A stripper as my fake date to convince Dad I’m qualified to run his billion-dollar company?
If my dad hands Carmichael Chemicals to Matthews-the-Monkey,
the misogynistic snake will kill my life’s work—the Clean Water for Veterans initiative.
But Daddy thinks I’m not CEO material, because I’m happily single.
My brother suggests I bring his hockey-star best friend as my fake date to the upcoming executive retreat.
Clock is ticking. I’ve got no choice but to ride out this BS.
When I meet Ken Branch right outside Dad’s mansion, ready to walk in holding hands,
my stomach drops.
Broad shoulders, biceps straining his sleeves, dark designer jeans that fit like sin
He’s panty-melting hot, sure—but he’s also the “Thrustin Timberlake” I hooked up with three years ago.
The pole dancer who gave me the biggest Os of my life after a bachelorette party.
The worst part? My body remembers him all too well.
And he smirks at me like he already knows how I taste.
He does.
I should call this charade off.
But it’s too pucking late.
