Fake It For Me, page 1
Fake It For Me
K. M. Bishop
Copyright © 2019 by K. M. Bishop
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Published: K. M. Bishop 2019
kmbishop@authorbishopkm.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Author’s Note
Blurb
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
Epilogue
Excerpt
Author’s Note
Stay connected with K. M. Bishop
Author’s Note
Fake It For Me is a full-length standalone novel. At the end, I’ve included an excerpt from my HOT Selling Boxed Set, Lucky in Love.
Fake It For Me concludes at around 90% on your device.
Happy Reading!
XO, K. M. Bishop
Blurb
A million dollar prize?
Yes, count me in…
The only catch – I need to be married.
Sure….count me in!
I’ll think of something.
When a lifetime opportunity pops up in front of me,
All I care about is putting my heart and soul in winning.
So…I ask Nick, my billionaire client to fake it for me.
Everything is going great until,
I lose the competition,
And it’s not fake for me anymore.
But fate has a funny way of catching up,
And planting the seed for a cute little secret in my belly!
Omg…wasn’t this all supposed to be fake?
Chapter One
Sandy
New York City is a bustling city of more than eight million people. Eight-point-six million, to be more or less exact. And almost every one of them, at some point in their lives, either have worked or will work a nine-to-five job. Contrary to what people might believe, nine-to-five workers actually are the backbone of the American economy. Eight-hour shifts are the way of the corporate world, and New York, for the most part, is very much a corporate city.
Some call it the greatest city on Earth. Of course, such a claim generally tends to be impossible to prove. In any case, I’ve particularly found that among all the nine-to-five jobs in New York, there is only ever one real constant. One common denominator which remains no matter where it is that you go. For all intents and purposes, it’s a constant for the Uber drivers across the metropolitan borough of Manhattan. It’s a constant for the detectives and beat cops in the precincts dotted around Brooklyn and the Bronx.
It’s a constant for the bagel bakers and vegetable peddlers in Little Italy, for the doormen who stand sentry to the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, for the security guards at Grand Central Station and the stock market traders on Wall Street. And the constant is this: every single person who works a shift, be it eight hours, or more, or less, has a favorite time of the day.
Every single one. A part of the day that they for all intents and purposes look forward to fairly more than any other. And it’s not always the end of the shift, contrary to popular belief. Sometimes it’s the start, for people who love their jobs in a big way. Sometimes it’s the very second that they get to go on their break. For a baker, perhaps it’s when he gets to take a batch of freshly-baked muffins out of his oven. For a stock market trader on Wall Street, maybe it’s when he closes a huge investment that skyrockets in value and makes him and his firm millions of dollars.
Me? I’m just a very humble interior decorator in the borough of Queens, and my favorite time of my shift isn’t the beginning, it’s not the end, it’s not the middle. It’s not even on Pay Day, although no one can say that it isn’t a strong contender. No, my favorite time of the day is when I finally get to go on my creativity break. Who’d have thought that being an interior decorator actually requires creativity?
Back in high school, I personally thought it mostly was just doodling pictures of buildings and coloring them in with nice crayons, which kind of is quite significant to the job, now that I think on it (although not the crayon part). If I’d known how much work it actually required, I can’t say for sure if I would have chosen a different career path or not.
I like to kind of think I wouldn’t, but then again, everyone would say the same. The sun was beginning to set as the clocks actually approached four in the late afternoon. And that was a happy time when my creativity breaks were given life.
Armed with a cup of coffee in one hand, a warm bagel in the other and the latest edition of my favorite Lifestyle Magazine tucked under my arm, I went to sit outside on the patio for my lunch literally break. Everyone in the office knew that at this specific time of the day, I take a break. In my opinion, every creative mind should know, understand, and particularly appreciate the value of taking the time to sit outside and just…be. It sounds crazy at first, but creativity doesn’t essentially come when you try to force it out. Instead, you coax it out by surrounding yourself with things that really inspire your mind. Basically, let your creativity spread its wings and fly out into the endless abyss of nothingness. It’s in that space that my imagination has the opportunity to create something new and refreshing. Something unique, something never before seen.
For a really short moment, I, for the most part, looked back to the small office space on the fourth floor of an office building in Park Lane, next to Forest Park in New York City. I really saw my new apprentice, a young man with rugged good looks, I guess you could say. Cute in the kind of way that a skater is cute. He held his head in his hands, looking down at the latest task I’d given him, just before I’d decided to take my daily creativity break, contrary to popular belief. I smirked devilishly to myself and brushed aside the particularly slight feeling of guilt that gnawed at my mind. I had to admit, the workload that I had given him was a tall order, by anybody’s standards, but that’s the way it’s done.
I definitely had to drop him in the deep end and kind of let him sink before I saved him.
Or if he swam, then that was even better, kind of. That was the way teaching was done, and I knew from experience that it’s really the best way to learn. Who knows, he might just surprise me with a fresh new outlook!
“Not sitting like that…he won’t,” I murmured to myself, and I turned my attention back to the treetops, and the green horizon spread out in front of me, marked against the New York skyline. I breathed in the definitely fresh air and then was reminded of the street just below, by a car honking for some reason.
With that reminder, I plugged in my earphones and took a sip of my coffee. I already had my musical schedule all lined up, and I knew what I was going to be doing. The same thing I always did. Classical music for ten minutes, then Blues for another ten minutes. Classic really helps to kind of slow down my mind, and Blues music tends to sort of calm my soul and then gets me into the mood to specifically think of…just…nothing for a basically short while. And that’s when the inspiration really gets going. I took a sip of my coffee, closed my eyes, and leaned back into the chair. The Autumn sun was baking on my face, and I enjoyed the warmth.
Yes, Autumn, not Fall. As far as I was concerned, when it came to naming the seasons of the year, the British generally had it right, contrary to popular belief. Autumn essentially was the season that followed Summer and preceded Winter, not Fall.
Fall was what happened when you forgot to tie your laces and tripped over something in the street. Fall was what generally happened to the Holy Roman Empire in 476 Common Era.
Fall was what happened to the Berlin Wall in 1991. But it was not, under any circumstances, a season in a subtle way. But I refused to for all intents and purposes get started on that discussion again. Once, my Dad and I had had a sort of big argument about me being a pedantic…well…I don’t like to actually repeat the word he used, but that was an interesting Christmas, I can specifically tell you, or so they generally thought. And by interesting, I mean awkward. As the sound of the piano on Mozart’s Concerto Number 20 carried me through my thoughts, I pack each one away into its own little box; this one is for tomorrow, this one is for when I get back to my desk.
The Blues song
As I swallowed the last bite of bagel and savored the taste of cream cheese, I allowed my mind just to notice my surroundings and just experience the sounds and smells of the city.
I felt…what was the word? Relaxed, that was the word. I was relaxed. And in my own little bubble. Kind of like I was the only resident of Planet Sandy in the Solo Mio galaxy of the C’est Moi constellation. And that’s where I lived, safely tucked away from the bustle and hustle of the outside world. I started to page through my magazine; Lifestyle Magazine comes out every fortnight and publishes a lot of content centering it’s quite inspiring to see what other interior designers come up with. On the tenth page, there is an advertisement for a competition. The heading reads, ‘Are you as a couple, up for a challenge? Win a cool million for your combined efforts!’
The photo shows the backs of a couple pointing to various things in an empty room with white walls and ceiling. It immediately caught my attention, a million dollars would go a long way to find a bigger office space and to employ one or two more draught people. That would be just enough to get me ready for the next big contract. I remove my earphones and lean forward over the magazine as I start to read the rest of the article.
Basically, the rules state you have to be married and willing to be part of a reality contest. The main task is to design the interior of a family home, each room will be judged, and if your score is high enough, you will proceed to the next round. There are a few couple’s challenges, and then a few individual challenges that will supplement your overall scores. This sounded like a fun challenge, something that I would be able to do if only I were married.
I have to admit, that that is one area in my life that I’ve neglected, to my parent’s dismay, but who has time to try to impress a man if you have to run a business? In any case, I haven’t met a man anywhere near worthy enough to warrant me putting in that amount of effort! So, as far as I’m concerned, they’re needy and possessive, with a significant lack of self-esteem.
I’m really, really not looking to be anyone’s replacement mommy. But just imagine winning a million dollars! A million dollars was no small amount of money! It was like…one hundred thousand dollars! But then you added another hundred thousand dollars! And then did that eight more times! I did a quick mental calculation, and according to my own personal mathematical numeric system that I’d just invented (San-gebra? The San-dagoras Theorem?), that equaled ching-ching!
With a million dollars, I could send hubby back to his mommy, and I could continue with my life totally unhinged.
Of course, I wouldn’t use the million dollars strictly for business purposes! I mean, what’s the point of that? I’d use some to freshen up my own apartment; get that white leather lounge suite and that brilliant glass centerpiece that I’ve been dreaming of for years now.
The possibilities of being rich, one of the elite and upper echelon of society, captured my imagination and ran wild with it, painting vivid paintings in glorious technicolor of what my life would be like, how the boredom would be eradicated to be replaced by spicy excitement if only my financial situation was improved by a little. Well, not exactly a little.
So, what would I do first? Immediately, ideas began flooding into my mind, and they got my heart racing and my blood pumping with excitement.
I’d put all my books in new, wooden bookcases and arrange them along the walls along with my plants, with tall lamp stands in strategic places. A long mirror along the one wall and a ceramic statue to cover up that hideous heater. Wait, on second thought, why in the world would I want to spend money to hide it if I could finally afford to just get rid of it? Maybe even break out the existing window! And make it larger, get more natural light in and perhaps enjoy the view of the city lights a bit more!
Oh, the possibilities, the endless possibilities, I could dream about the possibilities all day long! With a content smile on my face, I exhaled and looked over the trees again, to a place far away. My phone suddenly rang behind me, and as I jumped back to reality and turned around, I saw Michael running towards me with his arm stretched out. I groaned.
That really didn’t take long, I expected to get a least an hour before the little fish started drowning…so to speak, I thought inwardly. There aren’t many things in my life that are sacred, but my creativity break time is certainly high up on the list of things that are closest to being sacred. And as such, my creativity break time can’t just be disrupted for anything less than literal world apocalypse. Or something just as grave.
This had better be important. Like, really important.
“Let me guess,” I said in a tone of voice that I hoped conveyed how unenthusiastic I felt on the inside. “Is it Lord McConnery?”
Michael merely nodded his expression a picture of confusion, probably at my seemingly omniscient power to divine who was on the other end of a cellphone.
I rolled my eyes. Lord McConnery wasn’t actually a Lord, I just called him that when his back was turned. In actuality, he was the richest client that Elegance Refined had on our books, and so the pleasure of bending over backward to keep him happy was usually ours. And by ours, I mean mine. I took a deep breath before taking the phone.
“Elegance Refined, Sandy speaking, how may I help you?”
The voice that I heard on the other end of the phone, however, wasn’t Lord McConnery’s, it was that of his secretary, Liza. “Hey, Sandy.”
Liza and I knew each other, on account of Lord McConnery being a long-time client of the firm, and we were on fairly good terms. I wasn’t sure whether I could say the same for her boss, McConnery was such a hard man to read.
“Hey, Liza,” I said dully. She may have been nice and easy to get along with, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed talking to her. I tended to describe Liza by saying if you’ve ever seen that internet meme called “The Most Interesting Man in the World,” then Liza is the exact opposite of that.
It was harsh but true. Liza was as boring as they came, and never really stopped talking. Today, however, she was direct and to the point, thankfully.
“Mr. McConnery would like to schedule a meeting,” Liza was saying. “Tomorrow morning. Can you make that, or do I need to tell him to reschedule?”
On the one hand, a lie-in tomorrow morning sounded good, but I knew way, way better than to force Lord McConnery to reschedule. He was like a spoiled child, when he didn’t get his way, he went stomping around and damaged things. Not physically, but as he was well aware, a rich, powerful man can cause much more devastating damage than what a man can inflict physically.
“Sure, I can be there,” I said casually. “Do I need to prepare anything specific for the meeting?”
According to Liza, Lord McConnery was looking to pitch us a new development project, and apparently, he was planning on delivering the full scope of this new project at our meeting the following day. I’d been doing work for Lord McConnery’s firm, High Risers, for years now, and although when he doesn’t get his way he resorts to acting like the fat kid from Harry Potter who gets thirty-six presents instead of thirty-seven and then throws a tantrum, Lord McConnery knew the value of hard work, and I’d received glowing recommendations for the work I’d done with him around the city.
