Engaged to Mr. Perfect: An Accidental Marriage Romance (Mr. Right Series Book 3) Read online

  Engaged to Mr. Perfect

  An Accidental Marriage Romance

  Lilian Monroe

  Contents

  1. Meghan

  2. Meghan

  3. Andrew

  4. Meghan

  5. Andrew

  6. Meghan

  7. Andrew

  8. Meghan

  9. Andrew

  10. Meghan

  11. Andrew

  12. Meghan

  13. Andrew

  14. Meghan

  15. Andrew

  16. Meghan

  17. Andrew

  18. Meghan

  19. Andrew

  20. Meghan

  21. Andrew

  22. Meghan

  23. Andrew

  24. Meghan

  25. Andrew

  26. Meghan

  27. Andrew

  28. Meghan

  29. Andrew

  30. Meghan

  31. Andrew

  32. Meghan

  33. Andrew

  34. Meghan

  35. Andrew

  36. Meghan

  37. Andrew

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Lilian Monroe

  Knocked Up by the CEO

  1. Harper

  2. Zach

  3. Harper

  4. Zach

  5. Harper

  Afterword

  Copyright © 2019 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author except for short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.

  1

  Meghan

  The sunlight assaults my eyelids as I try to blink them open. I didn’t close the blinds last night, obviously. When I squint my eyes open, I realize that those aren’t actually my blinds.

  My heart skips a beat and my whole body stiffens, and then I remember that I’m not at home. I’m in Vegas. Memories from yesterday flood my mind—my sister’s wedding. The dress. The cake. The birds.

  Oh God, the birds! My stomach roils as I think of the wedding disaster. My family will never forgive me. Even if my parents decide to accept me back into the fold, my sister will never speak to me again.

  I groan and turn onto my back, throwing my arm over my face to block the daggers of sunlight that stream mercilessly in through the window.

  The rest of the night is a blur. I remember Andrew and I going to a bar. I remember shots… then it all turns fuzzy.

  I try to swallow, but my tongue has turned to sandpaper. My teeth have an unpleasant furry coating.

  Then, like the beating of a drum, my headache starts.

  Pain throbs behind my eyes and out to my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut again, bringing my hand to my forehead and groaning.

  What happened last night?

  I take a deep breath and try to remember past the sixth shot of tequila.

  There were shots. Lots and lots of shots.

  We laughed.

  I groan again.

  The sexiest man I’ve ever met, who also happens to be my client. Why did I ask him to come along with me? Now I’m in Vegas, in this swanky hotel room, with my attractive, irresistible, NFL-star client.

  Then, I remember the kiss.

  My eyes fly open. Sunlight be damned.

  The kiss!

  Well, more than one kiss, really. It was more of a kissing session than anything.

  Heat flushes through my body when I think of kissing him. I kissed my client. My sexy, manly, hunk of a client. I kissed him in Vegas. We got drunk together.

  I vaguely remember a limo ride, and lots of laughing. I frown.

  This is so not like me. I like to go out, sure, but I don’t usually black out. I don’t usually ruin my sister’s wedding either, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Maybe I got wasted because he was there, and I needed to take the edge off my nervousness.

  I bring my hands up to my face and rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, taking deep, calming breaths. I rub my hands all over my face to try to wipe away the dirty, hungover feeling that’s clinging to every pore.

  That’s when I feel it.

  Cold, smooth metal wrapped around the ring finger of my left hand.

  In shock, I open my eyes again and squint against the bright sunlight.

  My heart drops straight into the churning, bubbling mess that is my stomach and I think I might throw up.

  There, on my finger, glittering innocently in the bright morning sun, is a massive diamond ring with a matching wedding band.

  I gasp, stretching my fingers out and staring at the rock.

  Then, and only then, do I realize that I’m not alone in bed. A man shifts in bed beside me, rolling away from me as he snorts and starts to snore.

  But I don’t need to see his face to know who it is.

  I’d recognize every inch of his body. Lord knows I’ve dreamt of it enough.

  I glance at the ring again, taking a deep breath.

  We couldn’t have…?

  He snorts again as if to answer my unspoken thoughts. Gingerly, trying my best not to disturb the bed, I prop myself up on my elbows.

  The blanket falls down and I gasp again. I’m not wearing any clothes. The air in the hotel room hits my chest and my nipples harden instantly. I grab the covers, peeking underneath as I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m still wearing my underwear.

  Although… would it have been that bad if he and I had done the deed? He’d have put his broad, strong hands all over my body. I’d have touched every ridge and valley of his chiseled muscles. He’d have filled me up with his big, thick…

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. His left arm is curled underneath his head, but if I just shift the pillow slightly, I’ll be able to see—

  Yep.

  There it is.

  A simple, elegant gold band.

  My blood runs cold and my eyes widen. I shake my head.

  “No, no, no!”

  My whisper sounds loud in the still room, and the blood starts thumping in my ear. The room tilts sideways and I have to hang on to the edge of the bed in case the mattress decides to throw me to the ground.

  I lay back down, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

  Reaching through every inch of my mind, I try to remember.

  I scrap together every fleeting memory, every image, every smell, everything that I can remember from last night. And yet, I can’t remember. The last thing I remember was the limousine.

  Panic claws at my throat as I look down at my ring again.

  I need to get out of here.

  I slide off the bed a bit too quickly, landing less than gracefully on my rump. I grunt, swallowing down a wave of nausea as I lean back and lie on the carpet. The ceiling spins a few times and then comes to a stop. Then, I’m on the move.

  I peek up over the edge of the bed to make sure he hasn’t woken up.

  Nope, still a lump in the covers.

  A sexy, manly lump. A lump who appears to be married to me.

  I shake my head. Now is not the time.

  With a deep breath to settle my stomach, I peer around the room for any clue as to where I would have left my clothes.

  I see his tuxedo jacket and my ridiculous pink, ruffled bridesmaid dress thrown over the chaise in the corner of the room.

  “Oh my God…” I breathe.

  My bra is hanging off the chandelier above the bed, laughing at me. What the hell happened in here?!

&
nbsp; I leave the bra for now. I won’t be able to retrieve it without waking him, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

  Right now, I just need to get out of here and talk to Naomi. I need to figure out what the heck happened, and then I can deal with the fallout. I’m not equipped to deal with his intoxicating presence when I’m nearly naked, and apparently married to him.

  I shuffle on my hands and knees towards my suitcase and I find a tee shirt. I pull it on over my head, struggling to get my neck through the hole. I pat my hair, frowning as it crunches between my fingers.

  Oh, right—the three cans of hairspray that were emptied into it.

  I take a deep breath and look down at myself. I’m a mess. My nipples are still hard, so I cross my arms and stand up.

  As soon as I stand, a wave of nausea floods my veins. I grip the wall to try to steady myself, but it’s no use. This nausea isn’t going down, it’s just getting worse and worse and worse.

  I’m going to throw up, I know I will.

  I haven’t got a hope of stopping it. Saliva is filling my mouth as my stomach turns, and I know I have three, maybe four seconds to find a suitable receptacle.

  Silence be damned, I need to puke.

  I throw the bathroom door open and bee-line to the toilet. As soon as my face nears the porcelain, the entire contents of my stomach come up, leaving me gasping for air as I hug the toilet bowl.

  I sink down onto my knees, leaning my forehead against my arms as I take deep, cleansing breaths.

  “You want some water?” Says a deep, growly voice behind me. I freeze.

  Great.

  I spit the last of my saliva into the toilet and flush before turning to see him. He smiles at me, taking a step forward and brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that are stuck to my forehead. I ignore the embarrassment that burns in my stomach.

  “Hey, Andrew.”

  “Hey,” he says, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. Our fingers brush as he hands it to me, and a shiver of desire courses down my spine. I take a couple gulps, closing my eyes as I let the water settle into my stomach.

  “Better?”

  “Marginally.”

  He chuckles, extending his hand and helping me up. I find myself falling into his arms as he wraps them around me. He makes a soft, rumbling noise as he strokes my back.

  God, he smells good. How is that even possible right now? I smell like a garbage disposal.

  I push away from his chest and look him in the eye.

  “How much do you remember from last night?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

  A grin spreads across his perfect lips and I feel my core heat up despite myself.

  “I remember enough,” he chuckles. “Wifey.”

  2

  Meghan

  Three weeks earlier…

  The cafe door makes a delicate jingling sound when it opens. I’ve heard it dozens of times since Naomi, Ariana and I arrived about an hour ago.

  This time, it’s different.

  This time, something compels me to look up.

  As soon as I see them, my eyes widen. A beautiful couple walks in the door, taking off their sunglasses in a smooth, practiced motion.

  They look like movie stars. They might as well be movie stars! Their faces have been plastered all over the news for months.

  I’m not a huge football fan, but even I know who they are. They were all over the news last year. Everyone heard about Farrah Locklear and the Matthews brothers, and how she jumped from one to the other. She was engaged to the first one, and then found him cheating and started dating his brother.

  I’m not going to lie—it took some guts to do that. I have a quiet admiration for her. I’m not sure I’d have been able to handle the vicious gossip that she must have endured.

  And now she’s here with her husband, Jesse.

  I’m not star-struck or anything. I don’t care about any of that. There are enough professional athletes that come into the physical therapy clinic where Naomi and I work for me to be used to them.

  That’s not why this is so tense for me. I glance at Naomi—she hasn’t seen them yet.

  The thing is, Farrah also happens to be Max’s ex-girlfriend. Max is Naomi’s husband. Naomi never told me the whole story, but apparently Farrah broke his heart in college.

  Naomi told me a few months ago that she met Farrah once, and she’d been quite nice. Still, it’s never comfortable to be around your husband’s ex-girlfriend, especially not when she’s making news for being a supposed heartbreaker.

  I glance at Naomi and open my mouth, but she and Ariana are in a deep, intense conversation about the merits of blueberry versus chocolate chip muffins. Both of them have their backs to the door, so they haven’t seen the couple walk in. But in about thirty seconds, when Farrah and Jesse Matthews walk to the counter, there’s no way they’ll miss us sitting at this table.

  It’s like watching a bomb go off in slow motion. I glance at Farrah and Jesse, and I know the time until detonation is now closer to fifteen seconds, maybe ten.

  Naomi’s eyebrows draw together as she finally notices the expression on my face.

  “What?”

  “Um.”

  I glance at Ariana. She’s staring at the remnants of blueberry muffin on her plate, completely oblivious. I give Naomi a loaded look and nod to a spot behind her shoulder.

  Her chair creaks softly when she turns her head.

  This isn’t a big deal, right? People run into their exes all the time. They’ll probably see us and we’ll have a few awkward moments of stiff chit-chat. Then, everyone will breathe a collective sigh of relief when they politely make some excuse to take their leave.

  Maybe they won’t even come over here. Maybe they’ll pretend they don’t see us. Wouldn’t that be great!

  Either way, it’s not a big deal.

  Right?

  But as soon as Naomi spots the couple, she stiffens. I see the tension ripple down her neck as she freezes in place, turning slowly to glance at Ariana. She’s stopped working on her PhD in Muffin Studies and realized who just walked in. Her eyes are wide. She opens her mouth and closes it again, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  Farrah laughs at the counter, glancing up at Jesse and squeezing his forearm. My eyebrows twitch upwards and my heart softens. No matter what people say about her, she definitely looks like she’s in love.

  I watch them pay at the till and turn to walk in our direction, towards the pick-up counter. My mouth is dry. The din of the cafe seems to get quieter, and I know this bomb is about to explode. It’ll happen any second now. In three, two, one…

  “Naomi?”

  Farrah looks surprised, but she smiles. Her husband, Jesse, pauses and looks at the three of us curiously. Naomi turns her head, and the explosion goes off.

  Except… it doesn’t.

  “Farrah!” She says. “What… How are you?” Naomi is graceful. She clears her throat and gets up. She greets Farrah with a kiss on the cheek and then shakes Jesse’s hand. The whole interaction happens with a civility I hadn’t expected.

  “We’re just here for the weekend,” Farrah explains. “I had to clear out a storage locker and we thought we’d make a vacation out of it.”

  “Why not?” Naomi smiles. “The weather in New York has been so good this summer. Do you miss it?”

  “New York?” Farrah asks. She laughs, shaking her head. “Not at all. Life in Boston is a lot more peaceful.””

  She smiles, glancing at Jesse. He squeezes his arm around her shoulder and a pang passes through my heart. They do look really great together. They look just like Naomi and Max do: completely in love.

  Farrah takes a deep breath. “Well, it was great running into you all. Nice to meet you Naomi, Meghan. We should be heading out.”

  As expected, we all breathe a sigh of relief when they walk away. I glance at Ariana, my eyebrows up near my hairline.

  “That was more civil than I expected. I t
hought she was a she-devil!”

  Naomi chuckles, shaking her head. “I used to think so. She sent Max an apology message last year—I assume it’s when she met Jesse. She’s not a bad person, and she seems really happy with Jesse.”

  “That’s very mature of you,” I grin. Another pang passes through my heart. Everyone looks so annoyingly happy. And here I am, on my own, having to pretend to smile along with it all. At least I have Ariana.

  Naomi seems to sense my mood.

  “You nervous about Vegas?”

  I take a deep breath. Both Ariana and Naomi are staring at me expectantly. I shrug. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe?” I laugh. “I don’t know.”

  Ariana tilts her head. “When was the last time you saw them all?”

  “Six years ago.”

  She whistles. Naomi takes a deep breath. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not,” I laugh. “Last time I saw them, they told me they never wanted to see me again. They told me I’d brought shame on the Ainsworth name and basically disowned me.”

  “Shit,” Ariana says. “And I thought my family was fucked up. All that because you did that sugar baby stuff in college?”

  I nod. “When they said they wanted me to marry that hotel owner guy and I refused, they told me they wouldn’t pay for college. It was either that, or stripping, and I didn’t want to take my clothes off,” I laugh.

  Naomi sips her coffee. “So the sugar baby thing…”