Definitely Not Him (Single at Thirty #1), page 1
Definitely Not Him
A single at 30 story
Whitney G.
Contents
A Note from Whitney G.
Prologue
Chloe
This Isn’t a Normal Life
Tyler
A Brief Escape
Tyler
Dry Spells & Fairytales
Chloe
This Isn’t Yours
Chloe
A Sleight of Hand
Tyler
Too Much Too Soon
Chloe
Take a Ride with Me
Chloe
Reckless as Ever
Chloe
Morning Consequences
Chloe
Discarded Like Rubbish
Tyler
Two Weeks Later
You Tried It
Chloe
You Really Tried It
Tyler
Four Weeks Later
Should’ve Let You Stay
Chloe
A Little Late
Chloe
My Life, Your Entertainment
Tyler
One Week Later
Late Night Assistance
Chloe
Needle In a Haystack
Chloe
Final Departure
Tyler
You, Again
Chloe
Definitely Not Him
Chloe
Lingering Consequences
Tyler
Settling In
Tyler
New Math
Chloe
Around the Edges
Tyler
Cutting It Close
Chloe
Put It In Writing
Chloe
Can’t Escape What You’re Running From
Tyler
Price You Pay
Chloe
Arrangements & Such
Chloe
Three Weeks Later
Change of Plans
Tyler
Shifting Tide
Tyler
Still A Star
Tyler
All Eyes On You
Chloe
Stay with Me
Chloe
Sleep & Suds
Chloe
One Week Later
A Nice Change of Pace
Chloe
A Night In
Chloe
A Few Strange Words
Tyler
Stuck in Your Ways
Tyler
I Care For You
Chloe
Making Moves
Tyler
Assumptions
Chloe
One More Kiss
Chloe
It All Falls Down
Chloe
Turn Around
Tyler
No Stone Unturned
Chloe
Cruel & Unusual
Chloe
Clouds in the Sky
Chloe
An Unwanted House Guest
Chloe
A Spot of Tea
Tyler
A Necessary Detour
Chloe
Not What I Thought
Tyler
Stick to the Plan
Chloe
Still Trying
Tyler
Some Things Don’t Change
Chloe
An Unwanted Reunion
Tyler
Can’t Let You Go*
Chloe
Tell Me So
Chloe
Epilogue I (E)**
Tyler
Epilogue II (E)**
Chloe
Personal Note from the Author
Whitney G.
The Other Belle
Wasted Love with You
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Whitney Gracia Williams.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover designed by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.
Model: Andrew Biernat, courtesy of Wander Book Club
<3 <3 <3
Synopsis
All I wanted for my 30th birthday was an epic night to remember…Instead, I got knocked up by my boss.
Okay, wait.
Before you start judging me (I can *see* you), I didn’t know he was my boss at the time. All I knew was that he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life, complete with a deep British accent and lips that owned me for hours in bed.
Yet, when he ASSumed he was getting a second round after insulting my “cracker box” apartment, I kicked him out, hoping I’d never see him again.
Until four weeks later…
That’s when I realized I was ‘late,’ when twenty different pregnancy tests revealed a truth I didn’t want to believe.
And just when I thought I’d have to spend another four weeks searching for him, he waltzed through the company’s doors, and my supervisor announced that he was our new CEO.
That’s not even the worst part about this situation, though.
Not even close.
Turns out, this man was harboring a secret on the night we first met, and the next eight months were about to get far more complicated than I could ever imagine…
‘Definitely Not Him’ is a sexy, standalone ‘single at 30’ story.
For the summer
A Note from Whitney G.
Dear Awesome Reader,
Thank you so much for picking up Definitely Not Him! I can’t wait for you to read Chloe & Tyler’s story!
If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you hate or love this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)
Sincerely,
Prologue
Present Day (Unfortunately)
Chloe
If anyone ever forced me to describe Tyler Carrington in three little words, I’d choose ‘arrogant,’ ‘obnoxious,’ and ‘devastatingly-sexy-bastard-who-needs-to-be-slapped-into-another-dimension.’ (That last term is definitely in the dictionary. Trust me.)
To be fair, the runner-up word would be ‘my-baby-daddy-whom-I-loathe,’ but that’s a story for another day…
For the past several nights, I’ve devoured countless disaster novels, hoping that one plot will become a reality and he’ll magically disappear.
Alas, it pains me to admit that no sudden earthquakes, sinkholes, or zombie outbreaks have torn him out of my life.
Even now, at this very moment, he’s standing in my office doorway, glaring at me with his gorgeous almond eyes. As much as I despise him, he can arouse me with little effort, with one spoken word from his beautiful British lips. And no matter how many times I’ve attempted to convince my heart he’s unworthy of affection, it beats a yearning rhythm whenever he’s near.
“Are you ready to finish our conversation from last night, Miss March?” He finally shatters the silence, his deep accent disarming me with ease. “Now is the time to finish whatever you started to say.”
“Sure.” I shrug. “I hate everything about you and this situation. Please go back to London.”
“That’s not the conversation I’m talking about.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who has something to say.”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘I’m done playing these sick and twisted games, and I’m coming back to your place to stay.’”
“My best friends’ couches are serving me just fine. I appreciate your kind request, though.”
“This isn’t a bloody request.” He clenches his jaw. “It’s been eight days.”
“Seven.”
“The numbers aren’t the point,” he says. “I expect to see you in my bed tonight so we can discuss this latest problem like adults.”
“What happens when you realize I’m still not there?”
“I’ll be forced to take drastic measures to protect our soon-to-be-born child.”
“My child.”
“You didn’t make it yourself.” He smirks. “Surely you remember my part in that night, correct?”
“It was quite forgettable, now that I think about it.”
“I highly doubt you forgot five orgasms.”
It was six…
I search for something sarcastic to say, but memories from that fateful night are suddenly flooding my brain. All I can see is him owning my body with his mouth, bringing me to the edge so many times that I begged him never to stop, and pulling me close while whispering the filthiest things I’d ever heard.
“That’s what I thought.” He heads toward the door. “I’ll see you at home. Or else.”
He slams the door shut, and I pick up my cell phone.
I open the ‘What to Expect When Expecting’ app and scroll to the prior weeks of my pregnancy, back when I was still in denial.
Back when “Bring in my thirties with a bang” was a mere birthday wish, and I had no idea who “Tyl er Carrington” truly was.
When I make it to ‘Week 4,’ I stare at the note I’d penned and finally accept the truth.
There are no refunds on birthdays, no exchanges on time. This man—and all of his baggage—will be a permanent passenger on the flight of my life…
This Isn’t a Normal Life
Tyler
Several weeks before that so-called “fateful night”
(She loved every minute of it, by the way)
London, England
“Can you please speed it up, Dillon?” I called out to my driver. “This woman looks like she’s about to die.”
Uttering those words en route to a hospital wasn’t how I originally envisioned the end of this weekend, but it served me right for making the same mistake seven Saturdays in a row.
Desperate for a taste of “normalcy,” I slipped out of Kensington Palace and rode to a pub outside London after midnight.
My goal was to find someone who didn’t keep up with the tabloid gossip—someone who had no idea who I was so I could finally get laid—but my family’s royal stain forever reigned.
Somewhere between the third and fourth round of drinks, my fake ruse exploded as always, and the same three events occurred: One, my security forced everyone in the vicinity to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Two, I rode home to serve another week in a gilded prison—dry spell intact. Three, my inner hatred for my family rose to new heights.
This morning’s incident was utterly new, though. The woman I “met” fainted and hit her head on the bar.
“Dillon?” I called out again. “Her face is pale.”
“I’m driving as fast as I can.” He tossed me a water bottle, and I pressed it against the woman’s forehead.
“I’m not paling at all.” She slurred. “I’m in awe and quite stunned. I used to hang your childhood photos on my bedroom wall. You’re the first boy I ever touched myself to…”
“Please tell me we’re around the same age.”
“I’ve always believed that you were sexy, but you’re like, a thousand times sexier in person.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were a Carrington, though?” she asked. “I would’ve dropped to my knees and sucked the soul out of your cock.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My mum taught me everything I know about deep throat techniques. You would’ve helped me make her proud.”
I blinked.
There’s no way she just said that…
“If you’re interested, I can give you a bit.” She smiled. “All you have to do is unzip your trousers and help me move my head.”
“I’d prefer if you focused on your breathing,” I said. “You look like you’re on the verge of vomiting on my floor. Again.”
“I just knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” She wasn’t listening to me at all. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be proposing to a Denmark princess or something? That’s what the tabloids are saying.”
“They’re quite mistaken.”
“Then why did you tell me your name was Matthew and you worked in finance?” She sucked in a deep breath. “Why did you lie to my face and deny me my lifelong dream of screwing a royal? Why would—”
She vomited on the floor mid-sentence, leaving our conversation unfinished.
The guard across from us opened an empty bag, and I lifted her head as the car coasted through the streets.
With every kilometer, the grey and rainy city softly taunted me.
The bistros laughed that I couldn’t step inside without drawing a crowd. Traffic pointed and whispered that I could never drive someplace alone without someone waving and taking pictures of the “Pretty Playboy Prince.” The tourist shops mocked my annoyance, placing “Royal Family” books in their front windows, showing me that my life’s story wasn’t mine to chart or write. It would always be narrated by authors I’d never read, published in high-glossy paperbacks that I never approved.
Ahead of me, the towering London Eye—a beautiful Ferris wheel that I’d always wanted to ride—snickered as it reminded me of my last attempt to board. The tabloids showed up in droves, taking pictures and shouting questions, and I abandoned the idea forever.
Often, random strangers approached me during my morning walks and gave me their unsolicited advice about my supposed “fucking bachelor ways,” my “stubbornness,” and my “countdown to the crown.” They honestly knew more about my family’s history than my real friends.
Well, the one real friend I had, anyway.
“We’re approaching the destination, sir.” A guard’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Allow them a few moments to clean the floor, please.”
Two staff members rushed through the back doors of St. Thomas Hospital, helping the woman onto a stretcher. Within seconds, a small team vacuumed and cleaned the carpet floor, and my failed escape was over.
The door shut, and the guard moved to another car.
“So?” Dillon looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Would you like to continue this experiment in another town, or would you like to attend the charity event that starts within the hour?”
“Neither,” I said. “Give me the third option of letting me drown in the River Thames.”
“I only give that to you if there’s a zero percent chance you’ll choose it,” he said. “You look like you’re at about sixty percent today.”
Eighty.
Before I could tell him to take me home, my phone sounded with a video call from the person I hated most.
My father.
“Good morning, Satan,” I answered.
“You look like utter shit.” His face appeared on-screen. “Where the hell are you?”
“Getting ready for a charity social.”
“No, that’s where you’re supposed to be. Everyone is here waiting for you as usual. Where are you really?”
Dillon pulled into traffic without me asking.
“I’m on my way.”
“Well, good. We’ll need to talk in private the moment this event is over. It’s very important.”
“You should probably look up what the phrase ‘in private’ means, then.”
“It means just you and me.”
“You and I.” I rolled my eyes.“It also means I won’t see bits and pieces of our conversation floating in the press days later. Strange how that always seems to happen…”
“It’s part of the game, son.”
“I’ve told you I’d rather not play.”
“It’d be a lot more enjoyable if you stick to the storylines we’ve set.” He smiled through gritted teeth. “I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.”
“If you want to craft a story, call your favorite author and ask him to write it.”
“Funny.” He laughed. “You know, you’re sounding a lot like your late mother these days.”
“Tread softly, Satan.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I’m just saying … Bless her poor soul.”
“At least she had one.”
“She did.” His fake smile widened. “Well, you’re old enough to remember how terribly things ended for her when she didn’t play by the rules,” he said. “The best you can do is learn from her mistake, and be a bit more grateful for this amazingly privileged life you lead. No one feels any sympathy for a man who has everything, and no one ever will.”
“You are aware that my mother thought you were a demon in disguise, right?”
