The Bachelor Pact

Yours for the weekend...

give or take forever.

Desperate not to be single at her sister’s wedding, Andrea Payne offers to pay a total stranger to be her date. But the hunk who turns her down is Gage Fleming, the man who just hired her! To keep her on the job, Gage says yes. But when their ruse turns to real passion, they must choose—end it now...or make it last?

A former job-hopper, JESSICA LEMMON resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing supersexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine) and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers. You can learn more at jessicalemmon.com.

Also by Jessica Lemmon

Lone Star Lovers

A Snowbound Scandal

A Christmas Proposition

Best Friends, Secret Lovers

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Temporary to Tempted

Jessica Lemmon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09223-4

TEMPORARY TO TEMPTED

© 2019 Jessica Lemmon

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Epilogue

About the Publisher

One

Prospect number seven was not going well.

Andrea Payne’s eyelids drooped as Dr. Christopher Miller yammered on. At this rate hell would freeze solid and Satan would win a gold medal in figure skating before she found an appropriate plus-one for her sister’s wedding.

Her sister Gwen was the second to last of the Payne women to marry, which left Andy dead last. Not that Andy had ever been anywhere near walking down a runner in a wedding gown, but this marriage would widen the gap already setting her apart from her married—and one soon-to-be married—sisters.

Years ago, when she’d moved to Seattle, Andy had set out to prove that she didn’t need a boyfriend; didn’t need anyone. She’d set out to prove that in business, in life, she could stand on her achievements and skills.

In her family, charm and poise were worth more than achievements, and for that she could blame her mother, former Miss Ohio Estelle Payne. Andy would settle for relationships with high-paying clients, thank you very much. There was a contract between them, after all. That was sort of like marriage.

She returned her attention to her date, boredom having set in a while ago. It was a shame he wasn’t going to work out. On paper, Christopher was everything she was looking for in a date for her sister’s wedding. He was a doctor, well-dressed, nice-looking and comfortable talking about himself.

Really comfortable.

“Anyway, I was able to help out a patient in his time of need, which is what this job is all about.” He arched his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, trying to appear humble. “He was lucky I was there.”

Womp.

She’d tried her ex-boyfriends first—a whopping total of three of them—over the last month and a half before resorting to a dating app that had resulted in three other duds and “lucky number seven,” Christopher here.

She gulped down the last of her chardonnay and flagged the waitress for a refill. Her date never broke stride.

“It wasn’t the first time I’ve been tasked with removing a mole, but it’s never an easy fight, and far more dangerous than anyone would imagine.”

She sucked in air through her nose and plastered on what she hoped was a genial smile while surreptitiously checking out her surroundings. She’d noticed a trio at the bar earlier, and her attention returned there again. A guy and a girl who hadn’t taken their eyes off each other and another guy who was there as a third wheel but didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. She’d assumed he was waiting for his date while he had drinks with the couple, but then Andy noticed him flirting with the bartender. Maybe she was his girlfriend, though nothing between them hinted that they knew each other on an intimate level.

People-watching was one of Andy’s favorite pastimes. She enjoyed making up stories about strangers, testing her observation skills. She only wished there was a way she could find out if she was right about her instincts.

The single guy—a gut call—at the bar was handsome in an earthy way, his light brown hair winding into curls here and there like it was in need of a trim, his shadowed beard a far cry from Christopher’s sharply shaven jawline. Where Christopher resembled a firm pillar in a Brooks Brothers suit, the guy at the bar was in an approachable button-down pale-blue-and-white checked shirt, his tie—if there’d ever been one—long since tossed, and the sleeves cuffed and pushed to his elbows. He was drinking a bottle of beer, an expensive IPA if she wasn’t mistaken, and that made her like him more.

“Andy?”

She jerked her attention to Christopher, who was a dark-haired, poor man’s version of Chris Hemsworth. Not bad for a girl who was desperately seeking a date, but something about the good doctor was bothering her. Particularly that he was full of crap. Brimming with it, in fact.

How would she tolerate the entirety of a four-day wedding with him?

“Lost you there.” He smirked and then continued the story of his latest medical triumph, talking down to her as if she still held her first job working part-time at a perfume counter. Not that he’d know what she did for a living. He never asked. If this bozo knew who he was trying to impress, he’d shut his mouth like a sprung bear trap.

She wondered what ole Christopher would say if he knew she was the Andy Payne, master of marketers. Sultan of sales. The oft-sought-after, rarely duplicated expert who was essentially a puff of smoke.

Everyone thought she was a man...on paper. She’d kept her identity a secret from everyone—including the many publications who’d interviewed her.

The New York Times.

Forbes.

Fortune.

That random mention in Entertainment Weekly.

Andy Payne was known for whipping companies into shape, and throughout her illustrious five-year career she’d managed to garner the attention of others with a clean black-and-white website and zero personal or identifying information about herself. When she showed up at the company, they knew on sight that she was a woman, but by then they were under her spell...and they’d signed a nondisclosure agreement.

Mostly she worked with men and, as she’d experienced in her first attempt at beginning a business as Andrea Anderson (last name chosen for alliteration), complete with a mauve and silver website filled with flowery words and cursive fonts, male clients didn’t want to pay her what she was worth.

Enter her new identity. Andrea was easily changed to Andy, and she used her real last name. She let her clients’ assumptions that she was male work in her favor.

“...not that I need another house in Tahiti.” Christopher offered a smug smile and leaned back in his chair. Apparently, that was her cue to swoon or something.

She’d wasted enough time. First on her exes and now on the Find Love app. The wedding was in two weeks and she didn’t have time for another round of failed interviews disguised as dates.

Andy hated to admit it, but in a deep dark corner of her heart she longed to be more like her sisters. She desired praise and approval from her mother. She wanted not necessarily to “fit in” but she would love not to stand out. In this case that meant appearing happily coupled off and avoiding needling observations from family members like that cousin at her sister Carroll’s wedding.

I wish I was brave enough to show up at a wedding alone. If I didn’t have a date, I would’ve just stayed home.

It wasn’t enough to have a cardboard stand-in by her side, no, no. Andy needed to impress. Ideally her date could thwart those sorts of comments before they started.

Sadly, as impressive as Christopher believed he was, he wouldn’t cut it as a proper wedding date.

Still. He was all she had. Time to get real.

“Christopher. I selected your profile because I need a date for my sister’s wedding. The gig is three nights, four days in amazing and luxurious Crown, Ohio. Your airfare will be covered and your hotel room will be separate, but also covered. You will be tasked with being my date, pretending to find everything I say amusing, and impressing my mother and father. You’re skilled at bragging about how great you are but I will also need you to recognize that I’m in the room if we have any hope of pulling this off. Are you up for the mission I’ve presented you, or do you want to call it a night?”

He watched her carefully, an uncertain look on his face. “Are you—You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack. Which I hear you know a lot about.”

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“At a wedding.”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward and squinted one eye, his lips pursing as if deciding if the trip to Ohio would be worth his time, energy and effort.

Andy’s palms were sweating. Not because she was excited by the doctor, but because her search might finally be over.

Then the idiot blurted, “Do we at least get to fuck?”

Yeah. They were so done.

“Good night, Christopher. I’ll take care of the check.”

“Wait, Andy—”

She tossed twenty bucks on the table to cover their drinks and marched to the ladies’ room. The money would cover the single drink they’d each had and then she could go home and—

And what?

She was flat out of solutions. She had no close guy friends she could ask. Hell, she had no close girlfriends who might help her make a plan. What she had was money and prestige.

Just the thought of showing up at Gwen’s wedding alone pissed her off. She refused to fail. It wasn’t in her nature. Plus there was one other itty-bitty reason why showing up with a date was preferable.

One of her ex-boyfriends had been invited. She’d stooped low enough to call, which was bad enough, but then she learned that he was dating Gwen’s best friend who was in the wedding. So that was gross.

Matthew Higgins had greeted her like no time had passed since they parted. Well, well, well. If it isn’t her royal highness.

The Ice Queen. That was her.

Thank God she hadn’t asked him to be her date. She’d played it off like she’d simply thought of him out of the blue and wanted to “catch up” and then ended the call before she died of humiliation.

At the double sink, she dug through her purse for her lip gloss, which evidently she’d neglected to pack in her clutch. She sighed in defeat. It’d been a long month.

A long life.

Around the time she’d dated Matt, she’d been sure she’d wind up marrying eventually. Until he repeatedly teased her about her lack of warmth. She wasn’t enough for him, and as much as she wished she could refute that, she’d also seen evidence in her family of what she was lacking. She wasn’t as bubbly as Gwen. She wasn’t as bold as Kelli. She wasn’t as stylish as Ness. She wasn’t as athletic as Carroll. As one of five girls in the Payne family, Andy was the unofficial black sheep. She’d just as soon not draw even more attention to their differences by becoming the last single one. Yet here she was.

For all the confidence and kick-ass-ness she possessed at work, she didn’t want to be singled out or excluded from couples’ activities.

Plus, nothing chapped her ass more than giving up.

She peeked out of a crack in the swinging door of the ladies’ restroom to watch Christopher exit the bar. Thank God. Also, her twenty was still on the table, which was a plus. The last guy had taken her money and left, and she’d had to pay the waitress again.

There were no good men left in this city.

In the world.

“I can’t catch another bouquet without a date,” she whispered to herself. As humiliating as it was to catch the blasted thing—that her sisters always aimed her way—nothing was more humiliating than returning to the table with the flowers in hand and no date in sight. Guests always looked on in pity, as if she was going to die alone.

Her gaze snagged on the attractive guy at the bar and her back straightened with determination. If she was right about her observations, he was single. He was also sort of flirting with the bartender which hopefully meant he was looking.

Approaching him would be a random shot, but so had approaching every other guy she’d been out with. Maybe instead of taking home the cute bartender, he’d agree to bail out the too-serious, frosty, desperate-for-a-wedding-date single woman hiding in the ladies’ room.

Probably not.

But Andy wasn’t a failure.

She wouldn’t allow failure.

She stepped from the restroom and spotted him—alone. The guy with the attractive facial hair and almost boyish curls. Except everything about the sculpted jaw and rounded shoulders screamed man. He was alone. Which meant the couple he’d been with had gone elsewhere.

Now was her chance.

Maybe her last chance.

“Money,” she muttered.

She didn’t have time for a get-to-know-you chat followed by the prospect of a date followed by her warming up to mention, “Hey, so my sister is getting married in two weeks...” She had to cut through the small talk and arrow straight to the point. Cash would make that a hell of a lot easier. She opened her clutch to count her credit cards. Five. That should be enough.

She rounded the corner to the ATM at the back of the bar, a plan in mind and a glass of good chardonnay in her belly.

She would take the simple approach and ask him if she could pay him to come with her to Ohio. Enough with faux dating and weighing the odds. She needed a date, and hopefully this guy needed a couple grand.

On a mission, she slid the first of five credit cards into the machine and punched the withdrawal button.

She would find a date to Gwen’s wedding.

And she would find him tonight.

Two

Gage Fleming finished off his IPA and tipped the bottle’s neck at the bartender. “I’ll take the check when you have a second.”

Seattle had come out of a long winter and cool spring, and was now firmly entrenched in summer. The energy was different during the hot months. The skirts were shorter and the nights were longer, and for him, the workdays were longer, too. He hadn’t left his desk until well after seven thirty—hadn’t gotten here until well after eight thirty. Given the hellacious week he’d had at the office, it didn’t surprise him that he wasn’t as upbeat as usual.

“Sure thing.” Shelly was petite, wearing a ball cap with her ponytail sticking out of the back. Her lashes were thick, and her lips were shiny with gloss. Cute as she was, he didn’t plan on asking her out. Even though she was his type, from her shapely calves to her low-cut V-necked T-shirt with the bar’s gold-and-red emblem on it. Even though she’d been offering her smiles freely and borderline flirting back with him, Gage wasn’t feeling it.

His best buddy Flynn and Sabrina, his other best buddy turned Flynn’s girlfriend, had taken off a few minutes ago. Gage hung around at From Afar, finishing his beer after a long week and what felt like a longer workday.

He’d been friends with Flynn, Sabrina and Reid—who wasn’t in the country at the moment—since college. Sabrina being in the mix was nothing new. Her being in love with Flynn and vice versa: totally new.

Gage had said yes to the after-work beer, not thinking it’d be any different than any other hangout they’d had before. It had been different, though, since the couple couldn’t keep their hands or eyes on anything in the room but each other. But he couldn’t begrudge his friends. A few months back, Flynn and Sabrina had slipped from the friend zone to the in-zone. Flynn was the happiest he’d been in a long while.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” The cute blonde winked at him and moved away to greet another patron.

If he wasn’t mistaken, that lifting feeling in his chest was relief at his decision not to dance the dance with her. Flirting was easy—hell, second nature—to him. Asking her out wouldn’t be an issue. He had it down. He’d heard yes more times than no, and often heard “Yes!” shouted with exuberance later the same night in his bed.

Over the past few weeks, however, he’d noticed he was tired of the game. Going out on a few dates, a round or three of spectacular sex (or okay sex—but even okay sex was pretty damn good), and then finding his way out before things progressed to anything serious... If they got that far. Lately, he’d grown tired of the awkward parting in the middle of the night or the next morning. Tired of the walk of shame.

Thirty years old was too young to be this jaded.

You’re just tired after a long week. Don’t analyze it to death.

He leaned forward to pull his wallet from his back pocket, ready to pay and take his gloomy self home, when he noticed a stunning vision striding toward him. He froze, the scene unfolding in slow motion.

Strawberry blond hair washed over slim shoulders in a waterfall of color, bright against the narrow black sheath dress draped over her slender form. Electric blue eyes flashed with determination. She was long-limbed, her walk confident, and her full pink mouth was set in a firm, unsmiling line. One eyebrow was arched and she homed in on him like he was the target and she was a missile.

With his next breath, his libido returned. Lust slammed into his solar plexus and dried out his mouth.

Which made no sense.

In those heels, in that dress and with no smile to speak of, it was obvious he was in the presence of a way-too-serious woman. He’d had a close call with a woman like this one in his past, and he’d since decided that cute, bubbly bartenders were more his style.

Even so. Intrigued and more than a bit curious, he shoved his wallet back into his pocket when it became clear that this striking woman was coming right for him.

This one, he’d dance with. If only to shake things up a bit.

He’d buy her a drink, turn on the Fleming charm and see what happened. It’d been a while since a woman had snagged this much of his attention. Whether it was the strawberry blonde’s determination or the set of her small shoulders, he couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off her. How could anyone look that damned delicate and at the same time like she ate nails for breakfast?

He didn’t know. But he was going to find out. Something told him that she’d be worth it, no matter the cost.

“Shelly, I’ll have another IPA after all,” he said to the bartender, and as the strawberry blonde placed a manicured hand on the back of the bar stool next to him, he smoothly added, “and whatever she’s having.”

“You got it.” Shelly dipped her chin at the strawberry blonde. “What’ll it be?”

Strawberry yanked her gaze from Gage, her expression almost shocked that the bartender was talking to her. “Um. Chardonnay.”

Shelly fetched their drinks and Gage turned to greet his guest, pulling the stool out for her to sit.

“No. Thanks,” she replied coolly, almost like the “thanks” part was an afterthought.

Instinct told him that she wasn’t as cool and calm as she pretended to be. If she was actually the man-eater she portrayed, she’d look him in the eye right now. Instead, she appeared to be steeling herself for some sort of proposition. Maybe she’d had a bad breakup, needed a little rebound.

That he could do.

“Can’t enjoy your chardonnay without having a seat,” he replied easily, patting the stool with one hand. Her eyebrows slammed down over her pert nose and she pegged him with an expression that bordered on fury.