind. I
wonder if I’d be so miserable here if I had the same accommodations as he does.
My trailer is shoebox-sized. The water barely trickles out of the faucet, the
toilet barely flushes, and the bed feels like I’m sleeping on wood. But that’s
not the case for Simon, who has the largest and most luxurious trailer on the
lot. I thought he and I were supposed to live together, but according to
Jaycee, that’s not allowed. She explained that he’s the main star and privacy
is needed for confidentiality. Whatever. Her explanation made sense, so
I didn’t argue with them about it.

I pull my fist back to knock but freeze mid-motion. I
hear a noise inside the trailer. I don’t know precisely what time it is because
I’m not wearing a watch and my cell phone is in my trailer, but my guess is
that it’s only minutes before or after eight a.m. Simon should be asleep. He
spent all day yesterday on set. He’s not supposed to shoot again until early
tomorrow morning.

That was brutal.

The pressure in my head builds toward an explosion as I
flee a live set where an actual TV show is being filmed. I force the tears that
want to come gushing from my eyes to stay put, thereby refusing to give Liam
Caruso, our jerk director, the satisfaction of learning that he made me cry.
He’s been on a mission to break me since day one, and maybe he finally has.
It’s too soon to tell.

“The horses are famished, Father—are you certain they can
take the journey?” I whisper in the accented voice of my character.

I have such a horrible English accent. And damn it—it’s
“make the journey,” not “take the journey.”

I stop at the edge of a wooden floor between two long
rows of star trailers and lift my face to Iceland’s gray overcast sky. My eyes
flicker closed as I groan in misery. Before botching “make,” I said “Mother”
instead of “Father.” And before that, I said “hamished,” which isn’t even a
real word, instead of “famished.” 

The sobering truth is that I’m a horrible actress. I also
own up to the fact that I would have never landed the role of Raylene Preen,
the king’s favorite daughter who will eventually get her head chopped off in
episode four, if it weren’t for the worst kind of nepotism. I’m engaged to
internationally famous actor Simon Linney, and I got the role because of him.
That’s why everybody around here thinks I’m a spoiled heiress who’s making a
mockery of their thespian profession. And nobody thinks that more than Caruso.
But I am by no means spoiled or rich, not anymore at least. It’s been ten years
since I received money from the family trust.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose to ease the
tension in my head. It doesn’t matter what Caruso thinks of me anymore. It’s
time I free myself from my current definition of hell on earth. I was on the
verge of ending things with Simon before he proposed I play a part in Marked
by the Sword to end my cash flow problem. I bought a restaurant. I made it
popular. One would think that popularity meant prosperity, but that’s not true
in my case. I’m approximately one month away from being forced to close the doors
of my restaurant, The Chest of Chelsea. The establishment is costly to run. And
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but being here doesn’t help me figure it
out.

Although Simon landed me my current gig, my contract is
with Jaycee Wilding, the executive producer, who found my twenty-six million
social media followers appealing. She wants me to tell them to watch her show.
I’ve been thinking… Maybe I can broker a new deal with her to end this charade
of me trying to be an actress. 

I sigh with dread as my fiancé’s face comes to mind. He’s
not going to like it, but I know what I must do, and I have to do it now.

* * *

Fist balled and ready to knock on the door of Simon’s
luxurious trailer, I fill my lungs with crisp Icelandic air, preparing to break
the news to him. Tomorrow at this time, I want to be waking up in my bed back
in New York City.

Out of nowhere, a thought flashes through my mind. I
wonder if I’d be so miserable here if I had the same accommodations as he does.
My trailer is shoebox-sized. The water barely trickles out of the faucet, the
toilet barely flushes, and the bed feels like I’m sleeping on wood. But that’s
not the case for Simon, who has the largest and most luxurious trailer on the
lot. I thought he and I were supposed to live together, but according to
Jaycee, that’s not allowed. She explained that he’s the main star and privacy
is needed for confidentiality. Whatever. Her explanation made sense, so
I didn’t argue with them about it.

I pull my fist back to knock but freeze mid-motion. I
hear a noise inside the trailer. I don’t know precisely what time it is because
I’m not wearing a watch and my cell phone is in my trailer, but my guess is
that it’s only minutes before or after eight a.m. Simon should be asleep. He
spent all day yesterday on set. He’s not supposed to shoot again until early
tomorrow morning.

I snap my head back and whisper, “What the….” I heard
another voice, and it wasn’t him.

Okay, so…

It’s true. Simon Linney is notorious for being a cheater.
But I allowed him to convince me that those days of banging every beautiful
woman he meets are far behind him. “Only immature boys cheat. I’m a real man,
Treasure, and men are loyal,” he had said in his elegant and rather convincing
English accent. I shake my head, hoping to be wrong about what I suspect. I say
a little prayer—if I’m wrong, then I’ll take it as a sign to do whatever it
takes to make our relationship work.

I twist my lips thoughtfully as my body processes the
declaration I just made.

Maybe not.

But first things first—I carefully grab the door’s lever
and crank it downward. I sigh with relief. Thankfully, it’s unlocked.

My heart beats like thunder as I search over my right and
left shoulders. The coast is still clear. Fueled by the unmistakable sound of a
woman’s faint giggle, I carefully open the door and hurriedly step inside.

The stark difference between the indoor temperature from
the outside makes me shiver as my blood heats up. I wish I could enjoy the
pleasant warmth wafting across my face. Suddenly, I remember I’m wearing my
heavy, ugly, wild-looking faux-fur dress. The material makes my skin itch, but
I can’t scratch it. I have to remain quiet.

Simon’s bed creaks. I hear slurping and a lustful “Yes,
Cherry baby, like that.”