Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Charlotte’s father is being pressured to marry her off to the son of a powerful tycoon—a union that would spell disaster for the Lane family. Desperate to protect her father, Charlotte needs a fiancé, fast. Enter Asher, her gruff yet charming security specialist, who’s tasked with pretending they’re madly in love during a high-stakes, week-long family retreat.
As they navigate luxury dinners, whispered threats, and suspicious glances, the line between pretend and real begins to blur. With secrets at every turn, and someone determined to see this fake engagement fail, Asher must keep Charlotte safe—while also fighting the growing feelings he swore he’d never let happen.
In this suspenseful, heart-pounding romcom, love might just be the most dangerous game of all!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Asher
I’m cutting it close. It’s a rookie mistake. I push through the revolving doors of the downtown Saint Pierce high-rise, stepping from blistering asphalt into chilled marble. The temperature drop is a welcome punch. One breath to reset. I straighten my tie, smooth my jacket, and scan the lobby for threats and choke points. It’s a habit.
Elevator to thirty. I post against the side panel, tracking every floor ding like a metronome. When the doors part, I move with a purposeful gait, soft heel-strikes, eyes sweeping the corridor. The conference room’s ahead. I spot the frosted glass with silhouettes inside the room, already seated. Late is unacceptable, but dead last is better than hovering outside like dead weight, so I slip in and claim the final chair, back to the wall, sightline on the door.
Dean stands at the head. Broad shoulders, suit impeccable, but there’s fatigue in the set of his jaw. It tells its own story. Our gazes lock for half a beat; he registers my presence, files it, continues.
“Thanks for being here,” he begins. Voice steady with a commanding frequency. “I know the past year hasn’t been easy with me searching for Bishop. I’d like to thank all of you for the hand you played in finding him.”
He shuffles briefing folders. He’s crisp, methodical. I clock the micro-tremor in his left hand: adrenaline hangover, nothing fatal. The table air is chunky with spent tension; these men wore themselves hollow to close that target. I wasn’t on the op, but I respect the mileage etched on their faces.
Dean exhales, softer. “Hopefully we can finally have some peace.” The room nods as one unit. Professionals.
I stay silent, absorbing. Profiles around the table read like dossiers—eyes alert, posture disciplined, scars visible and otherwise. This is the bench you want when things go sideways. My objective is simple: earn a spot, hold the line, never be the breach.
I catalog the exit routes, the angle of sunlight on the windows, the cadence of each man’s breathing. Mission begins long before boots move. And late or not, I’m here now—ready to prove I belong.
Dean plants his palms on the head-table, the room settling under his command presence. “I know Isabel has been helping a ton and I’m lucky to have such an awesome sister,” he says, nodding toward the empty administrative desk. “I have some assignments that need urgent attention, and I wanted to hand out each one personally.”
First real rotation since Dean promoted me from training detail. I force my knee to stay still, posture neutral, but adrenaline hums in my veins.
Dean flips the first dossier—blue cover, intel stamp. He slides it to Ranger. “Ranger I’ll start with you first. The G20 Summit Meeting is soon, and this is Tory Ann Malser. She’s yours to protect.”
“This assignment is critical. The G20 Summit attracts a lot of attention, and not all of it good. Your job is to ensure her safety at all times.” Dean flicks a fingertip on the file.
“Is she attending the summit?” Ranger asks.
“No, she isn’t. Her father is Fredrick Malser, a world-renowned scientist. He’ll be a keynote speaker and will have his own personal security watching over him.”
“Why not have her own security watch over his daughter?” Ranger asks.
Dean’s expression doesn’t shift. “Fredrick has received death threats about speaking at the Summit. And he doesn’t trust some members of his own security detail. He wants his daughter kept under the radar. We need to ensure her safety without attracting attention.”
Dean shifts. “You’ll take her to the safe house near the ocean and hold her until the Summit is over.”
Ranger nods once, already scanning routes in his head. “Sounds good.”
Dean’s gaze shifts to Orion. His head’s down, doodling kill-boxes in his notebook. Boone taps Orion’s chair with a boot heel; Orion sits straighter, eyes sharpening.
“Orion, you’ve got the daughter of a socialite, Minnie Gree. Briar Green,” Dean says, sliding the second folder across. “She’s got an ex-boyfriend stalking her, and her mother wants security to follow her to-and-from work.”
Orion flips the file open, skims photos of Briar in a khaki bird-handler uniform, bright smile. “Ex-boyfriend,” he mutters. “Can’t I just scare the shit out of him, make him think twice, and call it a day?.”
“It’s not that simple,” Dean answers, tone flat. “We need to ensure she’s safe without escalating the situation.”
Orion smirks. “It never is.”
Laughter ripples, tension relief. Dean closes the assignment ledger, eyes landing on me last. I sit tall, ready.
Dean finishes handing out files. “Lincoln’s already got his assignment.” I watched Lincoln tuck his dossier under one arm like it weighs nothing. Boone gets the next folder—thick, color-coded blue for stalker detail.
“Boone, here’s your assignment.” Dean pushes it across the table. “I briefed you on it last week.”
Boone cracks it open, low whistle. “Wow. Who’s this?”
“Name’s Aubree Ryan,” Dean answers, tone all business. “And she’s got a stalker too. We’re still in the dark about the identity, but she needs to get out of Nashville.”