by Aria Scott
Fake Marriage
to a Baller
By Aria Scott
Fake Marriage to a Baller
(A Wilder Brothers Romance)
Copyright © 2016 by Aria Scott
www.ariascott.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or stored in a digital database, without permission in writing from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
To my beloved Jax without whose never-ending antics this novel would have been completed much quicker
Fake Marriage to a Baller
is the first in a new series! Be sure to look for romances for all of the Wilder Brothers and Dakota Wilder, too.
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Fake Marriage
to a Baller
By Aria Scott
Chapter 1
Chase
“What, exactly, drew you to professional football?” Joe Caifano, one of the most powerful sports super-agents in the country, leaned back in his leather armchair and eyeballed me, his look reminding me of being in the principal’s office back in high school. Only this time, I wasn’t being suspended for having sex behind the bleachers.
This time, my career was on the line.
“I wanted to have children in every major US city?” I gave him my best endearing grin.
He sighed, twiddled his pen. “Stop fucking with me, Chase.”
“But it’s so much fun.”
“It ain’t gonna be fun once you’re kicked off the team.”
I glanced around his office—a penthouse suite at the top of the city’s highest sky scraper. Mahogany shelves loaded with books, a fifty-inch flat-screen television discreetly mounted above a bar, a miniature Sicilian flag poking out of a plant, pictures of famous athletes staring back at me from the walls. On Joe’s desk, a fat manila envelope that looked big enough to contain all the files from a professional athlete doping investigation.
I refocused on Joe, noting the large gold cross he wore around his neck, and nodded toward the envelope. “What’s that? An indictment for money laundering? A paternity lawsuit?” I lowered my voice to a hushed tone. “Could it even be a tell-all on your rise to power?”
“You need to take me seriously. I’m not kidding around.”
“Of course I take you seriously. I’d be an idiot not to.” My grin widened. “You’ve made over one hundred million in professional athlete contracts.” I studied a dollar bill Joe had tacked to the wall, a symbol of his very first contract. The bill was smudged, grimy. Dirty just like Joe.
“Yeah, I know what I’m doing,” he said.
“You’re one hell of a negotiator. You also have a knack for whoring and harassment that goes way beyond what’s usual.”
“Thanks for the compliments,” Joe replied sourly. “I guess it takes one to know one.”
I laughed.
After a second, he laughed, too. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey—a twenty-year Macallan. Nothing but the best for Joe. And me.
He poured us both a few fingers into tumblers. I took mine and swallowed a mouthful. It burned all the way down my throat before settling into a warm, comforting glow in my stomach.
All kidding aside, I was feeling more than a little nervous. I wasn’t sure I could joke my way out of this one. The situation had a serious feel to it. I took another gulp.
Joe stared into his whiskey with a contemplative expression, like he was reading tea leaves. After a moment, he looked up at me. “I gotta say, John Clarke’s getting tired of your bullshit.”
John Clarke, the team owner.
“Name dropping now, I see,” I muttered.
Just then, a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Joe called out.
The knob turned, the door swung open, and I caught my breath. In walked Joe’s assistant—Sheena the Jungle Babe. Today she wore a tight leopard skirt. Last time I’d seen her, she’d had on a low cut leopard blouse. She turned and smiled prettily at me, her body nothing but curves that cried out to be squeezed. Just seeing her brought tears to my eyes.
“What’s up, Sheena?” my agent asked.
She slanted another little sly smile at me, then focused on her boss. “Need your signature.” She held out a stack of papers, which Joe took, and then signed with a straight line.
He handed them back to her with an annoyed grunt. “This couldn’t wait?”
Another look my way before she replied, “No.”
I cleared my throat. “Sheena, you busy later on—”
“Yes, she is,” Joe cut in, as a look of pure longing settled across her face. He gave her a dirty look, then transferred his stink eye to me.
Her smile fading a little, she wrote something on a scrap of paper, handed it to me, and quickly teetered off on her oh-so-high heels.
I glanced at the scrap and saw a phone number. I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.
My agent ripped the scrap right out of my hands. “No way, mio amico.”
“Jeez. Deep breaths, Joe. I didn’t know you were banging her.” I cocked my head inquisitively. “Does your wife know?”
“I’m not banging her.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Cut the crap, Chase—”
Joe’s cheeks had gone red and, unless he had recently decided to start wearing makeup, I figured he was blushing. Awww, what a guy! It made me slightly less irritated. But only slightly. “Hey, no worries. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Joe ran a quick, nervous hand through his thick black hair. “You’re lucky you’re the best damned wide receiver the team’s seen in a decade. Otherwise, you’d already be out on your ass, injury or not.”
“I don’t know what they’re complaining about. And I don’t know why you’re complaining. There’s no shortage of tits in your life.”
“We’re not talking about me.”
I drew in a deep breath, then tried again. “Think of it as working hard, then playing hard. I give it everything I’ve got on the field, and then I let off a little steam after the game. What’s wrong with that?”
“Work hard, play hard. That’s what you call it? What about that sexcapade where you and Sean Jones decided to film an orgy with four women?” My agent shook his head. “Jesus, Chase, you looked like a porn star. And Jones even got spanked!”
“Hey, girls just wanna have fun.”
“Yeah, well, John Clarke doesn’t see it that way.”
I shifted around a little, then sank down a little lower in my seat. “We had no idea they’d post it on the internet.”
“It went viral, buddy.” He shook his head. “You got a baaaaad reputation, and you’re bringing the team down, too.”
I thought about that for a second or two, then fished my phone out of my pocket. Under my agent’s quizzical eye, I paged through my photos until I found the one where I stood with two tween-aged kids at an educational fundraiser. The kids were wearing big smiles. I was wearing my football uniform and giving the thumbs up.
I held the phone up triumphantly for him to see. “I raised over fifty thousand dollars for that school.
All the kids have laptops now.”
Joe rolled his eyes upward, with a don’t-bullshit-me attitude.
I swished feverishly through more photos until I found a shot I’d taken with a gray-haired old lady holding a hand-painted sign that said ‘You Can’t Catch Chase.’ With a satisfied nod, I held it out for him to look at. “I love my fans...especially the veterans.”
He glanced down at his fingernails, casually examined them.
My fingers flew through more photos until I found one with me holding a puppy. I thrust it into his face. “Cute little puppies adore me.”
“You’re a friggin’ manwhore, Chase.”
I slumped and shoved the phone back in my pocket. My agent’s voice held truth in it. I suddenly felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“A slut, for Chrissakes,” Joe pressed.
“You’re like a shark. You smell blood in the water, and you go in for the kill.” I shifted to the edge of my seat and stood up awkwardly on my bad ankle. A severe sprain, the doc had said. Six weeks of rest. Grumbling, I grabbed my crutch and hobbled around the room a little. I gazed around, saw a crystal decanter here, a gold Heisman trophy there. All of it was evidence that Joe usually got his way.
“Something’s gotta be done, or they’re not going to sign you for another season. I’ve seen it happen before.” My agent sat forward a little in his chair. “Are you finally listening?”
“Yeah.” I collapsed back into the chair and blew out an annoyed sigh.
Joe raised his hands heavenward. “Thank God for small favors.”
“So how do we turn this situation around?” I asked, ignoring his theatrics.
“You want to stay on the team?”
“Does a bear piss in the woods?”
“No more whoring. No more gambling. No more getting drunk and picking fights with other athletes.” Joe punctuated each statement by hitting his fist against his desk.
“You’re taking all the fun out of life.”
Full of righteous anger, he stood up, marched over to me, and poked me in the chest. “And for God’s sake, no more filming yourself in the middle of an orgy.”
“What’s left? Afternoon mass at the local church? Bingo at the old folk’s home?”
He sagged. “This isn’t going to work. I can see it already.” His shoulders curved inward, he walked back to his seat and sat down heavily. “I might as well start working on an exit plan for you.” He picked up a notebook and started writing.
“Hey, hey now, wait a minute,” I cut in, sensing I’d finally pushed him too far. Despite all of my good-natured complaining, I didn’t really want to flush my football contract down the toilet. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”
He put the pen down and looked at me, hope in his eyes. “You sure?”
“Lay it on me.”
“All right. Here it is. You need to get married. Pronto.”
I sat straight up, so suddenly that I’m sure I looked like I’d been stuck with a cattle prod. “What?”
“You heard me, mio amico. Married. As soon as possible. Preferably yesterday.”
“What?” I shook my head. “How will that help anything?”
“Look. You need respectability,” he said, locking gazes with me. I knew he was going into his famous ‘persuasive’ mode and braced myself. “You need to behave,” he continued. “But you have no idea what respectability and good behavior are. So you get yourself a wife. A good woman who can teach you these things.”
My face scrunched up, like I’d been sucking a lemon. I had a sour taste in my mouth. “You’re nuts.”
“It’s a ballsy plan. But it just might work.”
I stared at him, almost dumbstruck. “Where do I find this woman? How do I convince her to marry me? And how the fuck do I get rid of her, once my new contract is locked down?”
“I don’t know where you find her. I’ll have to leave that up to you. But I suggest you approach it as a business deal.” He leaned in closer to me, his eyes mesmerizing. Like a snake’s. “Find her, offer her money to play along, get her to sign a prenup, and then divorce once the contract’s in the bag. But make sure you find someone who really knows how to play along.”
I swayed a little in my seat. He was getting to me. “Play along?”
“She’s gonna have to pretend to like you, Chase. Otherwise the world’s going to think it’s a publicity stunt to help you re-negotiate your contract.”
“Well, finding a woman who likes me shouldn’t be too hard,” I said, stung by the tone in his voice.
He snorted. “No hookers. No escorts. You need someone who can stand up to public scrutiny.”
“You really think it would work? Sounds kind of underhanded to me.”
He shrugged as if it barely mattered. “Tactics are only underhanded if another guy uses them on you first.”
“Ah, that’s why I love you so much. You have such a way with words.”
“Listen. You want to stay on the team, you do like your Uncle Joey tells you. Capisce?” He leaned forward and slapped me on the shoulder, as if sealing the deal that we hadn’t yet made.
His suggestion left me with a slightly sick feeling in my gut. And yet, I could see the merit in his plan.
It just might work.
I forced myself to smile. “Okay, Uncle Joey. I’m in.”
Chapter 2
Aubrey
The sudden chorus of excited yelps from my two dogs, Jax and Molly, was the first indication that I had company. I peeked out the front window and saw a dusty red pickup truck winding down the long driveway toward my house.
Frowning slightly, I reached up to try to tame my runaway curls. I wasn’t expecting any packages, and the delivery man was just about the only visitor I ever received this far out of town.
It took me a few moments to recognize the man stepping down from the truck. Bud Stevenson was the kindly older gentleman who worked for the town government. He had become an invaluable asset to me as I was applying for the several permits needed to shelter the rescue dogs that I had been taking on in increasing numbers. After wiping out my meager savings and running up two credit cards to the tune of ten thousand dollars, I had made the necessary improvements to my property and finally met all the requirements to operate a legitimate animal refuge.
I stepped out onto the concrete porch as Bud lumbered slowly toward me. He meekly took off his baseball cap and was steadfastly avoiding my gaze as he approached.
Something in Bud’s demeanor set off alarm bells in my head. I called out tentatively, “Hi Bud. What can I do for you?”
Bud didn’t look up until he was standing before me at the bottom step. “Howdy, Miss Aubrey.” He cleared his throat and slightly shuffled his feet before resuming, “I’m awfully sorry about this here business. I don’t think it’s right what they’re doing to you. And I told them that too! But there’s not much I can do. I can’t risk my job. It’s just a god-awful business though.”
Millions of thoughts ran through my head at once and all of them quickened my pulse and made my blood boil. “Don’t even tell me! They want me to dump more money into this place, don’t they? Bud, the dogs at my shelter get more pampering than I do.”
Bud nodded his head in agreement. “I know it, Miss Aubrey. You jumped through hoop after hoop to comply with all the town’s demands and to pass all those inspections.”
A thought occurred to me. “Oh! I know. Is it that squabble about the property insurance? I ended up adding the property insurance rider even though I never get any visitors out here.” Even though it was an extra expense I could hardly afford, I realized it might be prudent to get after I had thought about it some more. “I can give you a copy of the insurance statement.”
Bud ran his hand through his hair. “I only wish it were that simple. Actually, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the town wants to shut down your animal shelter. More specifically, Spencer Courtland wants to shut you down.”
Shut down?
I gasped with shock. That was the last thing I expected to hear. “But, my license was approved! It’s good for three years. How can they shut me down? I don’t understand?”
Bud rocked back on his heels. “Apparently, the Director can revoke your license at any time. It’s entirely at his discretion.”
A gnawing panic was eating at my insides. How could this be happening? “But why would he want to revoke my license? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I hear that one of your neighbors complained. And this neighbor goes way back with Spencer. They’re good buddies. So Spencer is shutting you down. Just like that.” Bud showed his disgust by spitting with contempt into the small flower bed beside my porch.
My eyebrows wrinkled with confusion. “Someone complained? No one has said anything to me. In fact, my neighbors have all been very supportive of the shelter.”
“It was Frank Lauter.” Bud explained. “He lives about half a mile down the road.
I felt my cheeks flushing in anger. “Half a mile? You mean one complaint from a neighbor half a mile away is enough to shut down my shelter? After all the time and money I’ve put into it? That’s ridiculous!”
Bud shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “He feels it will negatively impact property values.”
My hands balled into fists as I tried but failed to keep the anger out of my voice. “Well he should have brought that up at the public hearing. You know, the one the town made me put up all those notices about?”
“I know, Miss Aubrey. But Lauter claims that he was on vacation last month. That he was deprived of his due rights to speak out against the shelter. And Spencer agrees with him.”
Anger was slowly turning into worry, a deep worry that was twisting my stomach into knots. “I just can’t believe they can do this. How do I appeal the decision?”
Bud shook his head. “I took a look at the regulations before I came over here. There is no appeals process when the decision comes straight from the Director. The way it’s written, the Director has the final word.”
