by Elise Faber
Bad Engagement
Elise Faber
BAD ENGAGEMENT
BY ELISE FABER
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
BAD ENGAGEMENT
Copyright © 2020 Elise Faber
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-71-5
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-72-2
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
Billionaire’s Club
Bad Night Stand
Bad Breakup
Bad Husband
Bad Hookup
Bad Divorce
Bad Fiancé
Bad Boyfriend
Bad Blind Date
Bad Wedding
Bad Engagement
Bad Bridesmaid
Billionaire’s Club Cast of Characters
Heroes and Heroines:
Abigail Roberts (Bad Night Stand) — founding member of the Sextant, hates wine, loves crocheting
Jordan O’Keith (Bad Night Stand) — Heather’s brother, former owner of RoboTech
Cecilia (CeCe) Thiele (Bad Breakup) — former nanny to Hunter, talented artist
Colin McGregor (Bad Breakup) — Scottish duke, owner of McGregor Enterprises
Heather O’Keith (Bad Husband) — CEO of RoboTech, Jordan’s sister
Clay Steele (Bad Husband) — Heather’s business rival, CEO of Steele Technologies
Kay (Bad Date) — romance writer, hates to be stood up
Garret Williams (Bad Date) — former rugby player
Rachel Morris (Bad Hookup) — Heather’s assistant, superpowers include being ultra-organized
Sebastian (Bas) Scott (Bad Hookup) — Devon Scott’s brother, Clay’s assistant
Rebecca (Bec) Darden (Bad Divorce) — kickass lawyer, New York roots
Luke Pearson (Bad Divorce) — Southern gentleman, CEO Pearson Energies
Seraphina Delgado (Bad Fiancé) — romantic to the core, looks like a bombshell, but even prettier on the inside
Tate Connor (Bad Fiancé) — tech genius, scared to be burned by love
Lorelai (Bad Text) — drunk texts don’t make her happy
Logan Smith (Bad Text) — former military, sometimes drunk texts are for the best
Kelsey Scott (Bad Boyfriend) — Bas and Devon’s sister, engineer at RoboTech, brilliant
Tanner Pearson (Bad Boyfriend) — Bas and Devon’s childhood friend, photographer
Trix Donovan (Bad Blind Date) — Heather’s sister, Jordan’s half-sister, nurse who worked in war zones, poverty-stricken areas, and abroad for almost a decade
Jet Hansen (Bad Blind Date) — a doctor Trix worked with
Molly Miller (Bad Wedding) — owner of Molly’s, a kickass bakery in San Francisco
Jackson Davis (Bad Wedding) — Molly’s ex-fiancé
Kate McLeod (Bad Engagement) — Kelsey’s college friend, advertiser extraordinaire, loves purple and Hermione Granger
Jaime Huntingon (Bad Engagement) — vet, does excellent man-bun
Additional Characters:
George O’Keith — Jordan’s dad
Hunter O’Keith — Jordan’s nephew
Bridget McGregor — Colin’s mom
Lena McGregor — Colin’s sister
Bobby Donovan — Heather’s half and Trix’s full brother
Frances and Sugar Delgado — Sera’s parents
Devon Scott — Kels and Bas’s brother
Becca Scott — Kels and Bas’s sister in law
Heidi Greene — Kels’ friend since college
Cora Hutchins — Kels’ friend since childhood
Contents
Billionaire’s Club
Billionaire’s Club Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Epilogue
Bad Bridesmaid
Billionaire’s Club
Also by Elise Faber
About the Author
One
Kate
Disgusted, she walked out of the bakery.
Mostly with herself for being jealous of the clearly happy couple.
Although, partly because they were so ridiculously happy. Come on. Who looked into each other’s eyes with such devotion and joy while getting married in a freaking bakery with mostly strangers looking on?
No white dress or cake—counterintuitive as that sounded, considering they were getting married in a freaking bakery.
No flowers, which would be Kate’s weakness because she loved gardening and arranging flowers, having spent most of her extra money on sprucing up her back yard.
The inside might be a bit of a disaster.
But the back yard was a lush, gorgeous retreat.
Not that it mattered because she didn’t have anyone to share it with. Least of all, a gorgeous hunk of a man who stared at her with love in his eyes and tenderness in his smile.
Yes, she was bitter.
So, it was the perfect time for her cell to ring, her mother on the line.
Deal with the torture now? Or wait until it frothed to full power later?
She was already cranky and jaded and in a bad mood, so she might as well deal with her loving, but very nosy and interfering mother now. No sense in wasting a good mood later.
Because there would be a later.
Her mother loved her, that was never in doubt. What could possibly be questioned was the amount of attention she gave to her grown children’s lives.
Attention that was now squarely focused on Kate.
On the fact that she was single when her two younger siblings were happily married, and her younger sister had recently popped out a kid.
Impressive. Beautiful—which she knew because she’d been in the delivery room.
But also . . . not her.
Hence, the increase in motherly calling.
Sighing, Kate swiped a finger across the screen and put her phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“I’ve got the perfect man for you to bring to the Christmas party. He’s a doctor and . . .”
Her mother continued talking, expounding on all of the wonderfulness that was this doctor. The trouble was that Kate was done with being set up. Her family was great at finding their own soul mates, their own happily ever afters . . . unfortunately, that same ability didn’t extend to her.
Either by her or for her.
It never failed to end in disaster. Both for her and for her date.
So, as much as she longed to have a man she could call her own, one who’d call her his in return . . . she was taking a break from dating, from men, and most definitely from being set up.
“Mom,” she began.
“I’m not actually—”
“He’s a doctor, isn’t bald, and can have a conversation about something other than himself, Katie,” her mother said. “He is a catch.”
Who would turn into the world’s worst asshole when he was around her.
Because that was her superpower.
Transforming seemingly wonderful men into lying, cheating, arrogant, self-centered, mansplaining, assholes.
And being that lightning didn’t tend to strike the same place multiple times, Kate had decided on a hiatus from the opposite sex. Some time to sort out what was happening inside of her to make everyone she dated turn into a jerk.
This wasn’t about all men on the planet being the bad guys, or her always picking wrong, or even about her family trying to set her up with a bunch of douche canoes. There was something wrong inside of her, something intrinsically wrong with the way she interacted with the men in her life.
So, a break.
Time to figure her shit out.
It was just . . . Christmas.
All of her family in one place. The huge party with the whole neighborhood. Everyone paired off and happy and gathering under the mistletoe her mother hung in each and every doorway.
And her.
Alone.
The pitying gazes plentiful.
Or worse . . . the copious conversations where all the happy people constantly threw every single male with half a brain cell in Kate’s direction.
My cousin is in town and fresh out of a relationship . . .
I have a coworker who’s new to the area. He’s looking for someone . . .
My ex-husband would be perfect for you—no really, he’s actually a great guy . . .
And more.
Kate just couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand the idea of another Christmas party at her parents’ house matched with someone who didn’t fit her, or worse, spending the entire extravaganza alone and in the corner, playing wallflower.
She wanted excitement.
She wanted someone who could be unequivocally hers.
She wanted someone who saw inside her and didn’t run off in a panic.
“. . . and Katie, love, he’s going to be at dinner this Friday so that you two can get to know each other better—”
Fucking hell.
Family dinner and the Christmas Extravaganza?
Please. God. No.
“Um, Mom—”
“Remember he’s got all his hair—”
“Actually, Mom. I’m kind of seeing—”
“And his stomach doesn’t hang over his belt—”
“That’s not—I don’t really care about that—”
“And he’s got the loveliest blue—”
“I’m engaged!” she screamed, cutting off her mother’s soliloquy of all things doctor, and successfully drawing the attention of random strangers on the sidewalk. Which was a hard thing to do in San Francisco—because it was San Francisco, and these streets had seen a lot of shit—but also could only further confirm that she’d screamed it like a complete and total lunatic.
Shrieking I’m engaged on street corners.
What every man wanted.
It was a wonder she was single.
“Katie?” her mom asked. “Did you say you’re engaged?”
No. No, she wasn’t. Not even close. She was on a break from anyone with a Y chromosome, mostly to save them from herself.
But also . . . there was joy in her mom’s tone.
Absolute joy that she had never heard directed at her. She’d heard it leveled toward her siblings. To her brother, when he’d announced he was proposing to Steph, who was really fucking cool and way too good for her brother—something he’d be the first to admit . . . because he was really fucking cool. She’d heard it expounded lavishly again at his wedding this last summer (during which Kate had spent her time fending off the worst setup of all setups, The Can’t Take No For An Answer Setup). And obviously, it had rung with crystal clarity in her ears when her sister had announced she was pregnant, and again after her adorable niece had been born.
But her mom had never given it to Kate.
Which was probably the reason she let the crazy keep rolling along instead of stopping the joy in its tracks with the truth.
Why instead of saying, “No, Mom. You heard wrong,” she said, “Yes, I am, and you’ll get to meet him Friday at dinner.”
Horror flowed through her as intensely as her mother’s excitement poured through the airwaves, expressing her joy at meeting him, her joy at Kate having finally found a slice of her own happy.
“What’s his name, honey?”
Oh fuck.
“What’s that?” Kate asked, panic swarming to overtake horror. “You’re breaking up.”
Oh shit. Oh shit. She hadn’t thought this through. She needed—
“I asked his name—”
“Hello?” More panic. More horror. More pretending the call was cutting out because she had to end this conversation now. Hell, she should have never picked up the call in the first place. “Mom? Hello?”
“Katie!”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “I can’t hear you,” she said. “If you can hear me, I’ll call you later.” She hung up.
Call her later.
Ha.
More like never.
As in, she’d never call her family again. As in, she was moving to a deserted island and changing her name and living off the grid in a tent with the most technically advanced thing being one of those compostable toilets.
Fuck.
She hated camping.
Which meant . . . she’d be there at the family dinner.
Because despite all of the setups and the pity and the fact that they’d found their happy, she loved her family. So. Damned. Much. And she also loved that stupid fucking Christmas party, even when she was lonely.
“Ugh.” Kate groaned, feet sliding to a stop on that dirty San Franciscan sidewalk.
She had a choice here.
She also knew she wasn’t going to make the right one.
Because, instead of calling her mother back and telling her that she wasn’t engaged, Kate opened Instagram, tapped on the profile of a man she’d been following for a while now, who’d followed her back and commented on a few of her posts, and . . . sent a message.
Later, she’d want to pretend she’d been drinking.
But in that moment, the only thing she was consumed with was desperation.
And lust. She couldn’t deny lust was also her downfall.
Because surprisingly, shockingly, insanely the man from social media, the one whose abs had made her fall just a little in love with him, who had an actual man bun, but not one of those gross, greasy ones that looked like octopus tentacles—a nice one, sleek and shiny and way better than any bun she could wrestle her own locks into. But anyway, that handsome stranger . . .
He said yes.
And suddenly, Kate had a fiancé.
Two
Kate
“What am I doing?” she asked herself two days later. “Oh my God, what am I doing?”
She was going on her first date . . . with her fiancé.
Incongruous.
She couldn’t believe that JaimetheVet—his Insta handle—and Jaime, her fake fiancé, and Jaime, the man whose last name she didn’t know, had agreed to the plan. Moreover, she couldn’t believe she was going.
He might be a serial killer.
He might drug her drink, bring her home, and tie her up in his basement.
Except, homes in California didn’t usually have basements, so that was probably unlikely. And pretty though he may be, she couldn’t imagine that Jaime the Vet was lying in wait for potential victims to DM him and ask him to agree to an elaborate ruse as someone’s fiancé.
Which brought her back to . . . why had he agreed to do this in the first place?
Her phone chimed with the alarm she’d set for herself, the one whose label said, “Will You Stay Or Will You Go?” and Kate kn
ew she had to stop thinking herself into knots and start making decisions.
Was she going through with the insanity?
No, she couldn’t.
Except . . . she didn’t want to stand him up. Jaime the Vet seemed really nice.
On his Instagram page.
Which wasn’t real. Which was made up of carefully curated parts of people’s lives designed to look their best.
Her phone chimed.
Another alarm she’d set earlier—this one labeled with “No, Kate You Really Need To Decide!”—had gone off.
“Dammit, woman,” she whispered. “Come on. Enough waffling.”
Sighing, she stared at herself in the mirror. Red hair, but not a pretty red, boring brown eyes, nice lips—even her critical inner voice had to admit her mouth was great, no doubt her best feature. Lush, perfectly formed, and currently outlined in the perfect shade of red lipstick. Having the skin she did, along with the non-pretty shade of red hair, had made finding that perfect shade of red lipstick a monumental task, and one she’d only found recently, thanks to her friend Heidi and an extremely patient makeup attendant at one of the wall-to-wall beauty stores in the mall.
Twenty-two testers until the Holy Grail had been located.
Firecrotch.
Crude, but perfect.
Some would say that was the perfect description of her.
“Ha,” she muttered, eyes drifting down the sleek black wrap dress she was wearing. A simple design. It flattered the good parts—boobs, ass—and hid the bad parts—the little pooch below her belly button that never seemed to go away no matter how much hard work she put in at the gym.
