Faking it with #41 Read online

  Faking it with #41

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2021 by Piper Rayne

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

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  1st Line Editor: Joy Editing

  2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: My Brother’s Editor

  Contents

  Free Downloads

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  About Piper & Rayne

  Also by Piper Rayne

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  * * *

  About Faking it with #41

  Fake.

  * * *

  Being the heir to Jacobs Enterprises, I’ve been around fake people my entire life. I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t change for anyone. Which is the only reason I’m a professional hockey player who lives on the beach and does as he pleases without answering to anyone—except my father.

  * * *

  And now, my daughter.

  * * *

  Being a single dad wasn’t in the plan but after a one-night stand who took off after the baby was born, this is my reality.

  * * *

  My dad’s been harping on me to quit hockey and join the company for years and now that I’m a father, he’s only intensified his efforts. Until he makes me a deal I can’t refuse.

  * * *

  Insert Lena Boyd, the Jacobs’ family PR rep. She’s beautiful and intelligent and not at all the woman for me—ask anyone.

  * * *

  My dad needs us to act happily engaged and sell the idea that we’re in love. If we’re successful I won’t have to join the family legacy—ever. Of course, I agree.

  * * *

  That’s when things get complicated. I thought I had her all figured out until I found out there was more underneath her judgmental sneers and eye rolls. It feels like everything is coming together for the future I really want—with Lena—until my past ruins everything.

  As the starting right wing for the Florida Fury, I’m used to hearing a woman scream in my bedroom in the middle of the night, but the wailing from the nursery down the hall that startles me out of a dead sleep… not so much.

  My life has done a one-eighty in the last four months since my daughter was born.

  I run a hand through my hair, walking into her nursery wearing a pair of sweatpants. There’s only a crib in the middle of the room, so it’s easy to find her even without the blaring siren of her scream. What can I say? My daughter has a good set of lungs.

  I scoop her up, seeing her bright blue eyes matching mine, staring back at me. Please tell me she doesn’t have that mischievous rebel living inside her like I do. My mom says the blue eyes made it difficult for people to be hard on me. That I’ve gotten away with too much in my life. And she’s right.

  I’d say she was smiling if I hadn’t read that it’s most likely gas. I’ve binge-read book after book on raising a baby over the past six months, though it’s not done me much good. I still feel out of my depth.

  I change her diaper and nuzzle her into my chest before I take her downstairs to warm a bottle. Once it’s ready, I sit in the big lounge chair in the corner of my family room, seeing the letter her mother left me earlier today laying on the end table.

  I’m really sorry, Ford. I can’t do this. I’m not meant to be a mother. You’re so good to her. Love her extra for me.

  The anger swells inside me all over again. How does a mother leave her baby? Especially in my incapable hands. I’m fairly sure Britney thinks I’ll be a good father because I have money. Not only from playing in the league, but because I’m a trust fund baby. I wanted to raise Annabelle without the help of a nanny since my arrangement with Britney was that I’d have Annabelle on my off days during the season. Now I’m a full-time dad, so I’m not sure I have much of a choice but to enlist someone else’s help.

  I had nannies growing up and it wasn’t all bad. They could rarely keep me in line and we went through a full dozen of them before Mrs. Gardner arrived. She was a classic British nanny and wasn’t scared of my rebellious antics at all. She retired once my youngest sister got into high school, but I’m wondering if she’d be available somehow. Then I remember how harsh her punishments were and the fact that I don’t want to look to the nanny for answers of how my daughter’s day was.

  “I guess it’s just you and me.”

  A small sound comes out of her.

  “I hope you like Yellowstone. You’ll see some horses, and don’t worry, I’ll cover your eyes at the bad parts.”

  I click on my DVR, pressing Play on the last episode I was bingeing. Maybe this is a bad decision, but as the music starts, her eyes slowly close.

  “You just wanted to be with Daddy, huh? Well, that’s one thing I’m used to when it comes to the female population. But you’re a better date than any of them.” I chuckle to myself and watch the show.

  Feeling her weight in my arms reminds me how big of a responsibility this is and how I’ve never been a very responsible guy. After placing her in the bassinet next to me, I gently sway it back and forth until my own eyelids grow heavy. Since she has a crib in her room, I keep the bassinet on the main floor for when I need to set her down.

  I come awake to the sound of my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter across the room—or more accurately, the sound wakes Annabelle. Daylight streams into the room and I can’t believe the clock says it’s ten in the morning.

  I stand up with Annabelle and grab my phone off the counter. My sister Imogen’s name flashes on the screen.

  “What’s up, little sis?” I answer, putting the call on speakerphone.

  “I should ask you that.”

  Annabelle makes some kind of gurgling sound in my arms, so I adjust her.

  “Is that my niece?” Imogen asks.

  “No, it’s my date from last night. She’s looking for a tit to suck on.”

  “Language, jeez, Ford.” Imogen blows out a judgmental breath.

  “She’s four months old.”

  “Do you want her first word to be tit?”

  I chuckle. “It would make for a funny story.”

  Another breath sounds through the phone as though she thinks I’m going to be the worst dad ever. Nothing I don’t already know.

  “Well, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. We’re leaving the airport.”

  I glance around at the dirty bottles stacked by the sink, the
dirty diapers overfilling the garbage, and the basketful of washed clothes I’ve yet to fold that I set on the island two days ago and haven’t moved since.

  “Who is we?” But I already know who she means. And he’s only coming here because word must’ve already reached New York that I’m a single dad now.

  “Rumor is you’ve been left with a baby on the porch.” Imogen confirms my worst suspicion. “Dad says he doesn’t want you doing anything stupid. So I’m tagging along to play peacekeeper.”

  “You gotta stop him. I don’t want him here. I can handle this myself.”

  She sighs, familiar with the wall between my father and myself. One we’ve built brick by brick over the years. It’s the same old story—he wants me to run the family business and I want no part of it. He’ll try to use Annabelle as leverage to get me to leave my professional hockey career and take my rightful place as he sees it. He’s going to put a hard sell on me, I just know it. And with how exhausted I am, I might not have the usual fight in me.

  “I don’t think I can stop him. In fact, I gotta go. See you in a bit.” She hangs up the phone.

  My doorbell rings. I groan, hoping it’s my housekeeper who is somehow telepathic and knows I need her magic cleaning powers.

  I open the door. Sadly, my wish wasn’t granted.

  My mom barges in first, swiping Annabelle out of my arms like a professional thief.

  “Nice to see you, Mom.”

  But she ignores me because she’s already cooing at her first grandchild.

  My dad’s busy on the phone, so I’m rewarded with a stern glare as he follows my mom in.

  Next is my youngest sister, Morgan, who graduates from high school this year. She at least pauses and kisses me on the cheek. “What’s up, Daddy-o?” She laughs and continues into my beach house. “You don’t mind if I swim and lie out?”

  “Have at it,” I say, looking at Imogen. “What kind of heads-up was that?”

  She laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize we were so close already.” Her laughter continues as she walks past me into the house.

  I move to shut the door, but another voice alerts me to someone else before the woman in question emerges from around the corner. Our eyes meet and I swear it’s like we’re two cowboys in a standoff in a western movie. It’s no secret the two of us dislike one another. Always have—except for that brief kiss on New Year’s Eve, but that was ten months ago.

  “Lena Boyd,” I say, distaste clear in my tone.

  “How much shit can you step in?” She shakes her head and tries to slide past me, but I step to the side, blocking her from entering my house.

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  She loses her footing for a minute and falters back. I don’t bother to grab her arm. It must be her casual day today. Jeans, a T-shirt, sandals, and an open sweater. Not very professional. Although with the way her tits are snuggly fit into that shirt, I’m not complaining.

  “Don’t be a bigger ass than you already are.” She steps forward.

  I block her again. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I have to spin this story somehow so you come out looking like the doting father and not some rich prick who chased off his baby mama.” She crosses her arms, clearly not in the mood for my shitty, sleep-deprived attitude.

  “Let Lena in, Ford,” my mom says from behind me. “And you cannot raise my grandbaby in this filth.”

  Lena shoots me a look because she knows I never disobey my mother. I step aside and she walks past me as though she’s the fucking president or some shit.

  I slam the door and rest my forehead on it. Then I grab every ounce of patience and courage for what is surely going to be a shitty day.

  My shoulder brushes Ford’s arm as I walk into his beach house that’s not nearly as big as he can afford. As if he purposely picked a home that didn’t showcase his enormous wealth. But what the house lacks in size, it makes up for in location. He’s on a private inlet in the Gulf, along with a bunch of other wealthy people who live here.

  Mrs. Jacobs sits in a chair, staring at her granddaughter as though she could hang the moon, while Mr. Jacobs lingers on the back patio, continuing his phone call. Morgan has already changed in the bathroom and walks out in a bikini that shows off way too much skin. Imogen is starting a pot of coffee and says she already placed an order with Grub Hub for muffins and donuts and they’re on the way over as though we’re planning a conference or something.

  I sit on the couch.

  Mrs. Jacobs holds up the baby to me. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  She has Ford’s eyes. That stunning blue of the lightest part of the ocean. The same ones that suckered me into kissing him on New Year’s Eve. Not that it meant anything. The only reason he did it was because I came to Florida to force him back to New York to meet with his dad after his stupid stunt of fighting some guy in a bar. But sometimes late at night, I swear I still feel his lips on mine.

  “She’s gorgeous.” I’m not lying. Annabelle will be a knockout someday. Given the genetics of her dad and Britney, how could she not be? It’s not like Ford to dip below model status for his hookups, and Britney was no exception.

  We sit in silence for a second while Morgan comes over and bends down to kiss Annabelle’s forehead.

  “Jesus, Morg, I can see your ass. Don’t you have anything else to wear?” Ford covers his eyes.

  She turns around and juts out her hip. The bikini isn’t crazy revealing, but the ties on either side that could easily be undone is what would worry me. “If I was someone other than your sister, you’d be drooling.”

  “Mom!” he screeches, looking incredulous. “Are you going to let her go out like that?”

  “She’s only going out on your patio.” Mrs. Jacobs puts her face an inch away from Annabelle’s, not paying full attention to her children’s bickering.

  “Give her a break. She’s right. If she wasn’t your sister, you’d probably have hit on her.” Imogen comes in with a cup of coffee and sits next to me on the couch.

  “Ew!” Ford exaggerates with a full-body shiver. “Don’t say shit like that.”

  “The baby,” Mrs. Jacobs warns.

  “She’s four months old,” all three of the Jacobs siblings say in unison.

  “If I’m not careful, your first word will be a bad one,” Mrs. Jacobs coos, tapping her finger on Annabelle’s nose.

  “That would make it clear she’s Ford’s then.” Morgan laughs and walks outside, half her ass cheeks hanging out.

  Ford shakes his head and turns his attention back to us. “Why are you all here?”

  I lean back on the couch. Has he really not figured it out yet?

  “Do you watch any television, listen to the radio, or look at social media?” Imogen asks, then sips her coffee.

  He sits on the ottoman by his mom, staring at Annabelle. “Look around, Imogen, does it look like I have time for that?”

  “It is disgusting in here.” The doorbell rings and she gets up. “Food is here.”

  She disappears down the hall and Ford sets his gaze on me. I hate that it unnerves me, makes me self-conscious that he’ll say something and I won’t be quick enough with a comeback. That’s essentially our communication style. And with his mom in the room, he knows he has me because I would never dream of giving him a hard time with her present. The amount of money the Jacobs family pays me is irreplaceable.

  “So the story is out? The press knows Britney left?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Fuck!”

  “Language,” Mrs. Jacobs scolds.

  “At the moment, she’s the one being raked over the coals. The public has a lot of sympathy for you. We need to keep it that way.” I speak the truth.

  His forehead scrunches. “Seriously?”

  Imogen returns with the food in hand and shakes her head at her brother. “You’re the hot hockey player and now a single dad. You thought you had a lot of women before? Just wait until they see you with Annabelle.” Im
ogen places the donuts and muffins on the counter, snagging herself two donuts.

  I have no idea how she keeps her figure, other than she has a personal trainer five days a week.

  “And that’s exactly why I’m here,” Mr. Jacobs’ deep voice says. I guess his phone call is over. “Imogen, call someone to clean this place.”

  “I’m busy,” she mumbles over her donut.

  “I have a cleaning lady,” Ford says.

  Mr. Jacobs briefly looks at Annabelle without much interest and sits in the chair opposite Mrs. Jacobs. He’s dressed in navy slacks and a lime green polo shirt. His usual golf attire for when he goes to the country club. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll make it a point to golf while he’s down here. No one said how long we’d be in Florida.

  “Then call her. Why isn’t she here now?” Mr. Jacobs says.

  “Because I’m a single man. She only comes twice a week.”

  His dad eyes him. “You’re no longer single.”

  Ford looks around, giving his sister and mom a look that suggests Mr. Jacobs is stupid. It’s clear that grates on Mr. Jacobs’ nerves. I’ve never seen anyone get under Mr. Jacobs’ skin as well as Ford does.