Fake A Chance On Me (Snowbell Ridge #3)

Chapter 1

JILL

Of all the questionable things I’ve done in my twenty-five years of life, agreeing to let my boss be my fake boyfriend ranks somewhere between cutting my own bangs in a dimly lit bathroom and helping myself to two bottles of champagne the morning of my parents’ wedding renewal ceremony.

I’ve got too small a forehead to rock bangs, and my family still hasn’t let me live down that champagne fiasco.

Still, I wasn’t exactly in the best of headspaces then.

In the present, I like to consider myself pretty put together.

Hence, I don’t have an excuse for agreeing to this other than knowing it could have been much worse.

Grayson Pierce may be my best friend, Ivy’s, and my boss, but I like to think that he’s also our friend.

He attends all of our weekly dinners and is always the first person to offer to shovel my sidewalks after a heavy snowfall.

Hell, he even rakes my lawn when the leaves start to fall and puts them in those cute orange garbage bags with the pumpkin faces.

Friends is a far cry from boyfriend, though. Regardless of how fake said relationship is supposed to be.

“I’ll do it, Jill” is what he said when he’d overheard my conversation with my best friend last week.

It was totally weird for him to be eavesdropping on our conversation like that, but Ivy had been poking me about the details of my sister’s upcoming wedding, and I just .

. . let them explode into her kitchen. I can still feel the lingering heat from the anger I felt while reading the text my mother had sent to inform me that she’d asked my ex-boyfriend to be my plus one.

There was no way in hell I was letting that happen, so we quickly came up with a plan B. That’s when Grayson inserted himself into the situation.

Now, a week later, I’m standing outside of his closed office door with a mug of coffee in my hand—two cream and two sugars—and a giant rock in my stomach.

I’ve managed to avoid talking to him about the details thus far, but considering we need to leave tomorrow, I’ve officially run out of runway. It’s either crash or take off.

Puffing out a quick breath, I steady myself and straighten.

I force a smile and squeeze the handle of the Easter Bunny mug until I swear to God hear a crack.

It doesn’t snap off, though. No hot coffee splatters all over the dress I debated putting on for over an hour this morning.

I ignore the waver in my grin and keep it in place as footsteps creep closer to the door.

“Is it lunch already?”

The rough baritone of Grayson’s voice filters through the door before it’s peeled open.

I swallow the gasp that always threatens to expose my innermost fascination with this man and push the mug toward him.

Deep, evergreen eyes pierce into me before dipping down to the mug I’m now trying to impale him with.

“Lunch? Nope. It’s coffee time, though. Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.”

His towering six-three frame shifts to make room for me to step inside the office. I don’t dare let my lips fall from their held position as I pass him, still gripping the mug. Clearing my throat, I set it down on the neatly organized mahogany desk and slap my thighs with both hands.

He shuts the door behind us. “Is everything alright, Jill?”

Oh, shit, can he smell my armpits from there? Am I that sweaty already? I sure feel like it. If I could touch my neck, I’m sure it would feel slippery. That’s so sexy, wow. Maybe my chances that he’ll agree to this will go up if he knows I’m a nervous sweater.

Ugh.

“Yep. It’s all good. I just noticed that you’ve been locked in here for a while now and wanted to bring you some of the coffee I made this morning. If you waited any longer to grab some, it would be Ivy’s batch.”

My best friend and the Snowbell Ridge event planner might be great at making peppermint daiquiris in her husband’s bar, but she’s terrible when it comes to using the office coffee machine.

Silently agreeing with me, Grayson’s perfectly straight nose crinkles in a way that shouldn’t be so frustratingly sexy.

It’s a move that children do when they’re told to eat their broccoli.

It’s certainly not something a grown man should be able to pull off.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve come to realize that my boss can make just about anything look good.

He’s the very definition of a clean-cut man.

There’s never any stubble on his defined, square jaw, or a rogue piece of chocolate brown hair that hasn’t been swooped and gelled.

His slacks are always pressed to perfection, even on the days where he lets himself “dress down” and swaps his usual button-up and suit jacket for a half-zipped sweater, almost always in a bland colour, and a pair of tight jeans.

I’ve grown to just expect him to come in every morning looking like he has a team of professionals living with him.

And don’t even get me started on the glasses.

He mostly wears them when he’s reading, but they’re these large square ones that are just the slightest bit too big and slip down the bridge of that perfect nose. It seems to always be the sexy librarian special with this guy.

He leans back against the edge of his desk, crossing his ankles as he takes the mug. The veins on the back of his hand pulse and strain beneath his tan skin as he brings it up to his lips and takes a sip. It’s difficult not to wiggle around beneath the weight of his lingering gaze.

“Two creams and two sugars like always,” I blurt out, laughing choppily.

“Yes, I can taste that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Slowly, he pulls the mug away from his face and inspects it. I nonchalantly swipe my palms over the soft fabric of my red wrap dress and watch as he eyes the Easter Bunny’s ass. My face heats. Yeah, that was totally the wrong cup to use right now.

It was a gag gift from our secret Santa exchange last year.

Sure, it would have been more professional for the owner of said gift to take it home with them, but professional isn’t exactly the best word to describe our town office.

We’re not a bunch of mischiefs running around pulling stupid pranks, but the work environment has become pretty chill over the last year.

Grayson’s what most would consider a perfect boss. Or, at least, a pretty damn nice one, considering how much slack he gives us. One would assume the town office would be full of quiet, tense worker bees, but ours is the opposite.

The cupboard full of mugs with pink bunny asses and some pretty crude jokes is a total HR nightmare. Still, he hasn’t made us throw them out yet. I personally think he gets a kick out of seeing the selection grow every few weeks.

“I wondered when I’d get stuck with this mug,” he says, setting it down.

“It’s made its rounds, that’s for sure.”

Grayson tips his chin and tightens his stare. “Is this really all you came here for? If so, I should return to my work.”

“Wait!” I shoot a hand out in front of me before slapping it back against my leg. Jesus Christ. “We need to talk about this weekend. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t changed my mind, Jill.”

“Alright. Well, I’ve got the hotel confirmation and address that I was going to email you this afternoon, just so you, you know, have it.”

“Thank you.”

“And then, obviously, I was going to ask if you wanted to drive up together or take separate vehicles. Either is fine with me, but you know how Canmore is. There’s never any parking anywhere, especially this time of year,” I ramble.

His brows slip down as he stares at me, knitting together. I’m so close to simply spinning around and ducking out of this office before I choke on the foot I’ve shoved down my throat.

“I was hoping we’d go together. You’re a terrible driver.”

“What? No I’m not!”

His features relax, eyes lightening. “You are. I figured we would avoid an accident on the highway and I’d drive.”

“Honestly, driving is the least I could do. You’re really saving my ass here.”

“Is the ex that bad?”

I blow a raspberry. “Whatever you’re imagining, make it worse and then add a greasy mustache.”

“And he’s still attending the wedding, correct? Ivy was mentioning it earlier,” he says, his voice growing quieter with each word.

Rolling my eyes, I pull my hair off my neck to try and cool it.

“Yeah, he will. My mother isn’t the type of woman who invites someone to something like this and then uninvites them.

She’s pissed at me for bringing a different date, so fair warning, you’ll probably catch a few strays when we get there tomorrow.

I’m going to be the main target, so don’t fear her too much. ”

“I’m not afraid of your mother. I did want to ask for a few more specifics, though.”

He pulls his leather chair away from the desk and takes a seat.

His shoulders are wider than the seatback and overhang a couple of inches on either side, which isn’t a very subtle reminder of just how huge this man is.

He could well and truly toss a woman around if he wanted to, which obviously isn’t going to happen here.

Absolutely not.

Despite Ivy’s obsession with trying to convince me that our boss is secretly crushing on me, I don’t buy it.

What she sees as flirting, I find more teasing than anything else.

His offer to help me convince my family that I’m in love and happy with my life the way it is wasn’t some sneaky love declaration.

And even if by some wild one percent chance that Ivy is right, I doubt Grayson is the type of guy to like that sort of thing in the bedroom. Not with that whole Clark Kent thing he has going for him.

I clear my throat. “What do you want to know?”

“The names of your family members, for starters. I don’t want to misspeak while I’m playing my part and make things complicated for you.”

“Meredith and Howard are my parents’ names.

My sister is Kate, and her fiancé’s name is Vince.

Everyone else really isn’t important. You won’t be expected to know more than that.

Besides, it’s my mom and sister who are going to go at you the hardest.” I chew on my lip, nerves prickling my skin.

“There’s still time for you to back out, Grayson. ”

In the silence that follows, I can hear the sound of the printer puking paperwork outside the door and the clack of Ivy’s heels down the hallway past the office. She’s most likely trying to eavesdrop like the snoop she is.

Exhaling, Grayson rolls his chair close enough to the desk that he can drop his forearms over it. With his hands clasped on the mahogany, it looks like he’s going to chastise me for something rather than continue a conversation about pretending to date me. It’s messing me up.

“I don’t want to back out. This is important to you, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. My family has some inability to believe that I’m fine with being single.

With Kate getting married now, all of the attention’s even more so on me to settle down than it was when she was in the same boat,” I explain, hearing how ridiculous that all sounds. “This is just the . . . safer option.”

That’s my family, though. Lucky me.

His eyes flick between mine, searching for something, I think. He blinks too soon for me to figure out if he found what he wanted.

“That’s that, then. You can trust me to pull it off. For now, I just need to know the dress code. I’m assuming I’ll need to bring a suit?”

“Yes.”

He reaches for the coffee mug and just holds it in front of him as his fingers tap the bunny ears curving out of the front side. “When should I pick you up tomorrow? You mentioned a rehearsal dinner, didn’t you?”

I nod, some of my jitters starting to settle. “Eight? It’s going to take a few hours to get there, and the rehearsal’s at six.”

“Eight it is. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about before then?”

“You’re actually really sure about this?” It explodes out of me, and my chest turns as red as my dress. “Have you thought about what it actually means to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

“Was there a guidebook I should have purchased, Jill? I’m afraid I haven’t done any prerequisite reading,” he teases, and shit, it always sounds so much like flirting when he talks to me like this.

I laugh to cover the hitch in my breathing. “No. I just mean that I want you to be prepared for the whole pretending thing. Dating someone usually entails physical touching.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that aspect in a relationship.”

“Alright, smarty-pants. Do you have any boundaries? Because we need to really sell this. My family is a bunch of sharks, and if they smell blood in the water . . .” I tap my thumb to my four other fingers in a chomping motion.

His chuckle is soft yet controlled as it scatters up my arms. When an ache in my left heel has me shifting my weight to my left foot, he lowers his gaze to the shiny red tip of my high heel, letting it linger there. When he lifts it again, my eyes snatch onto his and hold them in place.

“Off the top of my head, no. Do you?”

“Same. I’ll think on it tonight, though. Just to be safe.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, well, I guess that’s all I came here for. Thank you again, Grayson. I really didn’t expect you to do this for me.”

His eyes bore into mine as I try to appear as confident as I can. Truthfully, I’m not at all. Maybe he can tell. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. Relief courses through me when he nods once.

“Stop thanking me. It’s truly not that big a deal.”

“Yeah, it is. But I’ll let it go for now.”

He cracks a smile, revealing twin rows of pearly white, straight teeth. “Good girl. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I have to look away when I feel my eyes bulge. My throat strains around nothing as I spin on my heel and stare at the door. The sudden warmth blooming low in my belly has me nearly jumping away from where he sits at his desk, watching me.

“Would you mind telling Ivy that she can go ahead and get back to work now?”

Reaching for the door, I nod in reply. Then, I’m gone, rushing past Ivy and grabbing her arm on the way to our cubicles. She releases an oof sound and falls into pace beside me.

“What happened? Did it go okay?” she asks, voice low enough he can’t hear from his office.

“Yep. We’re leaving at eight tomorrow.”

Good luck, future me.