Making It While Faking It Read online

  Also by Z.L. Arkadie

  A Dark Billionaire Family Romance Series

  Intrigued

  Desire

  Claimed

  Enthrall

  Impulse

  Bliss

  Exposed

  Seduction

  Embrace

  Destined

  LOVE in the USA

  Find Her, Keep Her: A Martha's Vineyard Love Story

  There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story

  Say You Love Her: An L.A. Love Story

  Know Her, Love Her

  Still In Love With Her: Maggie & Vince, #1

  He's So Bad, A San Francisco Love Story

  Made To Love Her: Vince & Maggie #2

  He's So Good: Robert & Carter

  Say You Love Me: Charlie & Angel

  Adore Her, More of Her: Daisy & Jack, #2

  LOVE in the USA, The Hesters

  Once Friends

  Taming The Shrewd

  Waiting On You

  Playing with Fire

  Tempting Fate

  The Deception

  Soul Mates

  The Lords of Manhattan

  Crossing the Line

  Making It While Faking It

  Vampire Saviors

  Parched

  Warrior

  Quenched

  Slayer

  Ignite

  Light and Speed

  Vanquish

  Standalone

  The Sterlings Billionaire Family Saga (Books 1-3)

  Watch for more at Z.L. Arkadie’s site.

  Also by Zoey Locke

  The Lords of Manhattan

  Crossing the Line

  Making It While Faking It

  Copyright © 2022 by Flaming Hearts Press LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-952101-63-2

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Exit Stage Left

  2. Just When I Need Him

  3. What’s the Deal

  4. Our Meeting Is Not Cute

  5. Breaking the News

  6. Reopening Night

  7. Top Rag Mag

  8. The Fallout

  9. Moving In

  10. The Perfect Ex

  11. New Digs

  12. The Lady of My House

  13. A Kiss Isn’t Just a Kiss

  14. The Northeast Garden

  15. Families Dinner

  16. Getting Well Soon

  17. Top Rag Mag

  18. The Session

  19. Dinner with Friends

  20. Top Rag Mag

  21. The Superstorm

  22. Closer and Closer

  23. Friend-Zoning?

  24. Top Rag Mag

  25. The Engine Roars

  26. The End of the Long Weekend

  27. Yes, You May

  28. Date Night

  29. Top Rag Mag

  30. Getting Cozy

  31. The Double Cross

  32. I’m For Real

  33. Recompense

  34. Epilogue

  Exit Stage Left

  TREASURE GROVE

  6 HOURS LATER

  I sit in the back seat of the Grove family chauffeured car, staring into the lobby of the Grove Family Bank Tower past sparkling-clean glass windows. My flight landed in Teterboro less than an hour ago. It felt like forever since I’d flown on a Grove family private jet. My dad couldn’t travel with me. He flew onward to London to handle Grove Industrial Tech, better known as GIT, business. I’m relieved that we parted ways. I wouldn’t know what to say to him during a five-hour flight to New York City.

  On the flight over the Atlantic Ocean, I constantly worried about the deal we brokered going south before the wheels of the airplane touched ground. But I made it to my final destination, and as far as I’m aware, the deal is still on. I can already feel the money gracing my fingertips.

  The driver opens my door, and when I have two feet on the sidewalk, he says, “I’ll be waiting for you, Miss Grove.”

  Before I can say there’s no need to wait, my attention is hijacked by a tall, strapping man wearing an impeccable suit. For some reason, I can’t look away from him. His gait resembles that of someone who descends from royalty. And it’s not his neatly trimmed five-o’clock shadow, perfectly formed forehead, sharp cheekbones, and kissable lips that steal my attention either—it’s his confidence that demands to be noticed.

  As if sensing me staring, the man stops and turns. I suspend breathing when our eyes meet. His face looks… oh my God. I gasp a quick breath of air. It’s him—my new fake fiancé and soon to be husband.

  6 HOURS AGO

  That was brutal.

  The pressure in my head builds toward explosion as I flee the live set where an actual TV show is being filmed. Several of my emotions battle each other for the top spot. I’m embarrassed, angry, fed up with this whole ordeal, and plain old sad. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I force the tears that want to come gushing from my eyes to stay put. I refuse to give Liam Caruso, our jerk director, the satisfaction of knowing he made me cry. He’s been on a mission to break me ever since day one, and maybe he finally has. It’s too soon to tell.

  The morning air is chilly, but storming off the set generated a lot of body heat, so I’m too hot to feel the cold. I’m walking so fast that I’m practically running. I glance over my shoulder. The makeshift wooden wall built around a dirt pit that’s supposed to be the inside of medieval manor is in the distance. Finally, I’m far enough from the scene of the crime to slow my pace and catch my breath.

  “The horses are famished, Father—are you certain they can take the journey?” I whisper in the accented voice of my character.

  I have such a horrible English accent. And damn it—it’s “make the journey,” not “take the journey.”

  I stop at the edge of a wooden floor built between two long rows of star trailers and lift my face to the opaque gray overcast. My eyes flicker closed as I groan in misery. In my head, I hear my dad’s voice asking if I’m ready to take any responsibility for Caruso blowing up and kicking me off the set.

  “Okay,” I whisper against a refreshingly mild wind. I messed up my lines.

  Before botching “make,” I said “Mother” instead of “Father.” And before that, I said “hamished,” which isn’t even a real word, instead of “famished.”

  A wave of nausea overcomes me, and I groan as I bend over and grab my knees. Breathing deeply, I really concentrate to keep down the bagel and cup of black coffee I had for breakfast this morning. I wasn’t hungry. I haven’t been that hungry since arriving in Iceland. As soon as the airplane landed and after a foreboding helicopter ride over fields of desolate glaciers, I lost my appetite. I don’t want to be here. I never even wanted the part in this new TV show, which is sure to be a flop, but I certainly need the part.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose again. Don’t cry, Treas. Thinking about my misery and what’s at stake if I don’t finish out my obligation to this television show always makes me want to bawl like a baby.

  The sobering truth is that I’m not a good actress. I also own up to that fact that I would’ve never landed the role of Raylene Preen, the king’s favorite daughter who will eventually get her head sliced clean off in episode four, if it weren’t for the worst kind o
f nepotism. I’m engaged to internationally famous actor Simon Linney, and it’s because of him that I got the role. That’s why everybody around here thinks I’m a spoiled heiress who’s making a mockery of their thespian profession. And nobody thinks that more than Caruso. But I am by no means spoiled or rich, not anymore at least. It’s been the better part of ten years since I received any money from the family trust.

  I sigh as I stop pinching the bridge of my nose. It’s time to think my way out of my mere definition of hell on earth. I was on the verge of ending things with Simon before he proposed I take a part in Marked by the Sword, thereby ending my cash flow problem. I bought a restaurant. I made it popular. One would think that popularity meant making a lot of money, but that’s not true in my case. I’m approximately one month away from being forced to close the doors of my restaurant, The Chest of Chelsea. Everything is expensive to maintain in my restaurant, even Nya Jones, the real reason why my restaurant has become so popular. She’s a high-priced celebrity chef that I hired to be my head chef.

  Although Simon landed me my current gig, my contract is with Jaycee Wilding, the executive producer. I have no more than five lines total, but so far, all the trailer promos have included images of me, Treasure Grove, as Raylene Preen. They want my twenty-six million social media followers, the bulk of which I acquired before opening my restaurant, to watch their show.

  My social media followers are foodies in their late twenties and thirties, and these people are the movie’s target audience. So far, I have been paid one of the three million dollars owed to me for my role as Raylene Preen. I used that money to keep my restaurant afloat for the remainder of this month. I’ll be paid another one million upon completion of my last performance, which is supposed to be next Friday if there are no more scheduling delays. Liam Caruso has a problem with time management. Regardless, that money will float my restaurant for another month. My final payment is to be released no more than twenty-four hours after the pilot episode is aired, given that I have made the seventy-five posts touting Marked by the Sword to my social media followers. I’ve already hired someone to do that.

  “But I can make Jaycee a better deal,” I whisper.

  I have many famous friends with millions upon millions of social media followers. I can ask them to post about the television show as a favor to me. But first, she’s going to have to double my pay and cut my time in Iceland short. “Like today,” I say to the chilly air that’s making me colder by the second. I want to be out of this godforsaken hellhole with its twiggy fields of wild grass and nothing to see but prairie land for miles on out.

  I sigh with dread as my fiancé’s face fills my head. I’ll have to persuade Simon to let me go.

  In the end, he has all the power. If he tells Jaycee to tell me to fuck off, then she’ll say in her unaffected businesslike voice, “Treasure, I’m sorry, but you will have to fuck off.” Because in these parts, the big star, Simon Linney, the fiancé I probably should’ve never said yes to, the man I really want to break up with, has all the power. And Simon can be a capricious and selfish prick.

  So I cross my fingers and look up at the sky. Blue is breaking through the white clouds. Maybe that’s a good sign.

  Eyes lifted high in prayer, I say, “Give me luck, God. Please, get me out of this desolate prairie.”

  Just When I Need Him

  TREASURE GROVE

  Fists balled and ready to knock on the door of Simon’s luxurious trailer, I fill my lungs with the untainted, crisp Iceland air, preparing myself to break the news to him. Tomorrow at this time, I want to be waking up in my bed back in New York City.

  Out of nowhere, a thought flashes through my mind. I wonder if I’d be so miserable here if I had the same accommodations as Simon. My trailer is shoebox sized. Water barely trickles out of the faucet, the toilet barely flushes, and the bed feels like I’m sleeping on wood. But that’s not the case for Simon, who has the largest and most luxurious trailer on the lot. I thought he and I were supposed to live together, but according to Jaycee, that’s not allowed. She explained, clearly lying but with a straight face that he’s the main star and privacy is needed for purposes of confidentiality. I knew then that Simon put her up to telling me that, but I made myself believe what she said. Now, I’m no longer willing to delude myself. Yes, Simon is seriously a selfish prick. And yes, I agreed to marry him, but I knew deep down in my bones that I would never go through with it.

  I don’t know what time it is because I’m not wearing a watch and my cell phone is in my trailer, but my guess is that it’s only minutes before or after eight a.m. Simon should be asleep. He spent all day yesterday on set. He’s not supposed to shoot again until early tomorrow morning. He works hard practicing his lines and performing them to perfection. He really is a great actor who needs his rest. I glance nervously over my shoulder, wondering if I should just go back to my trailer and give him a few more hours of undisturbed peace. I shake my leg anxiously, appearing as though I have to pee. The thing is… I can’t wait, because this is an emergency.

  I pull my fist back to knock, but I stop. I hear a noise inside the trailer. It’s definitely Simon’s voice. He’s awake? But there’s something about the sound he made that puts my ears on high alert. My expression is tight. Then there’s another sound. It’s muffled, but it’s definitely made by a woman.

  I snap back, leaning away from the door. “What the…” I whisper.

  Okay, so…

  It’s true. Simon Linney is notorious for being a cheater. But I allowed him to convince me that those days of banging every beautiful woman he meets are far behind him. “Only immature boys cheat. I’m a real man, Treasure, and men are loyal,” he had said in his smart and rather convincing English accent. I shake my head, hoping to be wrong about what I suspect. I say a little prayer—if I’m wrong, then I’ll take it as a sign to do whatever it takes to make our relationship work.

  I twist my lips thoughtfully as my body processes the declaration I just made.

  Maybe not.

  But first things first—I carefully grab the door’s lever and crank it downward. I close my eyes as I sigh with relief. It’s unlocked.

  My heart beats like thunder as I glance quickly but thoroughly over my right and then left shoulders. The coast is still clear. Fueled by the unmistakable sound of a woman’s faint giggle, I carefully pull the door toward me and hurriedly step inside.

  The stark difference of the indoor temperature from the outside makes me shiver as my blood heats up. I wish I could enjoy the pleasant warmth wafting across my face. Suddenly, I remember that I’m wearing my heavy, ugly, wild-looking faux-fur dress. The material makes my skin itch, but I can’t scratch. I have to remain quiet. Rule number one—catch him in the act, see with my own eyes. Then he can’t lie.

  I hear the bed creaking, slurping, and a lustful “Yes, Cherry baby, like that.”

  My eyes grow wide, and I can’t stop shaking my head. Holy shit, he’s getting blown. And Cherry? Is it Cherry Attwell, the second-biggest star on set, who’s licking his stick? Yes—it has to be her. She’s the only Cherry out here.

  The traitorous bitch.

  I strongly dislike girls who spit in the face of the girl code.

  In my mind’s eye, I see her face as she sits with me and Simon in his trailer, joining us for coffee some mornings, dinner some evenings, and the small cocktail party Simon threw the other night. Cherry’s playing his love interest, who is the daughter of our family’s rival clan. Even with all their sexual tension during scenes, I don’t think I ever noticed anything genuinely sexual between them. Or had I? Had I been so blinded by my need to keep my restaurant afloat that I looked away when their stares lingered for too long or she brushed against him as he stood at the sink?

  I pad up the narrow hallway that leads to a master suite that rivals any five-star hotel room. I grimace, palm against my stomach as the unmistakable scent of sex taints the air and makes me nauseous.

  “There, you’re h
ard. Let’s fuck,” Cherry says as if they’ve done what they’re doing a million times before and it’s time for the next step.

  The sound of Simon sipping air between his teeth is sharp and laced with longing. I can also tell that he’s trying very hard to keep his sex sounds quiet. He doesn’t want anyone to hear him, especially me.

  He won’t hear me, though. My steps are expertly silent as I inch closer to the doorway like a stalking lioness. I take two final steps and then carefully flatten my back against the wall. I lean forward, inch by inch, until I’m able to see them. They’re both so into what they’re doing that neither has felt my presence. Simon is naked as a jaybird and is on his knees, positioned between Cherry’s pencil-thin legs.

  “Spread them wider,” Simon commands gruffly as he strokes himself.

  Oh, that’s right, he loves barking out commands during sex.

  “Wider,” he orders.

  He’ll keep telling her to spread her thighs until her joints ache and her legs quiver.

  But my eyebrows have quirked and held up. Something is off. If I’m not mistaken, Simon has been speaking with an American accent.

  “Please, Simon, please,” Cherry begs as she dramatically thrashes her head back and forth as if she’ll die of need.

  My heart feels like it’s stopped cold turkey when his butt cheeks clench as he lowers himself, thrusting into her so hard and fast that it seems as if he’s trying to break through her. Grunting, he pumps roughly.