Best Man (Billionaire Bachelors Book 6)

by Lila Monroe

  The group cheers, and the happy couple embraces, and even though I’ve got ants crawling over me, I’m thrilled for the two of them. I’ve been a part of this relationship from the beginning, since Henry hired me to help write his dating profile, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one composing anniversary cards until the pair are old and grey.

  Like I said, some people just have a little trouble expressing themselves. And if I can help them tell their loved ones how they feel, well, it’s all in a day’s work.

  I will, however, be billing him for my laundry, because I don’t even want to know what’s smeared all over my jeans by now. I wait until the crowd disperses, then set about gingerly inching my way back off the branch.

  It groans in protest.

  “Hey,” I mutter ruefully. “I only had two portions of dumplings last night. And I totally drank a diet soda!”

  I wriggle back and awkwardly turn to hug the trunk. Just a little further—

  CRACK. The branch gives way, and my hands slip. I flail wildly, but it’s already too late: I’m slip-sliding down the trunk, hitting what feels like every stump and splinter on the way as I bounce my way to the ground.

  OOF.

  I groan, laying on the dirt in a shower of leaves and twigs.

  “I should have guessed this proposal was your handiwork.”

  I look up to find six foot two of lean muscle, blue eyes, and irritatingly-charming sarcasm. Dylan Calloway. Another client of mine – and the bane of my existence.

  “How could you tell?” I ask, sitting up with a wince.

  “Your undeniable literary style,” Dylan replies. He offers me a hand, and hauls me to my feet again. “Plus, the fact that Henry was way too calm,” he adds. “The man sweat through a three-piece suit giving a toast at his parent’s anniversary dinner. The fact he made it through a single line without stuttering was a major giveaway you were somewhere around here, pulling the strings.”

  “No strings!” I protest. “Henry wrote every word. I just… polished, that’s all.”

  “Sure you did.” Dylan grins. “The same way Rodin just polished those lumps of marble into statues.”

  I blink. “What’s that? A compliment?” I hold my hand to my ear, teasing.

  Dylan smirks. “You know you’re good. I wouldn’t hire anyone but the best.”

  “There is nobody else,” I remind him. The market for a professional Cyrano is slim-to-none. Which is why I have to go the extra mile for my clients.

  Or up the extra tree.

  “Nice touch, with the Star Wars quote, by the way,” Dylan remarks, as we stroll out of the wooded area. He’s wearing his trademark black jeans and a white button-down, looking annoyingly handsome in the bright summer sun. With his classic Ray-Bans and unruly dark hair, he’s every inch the ‘hot rich guy you know is destined to blow you off but you can’t help fantasizing about him all the same’.

  Or maybe I just watched too many John Hughes movies at an impressionable age?

  Either way, I know way too much about Dylan to ever entertain the idea of dating him. Like how he runs through women the way I run through Sephora skincare samples. Or the fact that as a mere mortal – and not, say, an international swimsuit model-slash-actress-slash human rights lawyer – I probably don’t even register as a prospect to him.

  Sure enough, we’re just turning onto the path when a gorgeous brunette woman stalks towards us, looking annoyed. “Where have you been?” she demands, looking annoyed.

  I say ‘woman’, but let’s face it, she’s so beautiful, she probably deserves another scientific classification, because I’d be surprised if we shared even half our DNA. Her hair is long and glossy, her face is all eyes and cheekbones, and there isn’t just a thigh-gap between those tanned legs in her teeny-tiny cut-offs, there’s the whole Grand Canyon.

  “Gigi, I’ve been right here,” Dylan protests.

  Gigi?

  I try not to smile. Of course. His latest paramour. She loves expensive roses, Adele songs, and inspirational quotes. Which I know because Dylan has had me composing love notes for her all week. And looking at her now, I can see why.

  “You said to meet you by the trees.” The exquisite beauty known as Gigi pouts. “Do you know how many trees there are in Central Park?”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” Dylan turns on the charm, flashing her a mega-watt smile. “Let’s go get you a drink.”

  But Gigi isn’t convinced.

  “You’re always doing this,” she says. “I blew off a sample sale to come meet you, but you don’t even care. You’re over here, flirting with—“ she looks at me, frowning.

  “Nobody.” I answer quickly. “Really.”

  “She’s just a friend,” Dylan insists. “Come on, babe, you can’t imagine I’d have eyes for anyone except you.”

  And Sophie. And Lara. And the girl from the coffee shop Dylan wanted to woo with Shakespeare quotes and roses just last week. But maybe Gigi is smarter than I thought, because she isn’t buying his Romeo act anymore.

  “No! This isn’t working. You need to figure out what you need,” Gigi gives a tearful sniff. “Before you lose the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  She turns on her (stacked, five-inch platform) heels, and sashays away.

  “Well, that went well.”

  I turn. Dylan is looking strangely cheerful for a man who just got dumped. “You don’t mind?” I ask, surprised.

  “Mind what? She’ll come around.” He shrugs. “That’s what I have you for. I’ll take one of your apology packages. A sincere note, a couple of poems… She’ll be back in my arms by the weekend.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s why I’m your favorite client.” Dylan grins.

  “My most frequent client,” I correct him. And it’s true. Dylan has been keeping the lights on with his commissions these past months.

  His many, many commissions.

  From flirty notes tucked inside massive bouquets, charming women into dates with him, to heart-felt apology notes when he inevitably lets them down, Dylan Calloway is a one-man seduction machine.

  And I’m the voice behind the pen, helping it happen.

  I sigh, strolling towards the exit. “Remind me again why I’m your accomplice in these crimes against true love?”

  “Because you believe that even I deserve a chance to find my soulmate?” Dylan offers, teasing.

  “Nope, try again.”

  “Then it must be the cold hard cash.” Dylan pats me on the shoulder. “Oh, before I forget, I might have another job for you.”

  “Another one?” I exclaim. “Seriously, where do you find the time? I can’t even get a moment to go take in my dry-cleaning, let alone juggle four different dates.”

  “It’s an art,” Dylan agrees. “What can I say? I’m an excellent multi-tasker.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of it?” I ask, with equal parts admiration and disdain. “Or say the wrong name, and mix them up?”

  “That’s a rookie mistake,” he laughs. “You need to switch to general endearments. Babe, honey, sugar-lips. That way, you never get it wrong. Especially not in the… heat of the moment.”

  He winks. Now he’s just messing with me.

  “Sure thing, sugar-lips,” I reply, shaking my head with a smile. “So, who’s the unlucky target this time?”

  “I’m still figuring that part out,” he replies, mysterious. “I’ll swing by the office this week to discuss. For now, just focus on getting me back in Gigi’s good graces.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Chin up.” He grins. “This will be easy. Just use the line from that movie again.”

  “I’m just a man, standing in front of a woman?’” I suggest.

  “That’s the one. They always go crazy for it.”

  “Hugh Grant has a lot to answer for.” I sigh.

  And so do I.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Poppy and Dylan’s hilarious story is just gett
ing started. Cupids Anonymous is available to order now!

  Love sexy romance novels? Why not try the hot new book by USA Today bestselling author Lila Monroe!

  HOW TO CHOOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS

  The only thing more hilarious than the movies is… real life?!

  Stylist Gemma Jones is competing for a once-in-a-lifetime promotion. All she has to do is take some fashion-backward guy from geek to GQ-worthy. The only problem? The man in question is her hairy manwhore of a next-door neighbor. AKA Bigfoot.

  Zach Morrison has zero interest in being Gemma’s makeover mannequin. Sure, it’s fun getting his smart-mouthed neighbor all riled up, but after cashing out of his tech start-up and going through an ugly break-up, he’s taking a permanent vacation. If he wants to wear sweatpants and sleep on a mattress in the corner of an empty apartment—

  OK. Maybe he needs a little push in the right direction. But as Gemma races the clock to win her bet, she finds that Bigfoot’s been hiding a few things under his baggy flannel shirts. Like abs of steel, and a surprisingly big...

  Heart. He has a big heart.

  Soon, sparks are flying between this unlikely couple, but can Zach embrace a fresh start - however manscaped it might be? And will Gemma beat out her Instabitch rival for the top spot - and keep the truth about their bet from Zach?

  Find out in the hot and hilarious new romance from “the reigning queen of rom-com”, USA Today bestselling author Lila Monroe.

  How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days is available now! CLICK HERE to download from your retailer of choice

  1

  Gemma

  Do you ever wish life was more like your favorite romantic comedy—full of hot, charming guys with great hair, upbeat music montages, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after?

  No crappy, mediocre dates. No painful periods (or, you know, messy bodily functions of any kind). No stress over making rent on your tiny shoebox of an apartment.

  And definitely no men who seem like they’re totally into you but then ghost harder than Casper, with zero warning at all.

  “Hey!” I protest, as my phone gets swiped out of my hand.

  My best friend, Zoey, rolls her eyes so hard, they practically disappear into her head. “This is Chick Flick Club, not ‘Watch Gemma check her phone every ten seconds’ club.”

  I glance at the TV, where our movie is already paused. Right on Jude Law’s pretty-boy face. No coincidence that the movie’s stopped right there—our other friend Eve’s lust for Jude Law is stuff of legend.

  Tonight, the legend is The Holiday, because even though the holidays are months away, rom-coms and happily-ever-afters are never out of season for us. We’ll happily watch Valentine’s Day in August, or Love Actually in May. We once watched Groundhog Day on the Fourth of July.

  What can I say? We know how to party hard.

  I reach for the remote but Eve holds it back. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail, and she’s dressed in a cute sundress covered with tiny poodles—a nod to her #2 passion in life, her furry friends down at the animal shelter. “Who are you waiting to call?” she asks, then brightens. “Is it a guy?”

  “It was,” I sigh. “He suggested hanging out last night, but never followed up, and now he’s not replying to any of my texts.”

  “Which guy?” she asks, frowning. “Austin?”

  Zoe smirks. “I think you mean Orlando.”

  “Boise!” They laugh.

  “Dakota,” I grin, despite myself. “His name is Dakota.”

  Zoey grabs a handful of her patented popcorn blend. Or if it isn’t patented, it should be. That thing is so addictive, I don’t let her leave leftovers in the house. But that’s a hazard of being BFFs with an amazing chef. “So what happened?” she asks.

  “I don’t know!” I shrug helplessly. “The app matched us up, we got drinks, we went on three dates and had a really fun time, and now . . . nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Gems.” Eve squeezes me sympathetically.

  I try not to feel rejected. “I thought he liked me. We got along well enough. I thought maybe . . . it could really be something.”

  “Awww.”

  “Hmmm.” Zoey doesn’t sound so sympathetic.

  I turn. “What?”

  “Nothing, just . . . three dates? And you didn’t fuck him?”

  “Our third date was mini golf!” I protest. “I wasn’t exactly going to bang him in the middle of the windmill challenge.”

  “But after?” Zoey prods. “No, ‘want to come up for coffee?’ No, ‘Wow, I have this bookshelf that needs moving.’ No, ‘wanna fuck?’ ”

  “I don’t move that fast!” I protest, giggling. “We’re not all voracious sex queens.”

  “Why, thank you.” Zoey mimics a royal wave. I laugh.

  “Seriously, what’s with this arbitrary third date thing, anyway?” I argue. “Maybe I need more time to warm up to a guy.”

  “So there were no sparks?” Eve frowns.

  “There was . . . spark potential?” I decide.

  But even an old-fashioned romantic like Eve has zero time for that. “Then she’s right. If you weren’t feeling it enough, you must have known something was up. So, why do you care if he ghosted you?”

  “I don’t know . . .” I pause. “Just because I wasn’t sold on him, it doesn’t mean I didn’t want him to fall madly in love with me!”

  They both look at me and burst out laughing.

  “OK, that sounds pretty weird,” I laugh along. “But seriously, I’m never going to get laid again! I’m done with the apps and online things. I’m tired of meeting the great-on-paper guys who end up being mediocre.”

  “Or married,” Zoey agrees.

  “Or have a secret fetish for girls dressed up in bear costumes,” Eve adds.

  “That’s right!” Zoey snorts. “I’d forgotten about Phil the Furry!”

  “I wish I could!” Eve shudders. “You know, he keeps texting me, asking for pictures of all the shelter dogs. I feel like he’s asking me to send him porn!”

  “Eww!”

  My laughter fades. “So what are we supposed to do?” I ask, lying back on the couch. “How are we supposed to find someone we actually have chemistry with, in person?”

  “Go old school?” Zoey suggests.

  “How?” Eve wonders. “Everyone in this town walks around staring at their phone all day. There was a cute guy in line by me at the coffee shop the other day. I kept trying to catch his eye, but he was just swiping on Tinder the whole time!”

  “Maybe we should try something active,” I suggest, thinking hard. “Rock climbing?”

  “You’re pretty much guaranteed to meet cut guys rock climbing,” Zoey says. “But it’s hard work. Sweaty hard work.”

  I remember what a mess I look like after working out. “OK, so maybe not rock climbing but something outdoorsy. Maybe . . . surfing . . . ?”

  “Shark attacks,” Eve says immediately.

  “Hiking?”

  Zoey smirks. “You’re not exactly the outdoorsy type, Gemma. Remember that camping disaster a few years back?”

  Eve laughs.

  “Not funny!” I cry. “Getting trapped in that outhouse was the worst! I was stuck in there for like, an hour.”

  “You don’t have to hike the mountains to get outdoorsy,” Zoey suggests with a mischievous look. “You could always go trap Bigfoot.”

  “Umm, nope.”

  Bigfoot, aka my neighbor, Zach, the hairy man-whore across the hall. He moved in a few months ago, and ever since, he’s paraded woman after woman to his lair.

  Zoe is still smirking. “You could do worse. Men like that generally know what they’re doing. Lots of practice and all.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  “Please,” I groan. “Not if he was the last man on earth. And I use the term ‘man’ loosely. That guy makes Bigfoot look like he’s been manscaped. And when he’s not ‘entertaining’ all his lady friends? The guy sits around playing video games all day! I don’t need a bigfoot and I def
initely don’t need one who doesn’t have a job. I’m broke enough on my own, thank you very much.”

  “You could just get a dog,” Eve suggests. “You can’t get better loyalty and friendship than that.”

  “That’s not all there is in life, Evie,” I say gently.

  “You’re right.” Eve leans over and refills my wine glass. “That’s why God invented grapes.”

  “And vibrators,” Zoey quips.

  We all laugh.

  “Start the movie, Evie,” Zoey decides. “If we can’t have real boyfriends, we may as well live vicariously through movies. I mean, seriously, take Jude Law here.” She points her glass at the screen. “Horrible in real life, but I’d break a few laws to bang the shit out of him.”

  “Your puns are seriously awful,” Eve giggles. “Not like you take time away from work for dating. Something tells me the only thing you’ve banged lately is your toes against the counter on your food truck.”

  “Wait.” Zoey gives her a sideways look. “Do you have a secret camera in my kitchen?”

  “Why?” she teases back, “So I can catch you singing along to your Avril Lavigne mixtape from high school?”

  “Avril was an underrated songwriter.” Zoey sticks her tongue out.

  “Sure thing, skaterboy.”

  She tosses a pillow at Eve—which hits me in the face. “Hey!” I protest, laughing. “Weapons down.”

  “OK, OK.” Eve lifts the remote. “And be quiet. I don’t want any interruptions to Jude’s sexy British accent this time.”

  “Never mind his accent,” Zoey adds. “There are like, ten other things he should be doing with that mouth.”

  It’s late by the time we finish the movie, and the girls head home. I change into my pj’s and then settle back on the couch again with my laptop, prepping for work tomorrow.

  After hustling together a bunch of part-time freelance gigs and internships after fashion school, I finally landed a full-time job (with benefits!) at Styled, a new fashion start-up. We’re virtual stylists, so people upload photos of themselves and their wardrobe, and we conjure up a makeover, complete with online shopping recommendations, hair and makeup tips, and more. Most of our work is done online, but I have a client coming in for full makeover. Carol has been a stay-at-home mom for nearly fifteen years, but now she’s about to get back out there, working in tech, and needs an upgrade from yoga pants and Skechers to interview outfits.