Falling for Mr. Wrong

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by Jenny Gardiner




  What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

  Red Hot Romeo

  “Awesome". So enjoyed the romantic chemistry between the two characters. Read it non stop into the wee hours. Highly recommend this book

  -- Mrs. K

  Blue-Blooded Romeo

  "Another brilliant, fun read from Jenny Gardiner. The book is fun to read and I thoroughly enjoyed every word. Jenny Gardiner has put the fun back into romance books and I look forward to each book in this delightful series.”

  -- Anne Blyth

  “I had planned on only reading a few chapters at first but couldn't put it down. A terrific storyline, well-developed and extremely relatable characters, what's not to love?? Great read!”

  -- Samantha Reeves

  Big O Romeo

  “I could not put this book down. Warning don't start this book late at night as you will not want to stop reading.

  -- Di

  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

  "A fun, sassy read! A cross between Erma Bombeck and Candace Bushnell, reading Jenny Gardiner is like sinking your teeth into a chocolate cupcake…you just want more."

  --Meg Cabot, NY Times bestselling author of Princess Diaries, Queen of Babble and more

  Slim to None

  "Jenny Gardiner has done it again--this fun, fast-paced book is a great summer read."

  --Sarah Pekkanen, NY Times bestselling author of The Opposite of Me

  Falling for Mr. Wrong

  (book one of the Falling for Mr. Wrong series)

  by Jenny Gardiner

  Copyright © 2017 by Jenny Gardiner

  Cover art by Kim Killion, The Killion Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  http://jennygardiner.net/

  Chapter One

  If Harper Landry got stuck with one more blind date who was yet another prime candidate for Loser of the Year, she might punch the guy. Yeah, yeah, she knew that wasn’t a particularly charitable notion. After all, the succession of men she’d agreed to date for a variety of idiotic or mercenary reasons clearly couldn’t help themselves—they were pathetic specimens of their species. It wasn’t fair to kick someone when they were down, was it? And no doubt, some of these guys were down in the dumps. Then again, surely they could work to amend some of their more regrettable personality traits.

  Like the guy who—before their appetizers had even arrived—started sobbing about his fiancée who’d ditched him. Nine years ago. That was the most depressing date she’d had in ages. Not only was it a waste of her time—and money, since he insisted they go Dutch—he also put her on speed dial just to bawl to someone he thought gave a care. Because she stupidly expressed empathy for his sorry self. Harper felt all the more foolish—she’d donned false eyelashes for the occasion, optimistically thinking it would brighten up her face. Hell, she could’ve worn a potato sack and that dude wouldn’t have noticed.

  Then there was the guy who kept spitting on her face as he badmouthed pretty much every person he spoke about. While drinking himself under the table. She’d never forgive the organist from her mother’s church for roping her into that unfortunate night on the town with her beloved nephew. Particularly when he vomited at her feet as he got into the taxi she insisted on hailing for him when he was too drunk to drive.

  Perhaps there was something seriously wrong with her that she couldn’t discern on her own. Harper didn’t want to be vain or anything, but from where she was looking, she was under the impression that she was perfectly fine and normal and pretty and nice. Or at least she presumed as much.

  She took a look in the mirror as she readied herself for yet another date with destiny—more like a date with desperation—and forced a smile as a sort of spirit-boosting maneuver. After a couple of reinforcing self-affirmations—I am kind, I am smart, I am friendly, I deserve respect and happiness—she ran her fingers through her auburn waves, which she thought looked more than acceptable. That certainly couldn’t be a deal breaker with a man. Besides, her hair was more brown than auburn if she was going to be truthful about it. No guy hated brown hair, did he?

  She then practically pressed her face to the mirror, trying to see if she had some particular facial flaws that might turn a guy off. Nope. She always took pride in her exquisite sea glass-green eyes, which were cat-shaped in a way. They made her look mysterious. But maybe men thought they made her look too feline, too elusive? Wait a minute. Because of her eyeballs? That would be so stupid. She wouldn’t want to be with a man who was so ocularly judgmental (and was ocularly even a word?).

  With a tug of her dress, she smoothed it with the palm of her hands where it bunched a little bit along her hips, then turned sideways. Well, damn! She looked amazing if she did say so herself. She had an attractive figure, a beautiful set of legs—and the heels she was wearing only made them look better. So why, oh why, if she wasn’t a scraggly, sad-sack loser with bad breath (oh no! was her breath bad?), was she stuck dating such a rogue’s gallery of the lamest men this charming little beach town she loved had to offer?

  Could it be her personality? Again, she didn’t want to be cocky, but as far as she could tell, her friends all thought she was normal. And nice. And funny. Funny was good, right? But did guys think funny was too, like, Seth Rogan, for a girl? Was being funny supposed to be only the domain of raunchy, paunchy comedians? Did guys hate a girl who was a little sarcastic, who loved to crack a good joke? Maybe they didn’t like that she sometimes used salty language. After all, she rarely met a good f-bomb she wasn’t happy to detonate. Under the appropriate circumstances.

  That would be super hypocritical, though. Any guy would be all over it like white on rice if she talked like that while having sex with them. Didn’t guys love that? All “Fuck me, baby,” and “Oh, yeah, I fucking love when you do that,” and “Oh, your fucking cock is so big,” and such. Hmmm, maybe she needed to up the ante in the naked dirty-talk department. But then again, as it was, she wasn’t getting anywhere near naked—she wasn’t even graduating to the kissing stage—because ugh, given the guys she’d been dating, she’d just as soon never shake the sheets again than compromise her standards by sleeping with those lackluster specimens. She’d settle for her trusty pocket rocket any day over that.

  She grabbed her phone and checked the time on it, then ordered up an Uber and went to the curb to wait for it. This way if the date was as horrible as they usually were, she could get stinking drunk and not worry about driving home. All the more important as she was meeting her mystery date—Danny Greevy, a friend of a friend of a friend’s friend’s uncle’s goddaughter, or something like that—at a new restaurant several towns over, so even farther from home.

  She’d honestly lost track of most of these forgettable men at this point. Why, she wondered, did she continue to show up for the dates, hopeless as they always were. Her optimistic streak far outpaced her reality, but sometimes hopeful was all you could hang your hat on in this world.

  When the driver dropped her off at the designated address, she straightened her dress, wiped a smudge of lipstick off of her teeth she’d noticed when she glanced in the rearview mirror, and stepped out of the car. Only to behold her destination: an actual restaurant called Octopussy. Lord help her. The regrettably named dining establishment feat
ured a mammoth three-dimensional female octopus, whose bulbous body erupted from the top edge of the building like a zit that needed to be popped. Her eight human-style legs (ending in stilettoed feet, of course) extended around the edges on either side of the establishment as well as down the front wall. Harper was surprised there wasn’t an exposed vulva and a bush of pubic hair to further make the point. Though no doubt this octopussy would be waxed clean.

  She slowly walked the path to the restaurant as if a pirate held a cutlass to her back to force her down the gangplank. To be truthful, she’d probably have been more enthusiastic about that. At least maybe the pirate would be personable, or—better yet—a little lustworthy if she were lucky.

  Ugh. This place bore all the hallmarks of a strip club, which was why she was taken aback when she opened the door and was greeted by a tuxedo-clad maître-d’. Okay…

  “Um, I think I’m meeting my date here.” Harper tucked her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit that gave her something to do while she debated fleeing.

  She scanned the restaurant and finally “got” the theme—it was some retro James Bondesque thing, and the place had all sorts of spy-type paraphernalia framed and mounted on the walls. Kind of like how Applebee’s might have antlers or old-timey pictures from the heartland or faux tin Pennzoil signs everywhere, only instead it was guns with silencers attached and pictures of James Bond’s getaway cars and an autographed picture of Roger Moore in his heyday. Weird.

  “Miss?” The host lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “Landry. Harper Landry. I’m meeting Danny, um”—she pulled out her phone and opened her calendar to find the guy’s name again—“Greevy. That’s it, Danny Greevy.”

  Harper heard the door open behind her.

  “Danny Greevy at your service,” she heard a voice say behind her. She turned to see a man bent at the waist in a bow. He stood up and reached for her hand. “You must be the delightful Harper Landry I’ve heard so much about. And you’re even more beautiful than I was led to believe.”

  Harper tried to suppress a grin. This guy had potential. First off, he appeared to have manners, which was nothing to shrug off. Especially considering one of her recent dates let the door slam on her face when they left a restaurant at the same time. The glass of the door literally hit her in the nose. Needless to say, they went in opposite directions once outside. Secondly, yowza. He was pretty damned hot. His dishwater-blond hair seemed to fall into place from its side part as if following orders. Warm brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek completed the picture.

  Wait a minute. She did a mental double-take. Something was awry here. The guy was cute and polite. There must be something wrong with him. Alas, she knew she’d have all evening to discern what his fatal flaw was. And she’d sure as hell figure it out.

  Chapter Two

  Twenty minutes into the date and no flaws were jumping out at her. Instead, he kept inching up the “potential” list. Go figure. Granted he was pretty much the only guy on it. Add to his attributes: an unexpectedly charming sense of humor. Turned out Danny had hoped that Harper would get a good laugh out of a restaurant named Octopussy. That was good news on two fronts: one, he actually had a sense of humor. And two, he obviously delighted in a woman who shared such with him.

  “I figure if a date shows up here and storms off, she’s not for me,” he said as the waiter handed them each a menu. “It’s always the easiest way to weed out the stuck-up ones.”

  “Stuck-up?” Harper lifted her eyebrow. “That’s not usually the ones I’m contending with. Instead most of my blind dates are developmentally stunted. Like they’ve spent the better part of the last five years hunkered down in their parents’ basement playing video games. They have that pasty-white flesh, they’re usually a bit out of shape, and most of the time they’re sorely lacking in basic social skills.”

  Danny shook his head as he ordered a bottle of wine for them both. “I suppose the women I tend to end up with on first dates would be an upgrade from that. But not by much. Mostly they’re first and foremost after a ring and a lifetime commitment. Usually by the time dessert is served. They tend to laugh a little too hard at my jokes, fawn over me like a doting grandmother, and treat me like some delicate endangered species—a single male!—the dodo bird of this century.”

  Harper held up her hands in surrender. “Trust me, there will be no pretense of that from me. I’m happy to go on a few dates, but I am decidedly not in search of some elusive ‘Mr. Right.’” She made air quotes. “After some of the dates I’ve been fixed up with, I’d be perfectly happy with Mr. Have Some Fun.” In hindsight, Harper thought perhaps that wasn’t the best way to phrase that, but she figured correcting herself would only draw attention to the wayward comment, so she let it go.

  “Well then, we’ll get along just fine.” The corners of his mouth turned up, his perfectly straight white teeth bared in a smile.

  He truly was such a handsome man.

  ~*~

  “You up for some dancing?” Danny said as they chatted over coffee after dinner.

  “Where?”

  Danny pointed his thumb behind him. “There’s a whole other section of this place that’s more like a nightclub.”

  Harper tipped her head in disbelief. “Here? On the sleepy North Carolina shoreline, there’s an actual nightclub I’ve never heard of?”

  “Hard to imagine you’re a local and didn’t know of it.”

  “Like I said, the extent of my social life has been going out to the Olive Garden with the godson of Aunt Gertrude or the nephew of Mabel, the church organist, so dancing hasn’t been high up on my, uh, dance card.” She grinned.

  “Then we’d better make up for lost time.”

  Danny stood and pulled Harper’s chair out, then linked arms with her to escort her to the club.

  He led her down the hallway, past the doors to the restrooms and the kitchen, where there was an unmarked door. He opened it, ushering her through it into what seemed like a large speakeasy, where a jazz band was playing big band music. Danny pressed his hand to her lower back as he led her to the dance floor, where he grabbed her hands and they started dancing.

  Harper could still not get over that there was a nightclub a mere twenty minutes or so from her house. She lived in a small beach community, and while there were plenty of things to do nearby, they often entailed the typical cliché beach activities like putt-putt golf, drive-in movies, or all-you-can-eat seafood restaurants. This was downright exciting.

  “I love to dance,” she said as Danny grabbed her hips and moved along with her. Soon a slow song came on and he pulled her closer. Harper could feel him pressed to her hips and knew he was aroused. Wow. A man. Turned on by her. Downright shocking.

  She wondered why that was such a stunning turn of events. Was it her lack of confidence that had led her to the drought she’d been in for so long? Inevitably her thoughts always went down the same path when she started to ruminate on this problem. It all came back to Noah Gunderson. The one who broke her heart when he left her so unexpectedly, right when she thought they were heading toward a lifetime together. If anything chipped away at her self-esteem, that was it. So while she wasn’t one to hold a grudge, if there was anyone she’d maybe still consider slugging were she ever to run into him again, it would be Noah.

  Thank goodness he left this place years ago. With any luck, she’d never see him again.

  ~*~

  “Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?” Danny whispered into her ear as they slow danced.

  Nightcap? That sounded like something a pickup artist would say. It had been a long damned time since Harper had a “nightcap.” Or even a daycap for that matter. Daycap. Maybe that would be called “afternoon delight.” Crap. She hadn’t had that since, well, since that cursed Noah. Three days before he took off for parts unknown, leaving her high and dry and wondering what was so wrong with her that a guy would up and bail like that after
being together for so many years. No wonder she struggled to feel value when it came to men. The man she thought treasured her had discarded her like an old tissue.

  Nightcap indeed. It was time to take the bull by the proverbial horns and have herself a fun little nightcap with Danny Greevy.

  “A nightcap sounds perfect.” She winked at him.

  As they walked away from the dance floor, she pulled up the Uber app on her phone and called for a driver, who was there in four short minutes.

  It had started to rain while they were in Octopussy, and Danny offered his suit jacket for Harper to cover her head with as they walked to the curb. Such chivalry. Danny was a keeper. She tried to ignore that nagging voice in her head asking if he was, then why wasn’t he already kept?

  When the car pulled up, Danny opened the door and helped Harper into the car. She scooted over to the far side and fastened her seat belt. A few cars drove past as she waited for Danny to buckle his, their lights refracting across the raindrops on the car windows.

  Danny leaned over and kissed Harper on the nose. “I’m so glad you’re coming over to my place. I want you to meet my cat.”

  Cat? Huh. What an unusual come-on, she thought. Though at least she didn’t tell him she wanted him to meet her cat! Now that would be a little too strong of a come-on.

  “Good evening, folks,” their driver said as he punched in some data into the GPS on his dashboard-mounted phone. “We’ll get you to Cutler Beach in no time.”

  Harper bristled. That voice. As much as she’d hoped to forget that voice, the minute she heard it, she felt a chill lift the hair on her arms. She’d know that miserable rat-bastard voice anywhere.

  “Noah?”

  Chapter Three

  Noah Gunderson had traveled the world for years, soaking in everything he could in every culture he encountered along the way. He’d consumed yak butter tea in Nepal. Grappa in Tuscany. Ouzo in Greece. He even ingested boa constrictor in the Congo and huitlacoche, which is pretty disgusting corn fungus, in Mexico.

 

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