by Kendall Ryan
The Fix Up
Copyright © 2016 Kendall Ryan
Copy Editing and Formatting by
Pam Berehulke
Cover design by
Hang Le
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Stay Connected
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Kendall Ryan
About the Book
From New York Times bestseller Kendall Ryan comes a sexy new standalone novel.
My tempting and very alpha friend Sterling Quinn is someone I consider off-limits.
It’s not just that we’re friends, he’s also cocky, confident, and British, which means he’s a walking aphrodisiac.
But lately he’s been giving me the look. You know the one. When he thinks I’m not paying attention, and his gaze lingers for too long.
When we start working together, that’s when the sexual tension between us gets so thick, I want to hack through it with a machete. I want to make all these deep feelings I’ve harbored for him disappear, because there’s no way this can end well.
The lines between business and pleasure become irrevocably blurred, and I’m stuck between a rock and Sterling’s very, very hard place.
Rather than keep a level head about our growing attraction, Sterling wants to go all-in, showing me just how explosive we can be together.
But I’ve been around long enough to know that this British bad boy is more than my heart can handle. I’m not about to be cast aside like yesterday’s underwear when he’s done having fun.
Sterling’s never been told no, and he’s not about to put his ego aside and play by my rules. But I never thought he’d fight so dirty.
Prologue
From The New York Post:
One of New York City’s most eligible bachelors, twenty-eight-year-old Sterling Quinn, is set to receive a long-forgotten inheritance from a distant relative in England, if and only if he marries. The British playboy has six months to wed, and is apparently being flooded with marriage proposals from interested women around the globe.
It’s a stunning twist of irony for one of New York’s top divorce attorneys, a self-proclaimed confirmed bachelor, and the entire city is eager to see how this will play out.
Chapter One
Sterling
A warm hand grips my cock, stroking unevenly.
I usually appreciate this form of wake-up call, but her choppy strokes leave a lot to be desired. She twists her palm, creating an unpleasant friction. Seriously, who taught this girl how to toss off a cock?
“Ow! Fuck.” I sit up suddenly, yanking my cock out of her grasp. The damn thing is stinging like he got a rug burn. Her sloppy technique almost makes me want to teach her how to properly handle a man’s most important appendage. Almost.
“What’s wrong, sexy?” she purrs, and reaches for my jutting dick again. The fucker is still hard.
I shudder. No. I consider again demonstrating for her. Curl your palm lightly around, just below the crown, slide up . . .
“I have an important meeting this morning.”
“On a Sunday?” she says with a pout.
Rising to my feet, I grab a pair of sweats from my dresser and tug them on. “I have to be at church in an hour.” I’m totally going to hell for that lie.
She nods. Her blond hair is matted on one side, not that I can fault her for that; I’m pretty sure I got cum in it last night. Things got a little wild, and apparently I broke my own rule about letting a hookup stay over. Still, I always treat women with respect, so even if she was just yanking on my cock like it was a garden hose, I’m not going to yell or throw her out.
Trust me, she’ll be leaving in five minutes, tops, but she’ll do so with a pleasant smile on her face, and a thank you for last night on her lips.
Why, you ask?
Because I’m Sterling Fucking Quinn, successful attorney, one of New York City’s most sought-after bachelors, and in addition to a rather nice appendage, knickers melt when I open my mouth. I grew up in England, and my British accent is like lube. It makes girls wet instantly.
While she dresses, I grab my phone and see I have forty-two missed calls and dozens of voice mails and texts. Most of them are from my uncle Charles, who I haven’t spoken with since the last ten-year family union. And several are from my best friend, Noah.
What in the hell?
I dial my uncle Charles and wait while it rings.
“Sterling, thank God I’ve reached you. I have some rather shocking news.”
My first thought is that something happened to my mum. I pad barefoot out to the living room to give my guest some privacy in the loo. I stand there, phone pressed to my ear, my jaw hanging open and one hand down the front of my pants, checking my sore cock for injuries as I try to comprehend what Charles is saying.
Something about my mother’s grandfather, who I never met and honestly didn’t know was still living, and a will and millions of dollars at stake.
“Get to the bloody point, Charles. What are you saying?”
“Are you near a TV?” he asks.
I grab the remote and turn the TV on.
An image of my face is on CNN. The picture is one of me smiling in a Yankees T-shirt, taken this summer. It’s from my personal social media account.
What the fuck? The newscaster is saying something about an inheritance.
“In a plot suited for the big screen, this is anything but fiction. Sterling Quinn, a New York lawyer, is reportedly set to gain a multi-million-dollar inheritance upon marrying.”
I hear footsteps behind me and click the button on the remote, silencing the TV.
“I’ll call you back, Charles.” After I go throw up.
“Is that you?” the girl whose name I can’t recall asks, her eyes widening at the headlines flashing across the screen.
I make a noise of agreement, suddenly fucking speechless.
“You have to get married?” she asks, her voice softening. Cum
-Hair Barbie is looking at me with renewed interest.
“Church. I have to get to church,” I mutter again. This time it’s not a lie. I need to pray to God this is all a dream.
There’s no way I’m ever getting married, not for all the money in the world.
Except . . .
I realize with horror how very fucked I am.
Chapter Two
Sterling
“Pick me!” a platinum-blonde in fuck-me pumps calls from the crowd.
“No, choose me! I give great head.” A second girl winks. She’s got a nice set of cantaloupes too, but that’s beside the point.
Reaching down, I pinch the inside of my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Ouch. Definitely not dreaming.
I quicken my pace toward the doors, intent on getting to safety from the mob that’s been following me constantly. From my office to the doors of my apartment building, they’ve been relentless ever since the news broke five days ago. My love life has been fodder for the gossip rags and page-six columns all week, and I’m cursing Uncle Charles for taking this long to get here as I duck my head and ignore the attention.
After shouldering my way through the crowd, I step inside to the cool air-conditioning and straighten my tie. I’ve never seen so many hopeful-looking women all in one spot before. Evening gowns, push-up bras, and eyelash extensions seem a bit much for seven in the morning, but what do I know? I feel a bit like the guy on The Bachelor. But there are no roses to give out, and this is my life, not some goddamn reality-TV program.
Only once the doors to the lift close do I take a deep breath for the first time this morning. This is insane. Insane.
I check the text message on my phone to double-check the location of the conference room, and punch the button for the twenty-second floor.
Did I mention this was insane?
When the doors open, I stroll down the hall, desperately trying to keep a calm, neutral expression. I can’t let anyone know I’m rattled by this. Maybe after my appointment this morning, I can swing by and see Rebecca, take the edge off. Nobody knows how to take the edge off quite like Rebecca. She does this thing with her legs; she’s a fucking pretzel.
Shit. I need to clean up my image. Quickies in the men’s room of my office aren’t going to work anymore. I need to start thinking like . . .
My jaw ticks at the thought, and I suppress a shudder. Fuck.
A husband.
One little word shouldn’t make me break out in hives, but as one of New York’s best divorce attorneys, the idea of marrying scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.
Regardless, Rebecca is a habit I need to kick. She was someone who filled the void, but it’s unfair to let her live on the fumes of hope that she and I can be more. If the scene outside is any indication, I need to get my life sorted out, and that doesn’t include banging my ex when I have an itch that needs scratching.
When I pull open the door to the conference room, I spot a familiar and unexpected face. The hot as hell, and just as unobtainable, Camryn Palmer. Her tousled honey-blond waves rest just past her shoulders, and her glossy pink lips form a polite smile. When my family’s estate manager, my uncle Charles, said he was hiring a public relations expert, I never would have guessed it would be the gorgeous Camryn.
Just because I’ve made the decision to do this doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. And the last thing I want is the one woman I can never have in my bed overseeing the whole thing. She’s driven and intelligent, but most of all, she’s beautiful, which is an added distraction I don’t need, one that could be disastrous in an already dicey situation. She also sees right past my bullshit.
“What’s she doing here?” I ask as I slip into the chair next to my uncle Charles.
Camryn’s wide-eyed optimism falls, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth.
Shit. Now I feel like an arsehole. Her puzzled expression conveys her confusion and hurt.
Memories of the last time I saw her invade my head. It was at my best friend Noah’s wedding. She was the maid of honor; I was the best man. Everything about that night is still crystal clear. The light floral scent of her skin when we swayed on the dance floor during the customary wedding-party dance, her flirty smile and cheerful peal of feminine laughter when I said something undeniably British that amused her.
She was nearly irresistible that night in her long plum-colored gown, her hair trussed up in an elegant twist with fragrant curls framing her face. We shared a dance, some laughs, a glass of champagne. I was thirty seconds away from begging her to go home with me when I saw it.
The way she turned, eager to watch Noah and Olivia share their first wedding dance . . . the unshed tears gathering in her eyes as she looked on.
The excitement and blind faith in her expression was undeniable. She’s a true believer in happily-ever-afters, a slave to the idea of lasting love and forevers. I’m a jaded divorce attorney who can tell you every statistic on marriage and divorce over the past thirty years. I can also personally tell you about the lasting pain that endures for years after the split.
And even as jaded as I am, it was a beautiful moment. So I left her alone and let her enjoy it.
I knew a bit of her history. She’d recently come off a bad breakup, and since I refused to further destroy her belief in men, it was final in my mind. She was lovely, but she wasn’t meant to be mine.
Camryn will never settle for a one-night stand with a guy who has zero interest in commitment. She’s the type of girl who will want it all, and since I’m not the man to give it to her, I wouldn’t allow myself the pleasure of taking her home that night. As far as I was concerned, the petite, curvy, and enchanting Camryn was considered off-limits.
Except here she is, blinking at me, looking hurt.
Chapter Three
Camryn
“What’s she doing here?” are the first words out of Sterling’s full, pouty mouth as he slides into a rolling leather chair across from me.
I can’t help but flinch a little at his words.
Sterling and I have always gotten along well, even if he is a pompous player who’s too sexy for his own good. There was a time when I hoped he’d ask me out, when I thought maybe he was looking for more. We danced and laughed at our friends’ wedding, but that was months ago now.
“She’s the one who’s going to save your ass,” one of his advisors says.
“Morning, sunshine.” I grin at him. Fighting the urge to look away from those sexy dark-blue eyes, I hold his gaze, not wanting to let him know how very much his presence rattles me. I cross my legs and straighten the leather portfolio on the sleek mahogany table instead.
Yesterday afternoon, my boss and my best friend, Olivia Cane, CEO of Tate & Cane Enterprises, called me into her office. She’d been contacted by a wealth manager in London about doing some publicity work. I had no idea what it entailed, only that it involved our friend Sterling. I had a feeling the handsome Brit was going to be a major pain in my ass. He was known to be a huge playboy, which I have little time or respect for. But he’s stupid hot. As in, he makes smart girls act stupid, so I need to keep my defenses up, and most of all, my legs closed.
“So, what’s this big project you said I’d be working on?” I’m more than a little curious about what I’m supposed to help Charles and Sterling with.
The wealth manager, Charles, who also happens to be Sterling’s uncle, flew in from London yesterday. And he has one expression on his features. Sheer panic. Sterling stretches and covers a yawn behind his hand.
“As you may be aware, Sterling Quinn is the heir to the Quinn fortune. His great-grandfather Duncan Quinn built a sizeable wealth over the course of his life.”
My gaze cuts to Sterling. Heir to a fortune?
Gulping down a huge breath, I try to compose myself. I only know Sterling as a huge manwhore, a sexy Brit, and a cocky lawyer who doesn’t believe in love.
“I had no idea,” I say, breathless.
Sterling winks at me. “Neither did I, until Sunday morning.”
“His great-grandfather recently passed away, and according to his will, everything is to be left to Sterling upon the completion of a few strict requirements. Actually, just one . . .”
Glancing up, I catch Sterling watching me. I wonder if he remembers that night as fondly as I do. Distracted, I clear my throat and motion for Charles to continue.
“To receive his inheritance, he has to be wed. And we have six months to make that happen.”
I study Sterling’s expression, trying to make sense of his feelings on this. His smirk is amused, as if to say, Isn’t this a fine little mess we’ve found ourselves in?
I cross my legs beneath the table. He’s an attorney, so he makes good money; maybe he doesn’t need it. “How many millions are we talking here?”
Charles purses his lips. “Fifty million dollars.”
Okay, scratch that. Who’s going to say no to that kind of money? Damn. No pressure or anything.
My heart starts to gallop. “And you want me to . . .”
I leave the rest unfinished. Seriously, what is my role in this crazy scenario? An impending panic attack lurks under my cool facade. If they think I’m going to be the one to marry him, they’ve fucking lost it.
“I take it you saw the media circus and hordes of women out there?” Charles asks. “Everyone’s vying for a piece of the new millionaire bachelor.”
As I nod, my gaze drifts over to Sterling once again. I wonder how he feels about all this, about all the attention. Does he feel like a piece of meat? I would. Those women are nothing but gold diggers looking to cash in. Then again, as a manwhore, maybe he’s loving it. Maybe he actually collects thongs as trophies.
“Your role will be to manage this entire process from start to finish. To come up with and execute a plan that ends with Sterling married before the six-month deadline.”
Huh. So that explains what I’m doing here.
Sterling’s cocky smirk pulls into a full-on grin. “I have to be to court in an hour. Camryn will handle this.”
