by Leslie North
It bothered her that she wondered. Of course he would be a playboy. Alistair’s good looks were off the charts; even her annoyance with his haphazard work ethic and irritating habits couldn’t dull her appreciation of them. But what did he like?
And would it be someone like me?
Jess frowned down at her clipboard. Alistair, however hot, was never going to be an option for her. Her path was clear: stay employed, stash away money, and avoid relationships like the plague.
Her job was her boyfriend, and it would stay that way for a long time.
“It’s very important that you play the part at all times,” Jess said. “No slips. No outside flings. This needs to be rock solid.”
Abby nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. “So is it a problem that people already know he’s against relationships?”
Jess blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Abby reached into her purse, swiping through her phone. “I saw something online yesterday. It was an interview, sort of.” She bit her bottom lip, then shoved the screen toward Jess’s face. “Here. Look.”
Jess’s mouth parted as she watched the clip, something short from a celebrity rag site. Alistair was there, standing outside a restaurant in Las Vegas, it looked like. His movie star jawline and side-swept dark hair made her chest tighten for a moment, until he opened his mouth.
“No, it’s all rubbish.” Alistair flicked a cigarette into his mouth, something she knew he only did when drunk. “I don’t believe in any of that. Love, or any of its trappings.” He grinned at the camera, winking, that British accent dripping like warm honey. “I’m a bachelor for life.”
The video faded to black, and Abby pulled her phone back into her lap. “That won’t be a problem, right?”
Jess’s nostrils flared. A PR emergency already, and they’d barely started the ruse. What would happen once they actually hired a woman to be his girlfriend? Panic sliced through her. “I can’t answer that right now. I need to look into it more. But I will say that Alistair is heavily pursued. Your relationship with him will be called into question. And there will be gossip. Plenty of it.”
Abby nodded, tucking silky hair behind her ear. “I can handle it.”
“Great.” Jess checked her watch. She needed some time before the rest of her work day to investigate this pesky little soundbite. “Well, that wraps it up for now. We’ll be in touch soon, okay?”
The ladies stood, Jess shaking Abby’s cool, limp hand. Once she’d disappeared from the office, Jess sank back into the overstuffed chair, letting her mind spin out of control.
Holy hell, Alistair. What other messes have you created for yourself? She swiped open her own phone, nibbling at her lip as she launched a search to learn more. If the clip was old, she could spin it as a young, naïve, bachelor Alistair. But if it was recent—like only shortly before he and his brothers found out that his grandfather’s will carried the stipulation that they all must marry within eighteen months of his passing or else lose the business—then they were screwed.
Against her better judgement, Jess navigated to some of the other popular celebrity sites. Lo and behold—Alistair had top billing.
British Playboy Seeking Love: Apply Within
Single and Ready To Mingle? Try Marry
Beaumont Brother Seeking Wife Urgently
Her throat tightened as she scrolled through the articles, skimming them quickly as though that might soften the blow: Alistair’s secret had leaked, and now they ran the risk of his eventual relationship being doubted.
If the world doubted his relationship, it hardly mattered. The one they had to convince was his grandmother, that staunch matriarch she’d only glimpsed once in her life. Just the sight of her made Jess’s back straighten immediately. It had felt like glimpsing the Queen of England, somewhere between fear and awe—and panic that she’d offend her with a gross lack of etiquette.
If Grandma doubted the relationship, whenever it occurred, then Jess might as well jump ship now. Because if the company folded once Alistair’s grandfather’s shares were sold—as the outcome would surely be, according to Alistair—then Jess would lose the best job she’d never truly earned.
On the one hand, Alistair’s unorthodox approach to work and hiring processes were a total frustration to coexist with. On the other hand, they’d allowed her, a mere high-school graduate with an incredible knack for micromanaging and just enough smarts to fake a college degree, to slip through the cracks. There was no way in hell she could score this salary outside the confines of B3 Engines.
This business had to stay alive; not just that, it had to thrive.
It’s okay. We can spin this. We’ll deny, deny, deny. There is no fake marriage planned; this is just desperate tabloids looking for fodder. She repeated the line to herself as she scrolled the articles a second time, letting the news wash over her. Absolutely no reason for anything to change course.
But the reassurance didn’t allay the fears. If the company’s public image was hurt, then stocks could tank. If stocks tanked, she couldn’t get herself back to college. And if she didn’t get herself into college, to finally get her degree a full five years later than the rest of her peers…
Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t often wish Alistair were around to help with things, but in cases like these, his easygoing positivity would really come in handy.
Her phone rang then, a long string of numbers coming up, looking more like a joke number than anything. She listened to it ring a few times before bringing it to her ear hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Is this Jessica Green?” A man’s heavily accented voice made her brow furrow.
“This is. May I ask who’s calling?”
He rattled off a name that disappeared into an indecipherable swirl of vowels. And then he said, “I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Alistair Beaumont. He had you listed as primary contact.”
Jess squeezed her eyes shut. Oh God. Oh God. He’d left for Austria just a few days ago for a two-week ski trip. She’d bid him farewell, telling herself she was relieved, even though she secretly missed the annoying way he drew out her name whenever he had a question. “Is everything okay, sir?”
“He’s been in an accident. It would be best if someone could come soon.”
Jess’s heart thumped against her ribs as she listened to the hospital liaison explain: ski accident, head injury, unknown extent of trauma.
When she hung up, her fingers trembled, but she didn’t delay.
She needed to find a flight to Austria tonight.
Grab your copy of The Billionaire’s False Fiancée
(The Beaumont Brothers Series Book Two) from
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
BLURB
Sam Jameson always gets what he wants and what he wants is his ex-wife.
Sam views the world in black and white—a strong attitude that’s earned him billions in the business world and an ex-wife in the real world. What Sam wants is to choose his own future, but to do this he must pass a test set out by his older brother, and CEO: onboard his wayward brother, Eddie. Sam accepts the challenge but isn’t sure what to think when he learns that the woman he’d love and left is part of the test too.
Trinity Jameson is a fixer. It doesn’t matter if it’s ugly furniture or an ornery employee, Trinity has the touch and she’s spent most of her life helping others achieve their best potential. But when her ex-husband comes back to town to prove he’s got a heart, Trinity makes a decision: She’s not going to fix his problems for him—no matter what his smoldering blue eyes ask of her, she’s going to say “No.” She’s determined that he’ll fix his own mess this time.
Before Sam landed in New York, his goal was to leave the city just as fast. But when Trinity saunters into the room looking better than ever, his desire begins to shift. He realizes that what he really wants is what he can no longer have: Trinity. Sam has no trouble stoking their physical fire, but hot sex isn’t going to be enough to heal the hurt he’d caused long ago. Sam isn’t go
ing to be dissuaded by her new found emotional wall. He helped her build it, and now he’s going to knock it down.
Grab your copy of The Billionaire’s Ex-Wife (The Jameson Brothers Series Book One) from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER 1
SAM
His favorite suit was wrinkled. It didn't matter if there was only one: the wrinkle was there, leering up at him like a lopsided, mocking smile.
Sam Jameson shook out his sleeve, but the minor imperfection remained. Minor, he thought to himself in consolation. A wrinkle that wouldn't smooth was the least of his problems today; still, it lingered in the back of his mind as much as it lingered on the otherwise crisp fabric of his suit.
Sam distracted himself by gazing about the familiar waiting room of the New York office. He missed the East Coast more than he could express, and he wasn't an expressive man by nature—but even he could appreciate the familiar, sanitized smell of the office, the classic wooden furnishings, and the precision of the New York City skyline just outside the high window. The L.A. office always smelled like someone was secretly giving manicures in the staff kitchen, and the West Coast skyline was…quirky. Slipshod. Obscured by a permanent haze and decidedly not up to code.
L.A. was to blame for Sam's current predicament, of that he had no doubt. Who the hell lodged a complaint about "annoying perfectionism" and took their business elsewhere? Apparently L.A. clients did. Sam blamed the strange holistic culture that had seized the West Coast—the culture of "mistakes are successes that haven't happened yet," or whatever inane philosophy Californians liked to paste on the bumpers of their hybrid cars—but his older brother William didn't see things the way he did. That was partly why William was CEO, and Sam was COO, of Jameson Advertising Agency: it wasn't just a matter of age, but perspective…or so their father had once explained it.
If only Sam could give William a momentary demotion and make him see things from his point of view. This move to onboard Eddie was a mistake. More than that, it was far below Sam's paygrade—but even he wasn't so callous as to say as much out loud. He had learned early on that when it came to family, talking in strictly business terms wasn't exactly smiled upon.
But surely even William could see, from his lofty vantage as CEO, that bringing Eddie any closer in the family business was a mistake. Their father had certainly thought so. The youngest Jameson simply wasn't cut out for more than wining and dining clients.
Inviting the family screw-up back into the fold didn't seem like a wise move to Sam—but who was he to protest it? He would get in, do the job to a more than acceptable degree, and get out, the same as he always did. William wouldn't be able to argue with the results, and then Sam could get the hell back to L.A. and move onto better things.
The door opened and Sam rose, applying one last swipe to the wrinkle. He raised his gaze, expecting to find Eddie's lopsided grin and ridiculous eyebrows waggling a greeting.
Instead, it was his own ex-wife he found staring back at him.
"Trinity." He hated how out of practice he suddenly sounded saying her name out loud. Not a day had passed since their separation that it didn't enter his head on a repeating loop, always in threes: Trinity. Trinity. Trinity. "What are you doing here?"
His ex-wife blinked her gorgeous doe eyes like he had her caught in a crosshairs. Obviously his presence in the room wasn't a surprise to her, but maybe seeing an estranged spouse in the flesh shook her as much as it shook him. His eyes dropped at once to take in the form-fitting pencil skirt and matching blazer. Only Trinity could make such an uninspired shade of gray look borderline sultry. Not a wrinkle in sight. He noticed she was parting her hair differently; the line combed into her scalp was off-center, and her honey-brown hair spilled in one thick wave down the left side of her face. The asymmetry should have bothered him more than it did, but all Sam could think in that moment was how strikingly well-suited she was to the style. The elegant curl hugged her cheekbone while exposing the other one, making them appear even more pronounced than usual.
"Where's Eddie?" He hadn't expected himself to be the one to break the silence. Trinity blinked again, and shook her head to dispel whatever thought it was that had frozen her in the first place.
"Hello, Samson. Your brother asked me to meet with you. Not Eddie," she qualified. "William."
"I see."
"He wants me to assist you in onboarding Eddie. William, that is. But I guess you knew which of your brothers I was referring to that time."
Sam nodded. Trinity's sudden appearance had thrown him into turmoil on the inside, but he was used to masking pressure indicators in high-stress situations. There was a reason his coworkers all called him a machine. "Where is Eddie these days?" he asked her.
"Barbados. Last I heard." Trinity swept her clipboard toward the conference hallway, and Sam rose at her invitation. He followed behind her, despite knowing the way, and watched her graceful balancing act. If she wore silk stockings with her heels, Sam couldn't perceive them at this distance. Only running a hand up one of those elegant calves would reveal the truth to him….
"In here." Trinity waved him on into one of the rooms. Her face looked a little flushed, and Sam wondered how loudly he had been broadcasting his thoughts…then again, maybe they were simply on the same wavelength, as they had so often been when they were married.
In those first years, anyway.
He would never show it, but Sam was still reeling from the divorce. It had been almost a year since he signed the papers Trinity wordlessly pushed across his desk, and he still didn't know what the hell had happened between the two of them. Hadn't they always shared ambitions? Work ethic? Not to mention great, great sex? He knew from all the divorce studies he had read that he should have at least started entertaining the idea of dating other women by now, but he couldn't even bring himself to set up a simple online dating profile…and the Millennials at the L.A. office had certainly volunteered to help.
Sam took a seat at the head of the table out of habit. He pulled out the chair beside him, and Trinity's mouth quirked a little in wry amusement. She bypassed Sam's offered chair to pull out her own. She sat down, and began to array her files as Sam studied her. Maybe having Trinity around to assist with the onboarding would be a good thing…professionally-speaking, of course. Surely he had no better ally in all this than his own ex-wife, who knew his preferred method of running things. Trinity was familiar with every nuance of his personality—hell, she was one of the few who would vouch for him even having one.
Right?
Trinity was the people-person. She understood the needs of others in a way Sam could never wrap his head around outside of the business boardroom. Corporations were straightforward, and most of them desired the same thing: damn good advertising. That he and his brothers could deliver. He had been raised to understand the cold, calculating terms of business minutiae; not the far less black-and-white terms of the people who stood behind the businesses.
"I figured we'd just take a few minutes to go over everything," Trinity said. "Sort of a pre-meeting meeting. Nothing about our approach needs to be set in stone just yet. In fact, I think we should leave ourselves plenty of room to be flexible throughout this entire process. Eddie's a special case."
"He certainly is," Sam allowed. He tried to ignore her use of the word "flexible". In business, he absolutely loathed the term—but when confronted with memories of his ex-wife's uncommon talents in the bedroom, it was even more distracting.
"I mean that he's not nearly as underqualified as you or your brother like to think," Trinity said sharply. "He may have made mistakes in the past, but Eddie's a good kid."
"He's only two years younger than you are," Sam pointed out, "so your use of the word 'kid' is revealing. Eddie's twenty-eight, Trinity —like it or not, he isn't a kid anymore. What he is is an immature adult who, when he isn't off partying on an island somewhere, likes to sleep around with high-powered clients' daughters."
"O
ne daughter. So far as I'm aware." Sam thought even Trinity looked unconvinced of this, but she pressed her lips together to stifle anything else she might say on the matter. "Anyway, I know Eddie and I would both appreciate it if the past didn't come up in tomorrow's meeting. I'd like to focus on the future—his future with the company—if it's all the same to you."
"You have my word."
He'd only broken one vow in his life, and only because the woman sitting across from him had asked him to.
"Good." Trinity pushed a copy of the first meeting itinerary his way. "Like I said, nothing about the agenda for tomorrow is set in stone. I'd prefer to look at this sheet as more of a working checklist. If you have any idea of how you would like to begin…."
"Well, I can start by getting him up to speed on all the company directives he's been ignoring," Sam said.
Trinity nodded. "Good idea. I can handle the soft-skills stuff in the meantime. Shouldn't be that difficult, considering Eddie is Eddie…and not you, for example."
Sam took the jab in stride. He leaned back in his leather chair, and tried to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled—an admission he doubted would come as a surprise to anyone—but seeing Trinity thawed his heart. It always did. He wondered if William had orchestrated their project partnership with that goal in mind, and found that he simply didn't care. He could watch the way her sensuous lips shaped every corporate word all day long.
"Look, Sam." Trinity interrupted herself suddenly and sat back, crossing her arms. She always did that when she was about to shoot straight with him. "You've had one too many write-ups for being cold and distant with your division heads," she stated. Sam winced. He thought he detected an unvoiced accusation in her tone, but she carried on before he could unpack it. "Our H.R. department is at their wit's end. Onboarding your own brother isn't only good optics for the company, but it shouldn't be that hard for you to muster up a little familial warmth in the process. Everyone wins."
