The Love Lie (The Love Match #2)

1. Sam

CHAPTER ONE

sam

You are such a great guy and I’m sorry to do this to you right now, but—

No. Sam shakes her head. Don’t apologize.

The past few weeks with you have been absolutely magical, and I will cherish these memories for the rest of my life—

Blech. She gags at the thought. Too over the top.

I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, but I need to focus on myself right now, and blah, blah, blah…

Sam sighs. Too selfish. I’ll lose the audience.

I never wanted to hurt you, but we can’t get engaged. It wouldn’t be right to either of us when I know in my heart that you’re not my perfect match.

Sam grins. It’s excellent—succinct, to the point, riding that line between kind and unapologetic, and, added bonus, it features the show’s tagline.

Go, me!

Now…

She drops her head back against the seat and tilts her face toward the sun as a cool, salty spray tickles her cheeks. Glimmering cerulean water surrounds her on all sides, the quintessential image of the Maldives. Lulled by the humming motor and splashing waves, she takes a deep breath to soak it all in. Most people would probably be nervous right now, but Sam is perfectly at ease as the speedboat carries her closer and closer to the man whose heart she’s about to break.

It’s a showmance , she reasons. Emily said he already agreed to the plan. And he was probably just here for the likes anyway.

No harm.

No foul.

No use worrying when for the first time in she can’t remember how long, she has a few minutes to just sit and be.

Forty-eight hours ago, she’d been crammed into a cubicle, elbow deep in financial spreadsheets, lucky to catch a brief inhale of garbage-infused New York City air on her way into and out of the office.

Now, she’s in paradise. Blue skies. Pristine white sand beaches. Endless ocean views. The only thing missing is a freshly blended pi?a colada, heavy on the rum. But still, a great trade up, even if it comes with a few unavoidable consequences—namely, the fact that she’s on her way to turn down a perfectly nice man’s proposal…in front of ten million viewers…while pretending to be her identical twin sister on national television. Oh, and this skintight sequined ivory gown the producer forced her into isn’t helping either. The fucking thing is getting itchier and itchier by the minute in this heat. But that’s beside the point.

How the hell did she end up here?

It’s a long story.

Eight weeks ago, her mother caught the attention of the Wake Up, America! hosts while standing in the studio audience sporting a bedazzled sign that read #EmilyAnnNeedsAMan . The clip went viral, and somehow, against all reason, her twin sister, Emily, ended up as the lead on their favorite reality TV dating show, The Love Match , set to have thirty men fighting for her heart. Except unbeknownst to Emily, her ex-boyfriend slash love-of-her-life Jake was one of the producers of said show.

Naturally, things got a little dicey.

Flash forward six weeks to Sam’s arrival on location in the stunning Maldives. She and her parents were supposed to meet Emily’s final two suitors before the proposal, but instead, due to a delayed flight, Sam missed the entire first day of filming, got pulled into a dramatic late-night reunion with her sister, and then slept over in Emily’s suite. The second the cameras were gone, her twin broke down and explained how she’d fallen for Jake again. Not ideal, considering she was supposed to get engaged in two days to another man. ( Side note—thirty hot guys had been fighting over her, and she went back to Jake? The guy who ghosted her at eighteen? Seriously? ) Sam must not have been the only one annoyed by his mere presence, because before her arrival Jake had been fired and kicked out of the resort. Emily was desperate to go after him ( Again…really? ), and Sam might’ve said no if not for one tiny detail—while Emily was on a complete communication blackout during filming, one of her doctors called explaining they needed to get in touch with her. Sam was her emergency contact, and though she tried and tried to get through to Emily, she was both blocked by Jake and stonewalled by the producers. The only way to get her sister access to a phone so she could check in with her doctor sans cameras was to get her out of the resort, and there was only one way to make that happen.

A twin swap.

Cliché? Yes.

Doable? Absolutely.

Call it jet lag, call it sisterly devotion, call it complete insanity, but Sam would do anything for Emily, which is how she ended up here, on this boat, on the final day of filming, on her way to break a man’s heart. Not that she minds, really. She gets a free week in paradise out of the deal—her first vacation in years—and breakups are sort of her thing. She’s perfected the art of letting them down easy…or ripping them a new one, depending on what the situation demands. Yesterday had been a soul-crusher kind of day. Ethan, Em’s runner-up, was a grade A asshole and tearing him apart in front of ten million viewers while she kicked his ass to the curb had been a complete delight. But Cooper, the Midwestern cowboy about to propose to her on a private island in the Maldives, is apparently a sweetheart, so she’ll be gentle. Well, as gentle as an up-and-coming New York City investment banker knows how to be…

Nice. Nice. I can be nice. All I need to do is channel my inner Emily. Sweet. Soft spoken. Kind. I’m the good twin. I’m—

“Emily!”

“What?” Sam snaps, totally breaking her zen—not that it takes much. She’s always been the spice to Emily’s sweet. Some things just never change. But she’s supposed to be her sister right now, so she takes a deep breath and puts a pleasant smile on her face before she turns toward her producer, Nina Chen.

The woman is a petite five-foot-two, but her personality packs a punch. Beneath that saccharine smile, punk-rock hair (half of her black tresses are buzz cut close to the scalp), and combat boots, lies a cunning assassin. It takes one to know one. The moment Sam set eyes on the producer, she knew she’d have to be on top of her game to keep Nina fooled. The woman’s entire job is to pick people apart, manipulate them, and capitalize on their weaknesses to make entertaining TV. Sam knows because she’s spent hours being entertained by said TV, but this time she’s not watching from the comfortable position on her egregiously large bed (at least when compared to her laughably small city apartment). She’s in the thick of it, which means now is not the time to lower her guard.

In two more hours, filming will be done. She can relax then.

I’m Emily , Sam thinks as she switches her tone to something humble and apologetic. Be Emily.

“Sorry.” She smiles meekly. “I zoned out. Did you need something?”

“Just checking in. We’re almost there. How are you feeling?”

Like I was born for this shit. It takes everything Sam has to keep the smirk off her face. Instead, she swallows nervously. “Good. Great! Maybe just a little anxious…”

“Really?” Nina smiles conspiratorially and lowers her voice. “After what I saw in the dream suite, I thought you’d be eager to get engaged.”

As a fan of the show, Sam is aware of the infamous “dream suite” dates. When only three suitors are left, the lead gets the opportunity to have an overnight date with each one sans the cameras. AKA, it’s time to get freaky. Except, she knows her sister and Emily doesn’t do freaky. That’s Sam’s department. So she has no idea what the hell Nina is referencing, and in their little tête-à-tête before the swap Em never mentioned it.

She’s going to have to wing it.

Sam shrugs, playing up her nerves, and offers a vague, “Yeah, well, you know…”

Nina’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Are you afraid he’s not going to propose?”

“What?” Sam rears back.

He’s going to propose.

He has to propose.

The whole reason Emily signed up for this show in the first place was to promote her budding jewelry business, Emily Ann Designs, and being turned down on national television is so not a good look. Not that turning down a certified heartthrob’s proposal is that much better, but still. Sam and and her sister spent hours preparing the best way to let Cooper down easy, focusing on the personal growth and female empowerment that defines Em’s brand. Once she makes it through the initial breakup, Sam’s messaging will be on point and sure to gain the viewers’ support. The speech is a practical rallying cry for the business, and now she’s being told it might all be ruined? By a freaking cowboy? Who does he think he is, turning her sister down? Emily is a complete catch. He’s lucky he’s even getting the chance to propose to her, lucky to be breathing the same air, lucky—

Sam breaks off and turns suddenly toward Nina. Wicked sparkles flash in the corners of the producer’s eyes.

Oh, she’s good , Sam thinks, suddenly remembering that this woman was one of the assholes who refused to let her speak to Emily during filming, not even when she explained the need to pass along private medical information. But I’m better.

The only thing that anyone who works for this show cares about is ratings, and there’s only two ways to draw in the viewers—drama or romance. People want a heart-stopping love story or a jaw-dropping explosion. Anything in between is utter crap.

So Sam looks at Nina innocently and offers an amused laugh. “Wouldn’t that be funny? If he told me he didn’t love me, and he couldn’t propose, so we just hugged it out before deciding to be friends?”

“Hilarious,” Nina drawls as her lips twitch with a frown. Sam works to stifle her grin. Gotcha. The producer clears her throat. “Should we go over the schedule one more time?”

“Sounds great.”

Sam smirks and drops her head back again, soaking up the sun’s warm rays as Nina drones on about hair and makeup and the plan for the day. It’s not rocket science and she’s heard it all before, so she mostly tunes it out, choosing to instead focus on the five free days she’ll have to enjoy her network-provided, over-ocean bungalow when all this is through. It’s customary for the show to pay for the lead to have a few extra days in the final location, normally shared with her new fiancé since the two then have to part ways until the live finale three months later. But in Sam’s case, she’ll be blissfully solo, just the way she likes it. Sure, she’ll have to spend most of her time answering emails, fielding phone calls, and doing the grunt work of an investment banking analyst (this is an unplanned, totally impromptu extended vacation after all, and her boss is undoubtedly already losing his mind because she’s been offline for an unheard-of forty-eight hours), but at least she’ll be doing it with an ocean view.

Too soon, the boat slows to a stop in the shallows of a gorgeous beach bustling with activity. The executive producer, an ice woman named Trish with her white-blonde hair tied in a severe bun, whispers with the director, an utter romantic named Fred with a wide grin on his lips, in the shade of a tent filled with various television screens. Three cameramen wander the shallows in search of the perfect shot. Local artisans scatter rose petals in a path along the sand, leading to an elaborate platform covered in tropical florals. Two drones hover overhead, undoubtedly ready for filming. There’s a table arranged with food and drinks, though no one seems to be paying it any mind. The cowboy is nowhere to be found, not that Sam really knows what he looks like seeing as they’ve never met, but she’s assuming it will be hard to miss a six-foot-two redhead with six-pack abs, if Em’s description of the man is anything to go by…and Sam is sort of hoping it is, because, well, yum. Eye candy. But Nina steps directly in her line of sight before she has a chance to scan the rest of the area.

As if reading her mind, the producer comments, “Cooper won’t be here for another hour. Weren’t you listening? It’s time to film your pre-proposal interview.”

With that, Nina hops over the side of the boat and lands with a splash in the shallow surf. Phil, her personal cameraman, follows. Sam glances down at her floor-length ball gown with a frown. What the hell am I supposed to do?

She could ask Nina, but why give the woman the satisfaction? Instead, she takes advantage of the thigh-high slit in the ivory material and gathers the skirt in one hand before launching herself over the edge of the speedboat.

A horrified cry pierces the air.

Too late, Sam thinks with a smirk as her toes touch cool water then sink satisfyingly into the sand. There’s a small splash, but none of it reaches the fabric bunched around her waist. Half the crew probably gets a clear view of her thong, but whatever. She has a killer ass and she knows it.

“The fuck, Emily,” Nina mutters and shakes her head. “I was just about to get someone to help you down.”

Sam shrugs. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Nina deadpans. “It took us an hour to pick out that dress this morning, and I don’t have time to find you another.”

“Relax, Nina,” Sam coos. Then she reaches back and snatches her heels from where they’re perched on the side of the boat. “It’s all good.”

A glower passes briefly over the producer’s eyes, but she clenches her jaw and holds whatever retort she wants to say inside.

Pushing the woman’s buttons is too much fun. Sam smiles sweetly and adds, “Don’t I have an interview to get to?”

Nina glances up at the sky as if praying for strength, then simply sighs. “Follow me.”

Ten minutes later, Sam is arranged on the flower-covered platform with a camera in her face. Off to the side there’s a large fan to provide the perfect “ocean” breeze. Nina stands behind the bulbous lens with her clipboard, and the interview begins.

“How are you feeling?”

“Are you ready to get engaged?”

“Do you miss Ethan?”

“Are you excited to start your life with Cooper?”

“What do you love most about him?”

“Do you think you made the right choice?”

“Are you sorry for sending Ethan home?”

“Will you move to Cooper’s ranch?”

“Did you find the love of your life?”

“What does your happily ever after look like?”

It’s an endless stream of leading questions designed to force Sam to lower her walls by catching her off guard. The topics jump confusingly back and forth. Nina asks her to repeat certain things, then asks the same question twice as if to trip her up and elicit a different answer. By the end of the session, Sam’s half-delirious from the whirlwind and can hardly even remember anything she said. But Nina’s smiling, so undoubtedly somewhere in the madness, she provided the perfect twenty-second sound bite for TV.

They move on to some filler footage and Phil directs Sam around the small platform.

“Can you stand here? But look there. Not quite so serious. How about a smile? Soften your lips. Straighten your back. Can you lift your chin just a little bit more? Now think about love while you stare out at the horizon. Okay, maybe not love. Let’s try…chocolate cake? Skittles? Ice cream?”

It’s exhausting.

And a bit depressing, if she’s being honest.

As a longtime fan of the show, she’s always known The Love Match is nothing more than a Hollywood-crafted vision of true love. The corny dates. The over-the-top drama. The cheesy one-liners. And yet…the emotional aspect always seemed so authentic. By the end of every season, the central romances inevitably warmed her shriveled, bitter heart. The proposals pierced her cynical walls. So being here and actually seeing how much of the story is staged for the cameras is a total disappointment, like finding out Santa Claus isn’t real. Sam’s already over it, and they haven’t even begun.

As if on cue, Nina lifts her fingers to her comm. “Cooper’s on his way? Great. We just finished up. Is Keith ready? Send him over.”

The middle-aged host known as America’s favorite father figure emerges from one of the production tents in a three-piece suit and a full face of makeup designed to appear natural on-screen. He marches across the sand with what can only be described as a resting bitch face, meaning he’s either extremely focused on the interview or extremely over his twenty-second time filming a season finale, and Sam’s leaning toward the latter. Still, her heart flutters as he approaches. After so many years watching him help the leads of the show navigate their love stories, she’s a bit starstruck. Keith Holson is really here. He’s really on his way to talk to her. Sure, he thinks she’s Emily. And yes, she’s planning to turn down the proposal, so, no, he isn’t about to send her off into the sunset of her very own happily ever after.

But it’s still pretty fucking cool.

Though it gets a bit less cool when he stops right next to her without even bothering to look in her direction, let alone say hello. The director starts the countdown. At ten, Keith finally makes eye contact. At seven, he puffs out his chest. At four, he widens his lips into what Sam had once thought of as an endearingly lovable smile, but now recognizes as a hollow, made-for-TV grin. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and the realization leaves her a bit sad, even if by one he looks exactly as he always has on TV. When the camera starts rolling, he launches into a prepared diatribe about romance and it’s all Sam can do not to roll her eyes.

I’m Emily.

I’m nice.

I’m— Ugh.

Who am I kidding? I’m Samantha. I’m a New York City asshole who never takes shit from anyone, but right now, I need to sweetly turn down this proposal without revealing my inner bitch so everyone watching stays in love with my sister and wants to buy her jewelry.

Easier said than done.

“Are you ready for the rest of your life to begin?” Keith asks, his tone so dramatic she almost wants to laugh. It’s his fourth time asking the question, and this time he must get the intonations right, because the executive producer gives a thumbs-up from the production tent, and the cameras finally switch to her.

“Yes,” Sam says plainly.

From the side, Nina snorts.

“How about a little more enthusiasm this time?” Fred calls and they signal to go again.

“Yes!” Sam half shouts.

“Okay, too much enthusiasm,” Fred comments and Sam rolls her eyes. “Let’s tone it down just a touch.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

She repeats the word so many times it actually starts to sound weird, like an alien language rolling uncomfortably off her tongue. The meaning is completely stripped.

“Try smiling.”

“Not like that.”

“You’re giving me serial killer right now. Less hostile. More cheerful.”

“Imagine you’re a fairy-tale princess.”

For the love of god.

Sam grinds her teeth and takes a deep breath, attempting to strip the daggers from her gaze. It’s time to channel her inner Cinderella. No, not the meek, subservient one, but the total boss bitch who defied her wicked stepmother, snuck out of the house to crash a ball, entranced everyone before hightailing it out at midnight without a backward glance at the lovestruck prince, and then offered her horrible stepsisters a soul-crushing fuck you by sweetly supplying the second glass slipper after the first one broke. No matter how kind people want to paint her, Cinderella oozes the sort of take-no-prisoners attitude Sam can’t help but admire.

You can do this.

You’ve got this.

“Yes,” she finally says.

“That’s the one!” Fred cheers.

With the cameras still rolling, Keith gently takes her by the shoulders. “Then turn around.”

“Wait!” Fred shouts and Keith freezes with his hands on her bare skin, palms slightly moist in the heat. It takes everything Sam has not to writhe uncomfortably as the cameramen shift positions to get ready for the arrival of her winning suitor. Nina explained earlier that they shoot the proposal itself in a single take to capture as much true emotion as possible, so genuine relief fills her heart at the knowledge that this lesson in patience is almost over.

After a few minutes, Fred gives the signal and Keith applies pressure. Sam slowly spins around and—

Holy shit.

She freezes. Her heart flips. Just like that, the cameras and the crew all fade. The world around her blurs until the only thing in perfect clarity is the man striding confidently toward her. Even though Sam spends her days surrounded by men in suits, she’s never seen a single one who looks as good as Cooper Kelley does right now. Black slacks hug his thick thighs and a matching jacket stretches across his broad shoulders. The formality of his crisp white button-up and dark tie are offset by the straw cowboy hat settled low on his head. Her gaze drops to the scuffed and worn leather boots kicking through the sand. She’s used to overgrown boys flashing their fat wallets, but he oozes the sort of rugged masculinity that can’t be bought. It’s in the casual way he saunters closer, not rushing, sure the world will wait, as if fully aware of the choke hold he has on everyone around him.

And dammit, she is in a choke hold—unable to breathe, unable to think when he finally lifts his head high enough to clear the shadows from his face.

Sam gulps.

His jaw is so chiseled it might as well be cut from stone. Red hair curls out under the brim of his hat. His skin is the perfect shade of sun-kissed that can only be achieved by long days spent working outdoors. He crooks his lips in a lazy half-smile, bringing out the dimple in his right cheek, and Sam’s knees go weak. When he sweeps his gaze over her dress, tracing every line of her curves, a flush spreads across her whole body. The moment those crystal-clear emerald eyes meet hers, it turns to an inferno.

She may actually whimper.

I could kill Emily right now. Just murder her.

Sure, Em said he was handsome. And okay, her description of him as a six-foot-two redhead with six-pack abs was technically accurate. But so is describing the sun as warm. Sam had been expecting a good-looking cowboy. Instead, she’s facing a god.

Her throat goes dry.

She’s woozy, parched.

The man is sex on a stick and all she wants to do is lick him.

What? No.

Well, maybe.

Okay, yes.

Yes, licking is definitely on the list of things I want to do to him.

Cooper comes to a stop about a foot away, and it’s all she can do not to drool. The hotness overload leaves her lightheaded. He opens his mouth and she tries to concentrate on what he’s saying—she really does—but all she can think about as she watches his lips move is how they’d feel pressed against her skin. Every inch of her body is on fire from the fantasy playing out in the back of her thoughts. But just as those imaginary lips begin to work their way south, she realizes he stopped talking and she has no idea what he just said.

Stupid overactive imagination.

Sam blinks into the lengthening silence.

Focus.

Focus.

The cowboy drops to one knee and takes her by the hand, his fingers rough and calloused. The slight scratch sends a pleasurable shiver down her spine. Those hands have been places. They know things. Just like that her thoughts are off and running once more, wondering exactly what they can do as he lifts her fingers to his lips. The gentle kiss leaves her breathless, and that’s before he offers a wicked grin Sam can feel all the way to her core.

Her muscles clench.

“So what do you say?” he asks, looking up at her with those captivating green eyes, his Midwestern drawl turning her bones to noodles. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

Only one thought enters her mind. “Sure.”

When he slides the ring over her finger, reality hits.

The proposal. The TV show. Her sister.

Fuck!