A Very Pretend Boyfriend (Very Much in Love #4)

Chapter 1

A Secret Obsession

Kazimir

Awaiter threads a tray of neon-pink cocktails through the lunch rush, nearly colliding with another server carrying martinis.

The liquid sloshes around their skewered olives.

It’s not a graceful sidestep. It’s a fumbled turnover.

No communication. No awareness. No teamwork.

Chaos. If this is the front of house, I don’t want to know what the kitchen looks like.

No wonder the place is bleeding out.

I lean into the table. “I flew in overnight from Rio, and it sure as hell ain’t for the carbonara.

The only reason I’m sitting here is because Grazie Mille’s Brazilian owner is related to someone I know.

The poor guy got sidelined by a heart attack.

His doctor forbids him to travel to New York, so my buddy asked me to step in. ”

Erik nods, taking a slow sip of his red wine. “Nearly thirteen hours in the air, barely settled, and you skip straight to the stakeout? You couldn’t give it a day?”

“Even if I was flying back from outer space, nothing would keep me from being here today.” I lower my voice.

“According to the owner, the manager—who he suspects of foul play—won’t be working tomorrow’s lunch hour.

I can’t miss this window. I need to look the son of a bitch in the eye before I execute the play and shut him down. ”

My best friend sets his glass down, the click sharp against the marble table. “That’s a loaded statement.”

“The owner and I ironed things out during the week I was in Rio with his lawyers and mine.” I drop my cutlery on the plate and wipe my mouth. “I have the—”

My gaze flies up over Erik’s head.

No fucking way.

“Kaz, what is it?”

Nearly a year later, and I’d recognize the gorgeous blonde with my eyes closed. “Harley McKenzie Lancaster.”

Erik whips his head around before turning in my direction. “She’s here? Your stepson’s girlfriend? The woman you’ve been fixated on after meeting her once? Your secret obsession?”

I curl my hand into a fist at the thought.

Wanting her as much as I do after meeting her only once has always felt weird. Forbidden. Like I’d be breaking a boundary that would send me straight to hell.

I skewer Erik with an unimpressed stare. “Chett is my ex-stepson.”

“Notice how you didn’t correct the other two statements.” His eyes hold mischief.

If he wasn’t my best friend, I’d deck him for that comment.

My focus returns to Harley.

“Looks like you’re getting a two for one special,” Erik says. “You get to help the owner of this restaurant and reconnect with Harley.”

“This lunch is all business. I’m here to find out which employee is screwing over the owner.” Bumping into Harley is a slapshot I didn’t see coming.

He drops his fork in his pasta bowl. “Are you saying you’re not going to approach her?”

I hold his gaze, my nostrils flaring.

“Message received,” he says. “Moving right along. Speaking of your two-timing ex-wife—”

“We weren’t talking about her.”

“By extension, we were. Harley is your ex-stepson’s girlfriend. Devlyn is his mother and your ex-wife.”

My lips flatten into a thin line. “That’s a stretch.”

“Are you going to take your publicist’s suggestion to mitigate the media shit show your ex orchestrated because she decided to rewrite New York’s equitable distribution marital clause?”

That was a roundabout way to ask that question. “I don’t know, Erik. What the publicist is suggesting isn’t my style.”

“It’s a quick image rehab.”

“I’m a hockey player. I’m not an actor. I don’t have the personality to pull off the charade.” My attention swings back to Harley.

She’s in professional mode, busy taking the order of a table that seats five men in suits.

One of them says something to her.

She smiles.

I’ve been on the receiving end of her smile, and it’s so arresting, it could rival the sun.

It lights up her face, bumping up her natural beauty by several notches.

It’s nothing like the forced smile that’s tugging at her lips right now.

And there’s a veil of… sadness in those sea-green eyes.

It’s as if she’s walking around with a cloud hovering over her head.

Maybe it’s weariness or she’s going through a difficult patch.

One thing is certain, she’s carrying a load that’s way too heavy for her shoulders.

She lost a lot of weight. She lost her curves—

Wait a minute.

What is Harley doing working as a waitress in a restaurant? She’s a corporate florist and she was supposed to start a business with a woman and her husband. Is she working in a restaurant part-time while getting her new business up and running?

Harley’s head jerks back, and my wayward thoughts come to an abrupt stop. She frowns down at one of the men at the table.

What did the asshole tell her?

She squares her shoulders, turns on her heel, and heads toward the bar. She returns a few minutes later with a tray of drinks, which she distributes to the five men.

The douchebag says something before flashing her a slimy smirk.

Harley stiffens.

My upper lip curls up.

I want to make him eat whatever he said to her.

“You’ve never set foot in this restaurant until today,” Erik says.

I shift my eyes to him.

“Here you are doing a favor for a friend of a friend, and the woman who made such an impression on you—the one you couldn’t shut up about—is standing mere feet away.”

I’m not sure what to make of this coincidence either.

The day I met the beautiful blonde that captured my attention from the moment she said hello, things weren’t in my favor. She was with my entitled stepson, and I was gearing up for a divorce.

Harley returns to the table with a tray weighed down with food and drops each plate in front of the patrons.

My eyes widen and my head rears back.

“What is it, Kaz?”

“An asshole who doesn’t value his life just groped Harley’s ass.”

She glares at the dipshit.

There’s a ping-pong exchange between them.

She shakes her head.

She’s about to turn around, but the piece of shit grabs her wrist.

I’m going to destroy the motherfucker.