Never Been Tamed

Prologue

Zara

March 13th

“We are pleasedto announce the engagement of Zara Hathaway and Jackson Pruitt. The wedding will be held on July seventh at four o’clock in the afternoon at the Botanical Garden. Reception to follow.”

I stareat the announcement in the New York Times and try not to groan. What a farce. This should be the happiest moment of my life. I should be planning the wedding of my dreams. But I’m not. Because this is all fake. However, the sparkling two-carat diamond on my finger is all too real. I was there when Jackson bought it. Fifty thousand dollars. I could pawn the ring and make a run for it, but fifty thousand dollars won’t get me far enough away from my beloved.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The mere thought of the man makes my stomach churn.

I can’t stand him and his teasing, taunting green eyes, or the way he always smirks around me like he’s the cat that got the cream. I can find a better use for his lips. Which I already have.

The thought makes me blush. I am not going to think about what Jackson Pruitt does with his lips or tongue.

I am not going to think about it for one more moment.

It’s crazy to think that I am one of the most envied women in New York City at this moment, and it is all an illusion.

There will be no wedding at the Botanical Garden.

There will be no wedding of the year.

We will not be riding off into the sunset together.

I won’t be riding anywhere unless I get a bike. Or one more night with Jackson.

Which I certainly do not want.

I have no idea how I’m going to get through the next few months as his fake fiancée without giving it all away, especially if he keeps sending me presents like the lingerie currently sitting on my bed—the lingerie that I opened in front of all our friends and family. My face is still burning with shame, but I have an idea how to get him back.

A smile crosses my face at my plan. I will drive this man as crazy as he’s already driven me.

I’m almost guaranteed it would work.

I’m going to bring Jackson Pruitt to his knees. I can picture his puppy dog eyes staring up at me, and I am counting down the minutes until I can put it into action. And then, when I’m done, I’ll ride away on a milk-white steed into the law school of my dreams because by then, he will have pulled some strings to help me get in, and I’ll be well on my way to becoming Zara Hathaway, attorney at law.

I look at the letter in my other hand.

Dear Sandra,

Do you think I should send the following to the admissions committees of the schools I am applying to?

I am writing to alert you to the fact that Jackson Pruitt, the heir to the Pruitt fortune and the man I had a one-night stand with, is not actually my fiancé.

I mean, he is technically my fiancé.

But the relationship is fake. It’s faker than the Chanel handbag I got on Canal Street last week.

We are not in love. Just the thought makes me nauseous.

Okay, so yes, we did hook up the first night we met, but trust me when I say he proceeded to get on my nerves the very next day.

I hate to say it, but he’s a grumpy, chauvinistic pig.

Yes, technically, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but looks and chiseled muscles aren’t everything.

And yes, technically, I did apply for a job where I’d be working with him as my boss.

But I didn’t know he worked there.

And sure, you may think I’m bitter because he didn’t hire me, but I’m not.

I hate to admit it, but the rumor is true. He did find me working at a strip club the following week. Times are hard.

I understand why many may say he did me a favor by hiring me to pretend to be his fake fiancé.

But he only did it to fulfill the requirements of his trust, which is pretty self-serving in my eyes.

No, it wasn’t self-serving for him to recommend me for admission to your esteemed law school, but I only feel it right to let you know.

I hope this doesn’t affect my chances for admission.

Yours Sincerely,

Zara Hathaway

“Don’t be stupid, Zara,”I whisper to myself as I shift in the bed. A loud groan emanates from beside me, and I freeze. I look over to my left and see a bemused Jackson staring at me. A very naked Jackson.

Okay, so maybe I’m a bit stupid to write the letter while still in bed with Jackson. And maybe what we have isn’t just a one-night stand, but one thing I know for sure is that the engagement will end.

“Stupid doing what?” he asks as he grabs my wrist and pulls me down on top of him. “Because if the answer is riding me and then making my breakfast, I don’t think that’s stupid at all.” I groan at his bad joke and drop the invitation and letter to the side of the bed. It’s hard for me to resist this man, even though I can’t stand him.

However, one thing I know to be eternally true is that we will never get married because Jackson Pruitt is a man who can never be tamed.