3 weeks earlier

Sex tape. Sordid affair. Insider trading scandal.

That described the recent lives of just three of the eight famous men milling around in the studio before me, all poised to be shot for next year’s Monthly Man Candy charity calendar for the San Diego ‘Let’s Give Back’ community group.

What a wonderfully compelling bunch. Man candy indeed… and that was just eight of them. Four still hadn’t bothered to show up yet, even though the photo shoot was supposed to begin with Mr. January ten minutes ago.

I would’ve been more pissed about the situation if I wasn’t running late myself due to the fact that I was stuck on a three-way phone conversation with my mother and sister after forty-five long and painful minutes. Damn wedding planning. They’d roped me into it earlier by pretending it was just a quick five minute call to discuss the cake, yet here I was, still listening to my mother simultaneously discussing wedding favors and slyly insulting me over the fact that I was still single.

Very single.

Right now it seemed Mom and my sister Libby had forgotten I was even on the line, so I took the opportunity to gesture across the room at Tiana Jessup, my friend and favorite studio assistant. We’d worked together for years at various photography studios and marketing/design groups, and we could easily communicate with a few hand signals and meaningful glances.

As such, when I widened my eyes, cocked my head to the side and held up four fingers, Tiana frowned, then scribbled in huge block letters on a piece of cardboard. ‘I DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY ARE. NOT IN MAKEUP OR HAIR?’

She held it up long enough for me to read, and I shook my head. I’d already checked hair and makeup ten minutes ago, and the missing four men weren’t there. Tiana pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, sharing my sentiments about the latecomers.

Back on the phone, Mom and Libby had started discussing napkin colors. Eggshell or ecru? I had to giggle at that. As a creative director, I dealt with color schemes for a living (among many other things), and even I didn’t give a flying fig what color the napkins were. No one ever went to a wedding and gossiped about the napkins afterwards. Unless they were stripy orange and lime green.

While I was still tuned out of the conversation, I stepped outside into the hallway and immediately spotted the person I was hoping to see—Reuben Sanders, the studio’s head of security. I waved him down. When he approached me, I put my hand over the mouthpiece of my cell and murmured to him. “Reuben, a few of the Man Candy guys are late and the shoot needs to start. I know this isn’t your job, but I’ll give you a hundred dollars out of my own pocket if you can round them all up within the next ten minutes.”

For once, I could actually afford to do such a thing. I’d recently won several thousand dollars on a lucky scratch card I found on the ground while out for a walk, and if giving some of it away was what it took to get this damn day started, I was willing to make that sacrifice.

Reuben gave me a mock salute. “I’m on it. I think I saw a few guys loitering outside. Could be them. And you don’t need to give me a cent, silly.”

I put my free hand on my heart. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”

“Always be late?” He grinned, then headed off.

Reuben had worked at Harborview Marketing Group for two years now, just as long as me, and we’d become quite good friends along the way. He was happily married with two kids, so our relationship was purely platonic, but he was always around to lend a helping hand or ear. Seeing as we both usually arrived at work earlier than everyone else, we chatted quite frequently, and I could rely on him for almost anything. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d enlisted his help in wrangling rogue models who’d somehow gotten themselves lost in the building or parking lot.

“Oh, I just can’t believe my darling baby will be married in a month! In such a gorgeous place, too!” my mother chirped in my ear, reminding me I was still on the phone as I stepped back into Studio B.

I stifled a sigh. Yup, just four weeks until my little sister was married, and only two weeks until her pre-wedding celebrations officially kicked off in paradise. I was beyond happy for her, but I couldn’t help feeling a slight pang of envy. Was it ever going to be my turn? Or did I already let that chance slip away four years ago?

“Yes, I can’t wait!” I offered instead in a lighthearted tone as I shuffled through some of last week’s background test shots on a table in the set area. I didn’t want my mood to affect Libby in any way. She didn’t need anyone else’s emotional crap clouding the excitement of her wedding plans.

She’d only known her fiancé for eight months now, but you know that old saying: when you know, you know. They’d been inseparable from the day they met, and he proposed to her after just five months. They were adorable together. Even their names seemed to match. Libby and Bobby. If it didn’t involve my beloved sister, I’d find the whole thing a tad nauseating. But it wasn’t. It was sweet and endearing, and I was happy for the two of them.

I hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know Bobby very well over the last few months, as my schedule had been absolutely hectic since my promotion to creative director last year, but from what I’d managed to glean from my few experiences with the guy, he was perfect for my sister. He was steady, supportive, and understanding, and he’d never given Libby crap for her ambitions. That was more than I could say for nearly everyone else in her life.

See, Libby wasn’t just stunningly pretty. She was smart, too. After graduating high school with a full-ride scholarship to an Ivy League college six years ago, everyone (especially our overbearing mother) expected her to pursue what they considered a ‘smart’ career path. Medicine. Law. Politics. Something like that. But much to Mum’s chagrin, Libby chose a more creative path, just like me. She completed a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, and for the last two years she’d been trying to get her first novel published.

It might not be the safest path, and maybe it didn’t pay the bills like other careers could, but I was damn proud of my little sister for following her dreams instead of caving to everyone else’s expectations. After meeting Bobby and seeing how he wholly supported her writing, I knew she was marrying the right guy.

“You’re going to love the hotel. Bobby has been so generous in paying for everyone’s rooms, and he only booked the ones with the best views. It looks amazing,” Libby gushed on the other end of the line. We were on the subject of the venue now, seeing as Mom had mentioned how gorgeous it was a moment ago.

“Ooh, I know, I looked it up the other day,” I said, holding my phone between my chin and my shoulder as I waved at some of the lighting guys to fix a stand which was leaning precariously to one side. “The hotel looks beautiful. And I’m really looking forward to the vacation. Lord knows I could use a couple of weeks off right now.”

She laughed. “Couldn’t we all?”

The wedding celebrations were going to be held on the smallest of the semi-tropical Bunbury Islands—Saint Clare Island. Situated a couple of hundred miles south of Bermuda, the Bunbury Islands were a former British Overseas Territory that gained independence and became self-governing a few decades ago. Tourism kept the economy thriving, and the islands had become a popular party destination with their casinos, nightclubs and resorts.

The islands were also known for their rather lax marriage laws and ease of obtaining a marriage license, similar to our very own state of Nevada. A marriage license from the Bunbury Islands held as much legal weight as one obtained right here in the States, so it wasn’t uncommon for people to gamble at the casino on the biggest island of Saint Australind, party at the beachfront bars on Saint Arnaud, then hop a quick ferry over to Saint Clare to drunkenly marry at one of its little chapels.

Las Vegas with boats, essentially.

It wasn’t really the kind of place I pictured my little sister getting married at, but when she showed me the photos of the resort she and Bobby had found a few months ago, I immediately saw why they’d fallen in love with it. The place was to die for. On the quieter side of Saint Clare, the resort overlooked gorgeous pink sand beaches and cerulean waters so clear you could see straight to the bottom. It was also separated from the main hub of the island by a thick green stretch of jungle, so unlike many of the other island resorts, it was relatively quiet and private.

“But Georgina, won’t it be hard for you, sweetie?” Mom said in a tone that could’ve been construed as pitying by anyone else. I knew better. It wasn’t pity in her voice. It was judgment.

“Why would it be hard for Georgie, Mom?” Libby cut in before I could respond. Before anyone could say anything, I heard a sharp intake of breath, and Libby hurriedly added, “Oh, crap, Georgie, I’m so sorry. All I’ve done is rave on about the wedding for weeks now. I didn’t even think how it might affect you.”

I took a deep breath of my own. “It’s fine, really. But I do need to get back to work soon. This shoot has been about to start for ten minutes now.” I smiled across the room as I spoke. Reuben was marching four handsome, muscular men inside—all of the missing calendar models. Thank god. I mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to Reuben.

“Of course. Can I just say one more thing?” Libby said tentatively.

“Sure.”

“Um…well, you didn’t fill out the ‘plus one’ section on the RSVP card.”

I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Sorry, I totally forgot that part.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Libby said, clearly wanting to hurry through this part of the conversation before Mom could get involved with any snide comments. “I already gave you a plus one anyway, just in case you are bringing someone. But I need to sort out the table arrang—”

Right on cue, my mother cut her off with a derisive snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Libby. Who would Georgina bring? Her cat?”

“I don’t have a cat,” I said through gritted teeth. Lord, give me strength.

“Well, I suppose there’s still two weeks until we need to fly out to the island,” she went on in an airy tone. “Anything could happen between now and then. A man could pop up for you somewhere. Or a cat.”

I held my tongue. If enduring my mother’s endless jibes about still being single without starting a major fight was what it took to ensure Libby’s wedding celebrations ran smoothly, then I was willing to do it. Anything for my baby sister.

“It’s honestly fine if you don’t bring anyone,” Libby said, trying to defuse the situation like the sweetheart she was. “Bobby has plenty of great single friends coming along. Maybe you’ll meet someone to end your dry spell!”

“At the singles table?” my mother practically guffawed. “Really, honey? Everyone knows those tables are always filled with losers.”

That was it. I finally saw red. Libby didn’t mean any harm with her comments about my dry spell, but my mother certainly did, and I was sick of hearing about it. Sick of having it implied that I was a loser for being single.

Apparently it was egregiously offensive to the world that I was twenty-eight and unmarried, though for the life of me I couldn’t see how it was anyone else’s business. Mom didn’t see it that way, obviously, so she didn’t just tread on my toes when it came to my love life. She danced all over them with the grace of an elephant on amphetamines.

“Actually, I’m bringing someone,” I blurted out. “My boyfriend.”

There was a lengthy pause. It was enough time for me to cringe and instantly regret throwing those words out there, but I couldn’t take them back now. At least I hadn’t shouted at my mother.

“You have a boyfriend?” Libby asked. I didn’t miss the shock in her voice, and I tried my best not to be offended by it.

“Yes. We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now.”

“That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Yes, Georgina,” Mom added, a note of suspicion in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I gulped. The thought of another one of Mom’s taunts strengthened my resolve to lie. “I didn’t want to jinx it, because it’s still so new,” I replied, digging myself deeper and deeper.

“But you’re bringing him to the wedding!” Libby practically squealed. “So it’s going really well, right?”

I coughed. “Um. Yes. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before now. Totally slipped my mind. I know how annoying it is when people pop up with surprise guests at the last minute.”

“It’s fine! Who is he?” Libby asked. “Where did you meet?”

“Oh, just through a friend,” I said in a vague tone.

“What’s his name?” Mom asked sharply.

Shit. I didn’t think this through at all. I was terrible at performing under pressure. If I knew I had ten years to come up with a name, I’d easily have a list of every possible male name at my mental disposal. But if you put me on the spot like this, I couldn’t remember a single name of any guy I’d ever met.

I frantically glanced around the room. The first man I saw was Harold, one of the lighting crew guys. Nope, I couldn’t say Harold—that name was too old-fashioned for Mom to believe. As for the other guys in my field of view, their names had totally escaped me due to my current performance anxiety. I was a deer in headlights.

“Georgie?” Libby said. There’d been over ten seconds of pure silence now, and it was getting awkward.

“Sorry, did you ask me something? The reception in this studio is just terrible,” I squeaked out. I was about to choke.

“We were just wondering what your new boyfriend’s name is. I’ll need to put his name down on the table arrangements.”

I changed tactics and desperately tried to think of any guys I knew who owed me favors. Then it hit me. Tiana’s brother, Nathan! I covered for him once and pretended to be his girlfriend when his crazy ex showed up at his apartment, demanding to stay.

She was drunk and claiming to be three months pregnant with his baby (never mind the fact he broke up with her five months prior. Apparently math was never her strong suit). After a desperate phone call from Nathan, I went over there and pulled out the old trump card: the even-crazier current girlfriend. She never bothered him again.

Nathan Jessup owed me one, that was for sure.

“Nathan,” I said confidently. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

“Me too,” Libby gushed. “Wait, does that mean Bobby has to book another plane ticket?”

I shook my head wildly before forgetting we were on the phone and she couldn’t see me. “No, of course not. I’ll pay for his ticket. Bobby has already been generous enough in paying for my ticket and the accommodation as well.”

It was bad enough I was lying to my sister and planning to bring a fake boyfriend, so I would’ve felt awful if Bobby footed the bill for him on top of it all.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Ooh, I really can’t wait!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied one of the calendar models lingering near my table, barking into a cell phone. I recognized him as Mr. November, Nate Scott.

He was well known in our city for his recent successes in cryptocurrency investing at his company, CryptX. He was even better known for his playboy lifestyle, and he featured regularly in city gossip columns and newspaper social sections.

His hair was wild and dark and his face was strikingly handsome. Sharp dark brows framed his unusually-grey eyes, drawing the rapt attention of almost every woman within ten feet despite the other eleven famous hotties in the room. My gaze skated over his high cheekbones and the stubble on his strong, square jaw before sliding down to appraise his thick biceps.

I immediately disliked him. Not because I thought he had to be one of those guys who was too rich and too good-looking to have any sort of real personality, but because of the words coming out of his mouth.

“I can’t believe I even signed up for this shit. We’re gonna be here all day because this fucking moron George hasn’t even bothered to show up yet, and he’s the creative director, so we can’t start without him. I’m November, too, so I’m one of the last ones,” he was saying into his cell. “Yeah, yeah, I know. For a good cause. Sure, whatever. Fuckers.”

I was George. I was the creative director. The rep for the community charity who proposed the calendar project to us initially mistook my nickname (Georgie) for that and we ran with it, thinking it was funny. It wasn’t so funny when people assumed I was a man and bitched about me right in front of my face.

“I gotta go. Yeah, call me later. I still need to talk to you about this shit at the office,” he said, spotting my withering gaze. He slid his cell back into his pocket and called over to me, even though he could clearly see I was on the phone. “Hey! If that George prick isn’t here in five minutes I’m gonna go find him myself and kick his ass.”

“Mom, Libby… I’m sorry, I really have to go. Talk soon.” I ended the call and slipped my phone back into my pocket. Then I put my hands on my hips and stepped in Nate’s direction, ignoring his nasty comment for the time being. “Hey everyone, can you gather round?” I called out to the large group of men milling around in our vicinity.

I gave them a minute to get closer to me before speaking up again. “I’m Georgina Miller. I usually go by Georgie, but George is fine too, if that’s what you want to call me. I’m the creative director for this shoot, and I’m super excited to be helping with this project. I know it’s early, and some of you are feeling impatient due to our latecomers.” I looked right at Nate as I said the word ‘impatient’. The expression of surprise on his face was priceless. “But we’re going to get started right now, and hopefully, we’re going to have a lot of fun doing it. Let’s kick ass!”

I looked right at Nate as I said ‘kick ass’. I expected him to look slightly ashamed of his earlier tirade. Instead he simply curled his lips into an amused smirk.

Most of the other guys cheered at what I said. Thank god. Working with unenthusiastic people was the worst. These shoots always dragged on, so crappy company didn’t help.

The shoot started, and my stress levels rapidly declined as everything ran smoothly. It was quite a rare day when that happened. While our photographer got ready to shoot Mr. April, I headed over to my table to put down some paperwork. I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation going on between some of the calendar models who were lurking nearby.

“So it’s like, why is the narrative even about pay equality? Women shouldn’t be getting paid the same. They’re taking away jobs from men who need to support their families. So fuck that. Maybe we shouldn’t pay them anything at all. There’s an idea, huh, boys?”

I rolled my eyes so hard that I almost went back in time. Seriously? What an ass.

I looked over at the man who’d spewed the ridiculous drivel. I had no idea why he was still hanging around the studio, because we already shot him for the calendar (and unfortunately didn’t literally shoot him). He was Mr. January. East Coast transplant, and much in need of a soul transplant, judging by what I just heard.

Tripp Huntington-Davis.

God, even his name screamed ‘old money WASP’. I was willing to bet anyone twenty bucks that he once had a great-aunt who went by the nickname Bunny, and his parents’ house was decorated with plaid wallpaper, Tiffany table lamps and ornamental ducks. He probably also frequently asked people where they ‘summered’.

I raise my brows and glanced over at Tiana, who’d already been standing at the table when I arrived. “You’re lucky you haven’t been standing here for the last ten minutes,” she muttered at me, cocking an eyebrow. “That guy has managed to be racist, homophobic and sexist all within that timeframe. Check, check, check. It’s like we’re playing dickhead bingo.”

I stifled a giggle and nodded. “I can imagine.”

“Why is he a calendar model again?” She cocked an unimpressed brow at me.

I shrugged. “Because he’s rich and well-known?”

“And hot, as much as it pains me to say it. All these guys are hot assholes.” She waved her hand around us and sighed dramatically. “But hot or not, I think we’re gonna need an entire bottle of bleach to clean out that dude’s mouth after that gross outbreak of golden Staphylo-cockheadus.”

I snorted with laughter. “This is why we keep you around.”

She pouted. “Not because I’m a great assistant?”

“That too. By the way, what’s your brother doing in two weeks?” I asked, recalling the whole fake wedding date fiasco I’d set myself up with.

Nathan wouldn’t say no. He couldn’t. It was a free two week vacation in paradise. All he had to do was show up, enjoy the sun and surf, and pretend to be my boyfriend up until the wedding at the end of the trip. Then he could return home with me while Libby and Bobby blissfully honeymooned, and we could conveniently ‘break up’ a few weeks later, citing scheduling issues. Totally amicable and totally not Mom’s business, although she’d certainly try to make it that way.

“He’ll still be in Seoul,” Tiana replied. “How come?”

My stomach plummeted and my mouth gaped open as I was confronted with my own sheer idiocy. How could I forget? Nathan had been recruited by a company for some sort of engineering contract in South Korea, and he’d been there for the last three months. It was a year-long contract, so he wasn’t going to be back anytime soon.

And just like that, my stress levels were back up.

Tiana saw the look on my face and raised her brows. “What’s up? Why do you need Nathan?”

I shook my head. “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” I said breezily. “Clive, you ready to start with Mr. April?” I added, calling out to the photographer as I strode back over to the infinity cove.

I didn’t want to tell Tiana the whole story and admit how embarrassingly stupid I’d been. It didn’t matter anyway. My house of lies was crashing down around me already, so I’d have to attend Libby’s wedding alone after all. I could already imagine Mom’s snippy comments.

I couldn’t help but feel I deserved it, though. I shouldn’t have let my mother’s insults get to me earlier, and I shouldn’t have lied to my sister. I should’ve just toughened up and grudgingly admitted that yes, I was still single, and yes, I was coming alone.

But of course, that was much easier said than done.

As I wallowed in my increasingly-foul mood, Tripp Huntington-Davis sidled up to me, shit-eating grin on his face. “Georgie. You’re having dinner with me tonight.”

Ah, he was schooled in the art of telling women what to do in the hopes they’d find it charming. After all, women loved confidence, right? I was supposed to respond by laughing coquettishly, fluttering my eyelashes and saying, ‘Oh, am I?’

I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t reply at all. I was working. Also, after overhearing his sexist diatribe earlier, I would rather sit down to dinner with an underfed Great White shark. Even if I needed a fake boyfriend, I didn’t need one that badly. I’d actually prefer my mother’s snide jibes over two weeks on a remote island with a guy like Tripp.

“I think we need to grab the fan and angle it toward him. His hair is perfect for that,” I said to Tiana, pointing at the long-haired lothario who was currently being photographed. God, was he really only April? Today was going to be a long day after all.

Tripp waved his hand right in my face. I turned to him. “Sorry, I’m busy. I didn’t quite catch what you said.” Perhaps if I feigned ignorance and gave him another chance, he’d be politer this time.

No such luck.

“I said you’re having dinner with me tonight. You’re hot, I’m hot. Let’s do it.”

Was he for real? I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

He stepped closer. “You kinda owe me.”

“Hm?”

“Well, if you think about it, I’m paying your salary.”

“Oh, are you?” My lips stretched over my teeth in what I hoped looked like a polite smile, though it was probably more of a grimace.

“Well, I mean, my company sponsored this entire calendar for the charity, and your creative team was contracted to handle it. So in a sense, I’m the reason you can pay your rent this month, right?”

He looked so proud as he said that. The douchebaggery is strong with this one, I pictured Darth Vader saying. I guess it explained why Tripp was hanging around the shoot, though. He wanted to see where his money was going.

I folded my arms. “I actually just bought a place, but thanks for your generosity.” I spoke with the same sarcastic inflection someone might use for a phrase like, ‘Wow, thanks so much for giving me HPV!’

“Just because you own doesn’t mean you don’t have a mortgage. Surely you didn’t buy outright?”

Oh my god. He was still going on about this. Was it part of some new rich-guy negging strategy I hadn’t heard of yet? Haha, you’re poorer than me, let’s fuck and maybe I’ll rescue you from your peasant drudgery! I ignored him, gesturing to my lighting guy to adjust some settings. “Dim it for him a tad on the next shot, please. It’ll bring out the green in his eyes.”

“Just sayin’, you owe me, so the least you could do is come to dinner with me,” Tripp went on. Then he winked. I had no idea people actually did that in real life, but obviously he thought he was being witty and charming. Where the hell did he get his sense of humor and learn those pickup techniques? On an isolated desert island populated solely by neckbeards?

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Nate Scott watching me, amusement glimmering in his eyes. I sighed as it occurred to me that in a moment like this, even a rude, abrasive guy like him looked like a decent option compared with Tripp. That was really saying something.

I turned to Tripp. “Sorry, not interested.”

“Why? Already have a boyfriend?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Sure, buddy, because the only possible reason I wouldn’t be interested in you is if I was already claimed by another man, I wanted to say. Then again, maybe I should just go with it. Guys like him only tended to back off if you said you weren’t single (because they had to respect other men, of course) and I’d already lied about having a boyfriend once today. Twice couldn’t hurt, right?

I nodded. “Yes, I do. Sorry.”

As predicted, Tripp immediately backed off. “Hmph. Lucky guy,” he muttered before stepping away to flirt with one of the pretty young makeup artists. She immediately fawned all over him.

Urgh.

The next few hours dragged by. Things weren’t running so smoothly now. At half past three, Mr. September stepped over to the infinity cove for his set, meaning the shoot was only an hour or so from wrapping up. Thank god. I loved my job, but today had somewhat frayed my nerves.

It occurred to me that it was only going to get worse once I got home. Now that the fake boyfriend angle had played itself out and failed within the space of eight hours, I was going to have to call my sister and come clean. I knew she’d understand, and I knew she’d forgive me for lying. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was how my mother would react when she found out. My insides petrified at the thought. I could practically hear her vindictive cackling already.

I couldn’t bear it. Nope, I just couldn’t.

Groaning, I rubbed my temples. If only Nathan Jessup hadn’t been headhunted all the way to Seoul. Better yet, if only I hadn’t told Mom and Libby a specific name. At least then I could’ve possibly taken another male friend of mine as my fake boyfriend. Then I’d have a wedding date and my mother would have to keep her mouth zipped.

But that was out of the question now. I did tell them a specific name, and I couldn’t ask one of my guy friends to try and play along by pretending their name was Nathan. The plan was already crazy enough, and that would just be too hard to keep up with on top of everything else.

I sighed heavily. I didn’t know any other Nathans apart from Tiana’s brother, so the only hope I had of actually taking a date called Nathan had already evaporated.

I stopped and looked over at Nate Scott.

Or had it?