Faking Love (eBook)

Fake My Boyfriend for Revenge

Sally Brooks (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
219 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-113085-2 (ISBN)

Infos

Megan is a world-famous boxer-strong, relentless, and undefeated in the ring. But when her ex-fiancé announces his engagement to the woman he cheated with, Megan finds herself fighting a very public battle she never trained for. The tabloids are ruthless, the rumors relentless, and everyone is waiting to see if she's still heartbroken.

She needs a solution. Fast.

Chris is a struggling ghostwriter barely scraping by, hoping for the one opportunity that could change his life. A chance backstage meeting at one of Megan's fights brings them together-and sparks an idea neither of them expected.

Megan offers Chris a deal: pretend to be her boyfriend and help shut down the gossip once and for all. In return, she'll pay him generously, make him the ghostwriter for her explosive memoir, and even list him as a co-writer-giving him the career boost he's been dreaming of.

What starts as a carefully staged fake relationship quickly becomes harder to control. Public appearances, forced closeness, and late-night writing sessions blur the lines between pretending and wanting something real. Megan isn't looking for love, and Chris knows getting involved with a celebrity can only end badly-but their hearts have other plans.

When feelings get real and the truth comes out, will a relationship built on a lie be strong enough to survive?

A steamy, emotional fake-dating sports romance featuring a celebrity boxer, a struggling writer, and a love neither of them planned.

Note: This is book 1 in The Sports Romance Fake Relationship Series.

Textauszug

Chapter10:

Meagan POV

I thanked God that Jane was able to find someone to act as a decoy for me to get through the crowd of reporters. As we exited the limo, Jane and the other woman who was going to cover for me as "Megan" walked out first.

The woman had on an oversized jersey and baseball cap to obscure her face. She slouched her shoulders and looked fairly athletic, so she could pass for me from a distance. The reporters immediately swarmed her.

"Megan! Over here!" They shouted, cameras flashing.

I stayed in the limo a moment longer, pulling my cap down lower. When the reporters were focused on the decoy, I was able to slip out and through the doors unnoticed.

As I moved through the entrance, I passed by a guy in a suit and glasses who clearly didn't look like a reporter either.

He was tall and skinny, with dishevelled hair. Our eyes met briefly as I helped steady him when a photographer shoved into him.

"Easy there," I muttered, grabbing his arm to stop him from falling over. He mumbled a thanks but didn't get a good look at my face thankfully.

Once inside, I quickly found the locker room and let out a relieved sigh. I could hear the muffled shouts and camera clicks still coming from outside where they mobbed my stand-in. Shaking my head, I started getting changed into my actual outfit for the bout.

First, I peeled off the baggy jersey, enjoying the feeling of shedding that dingy disguise. I wiped the smears of makeup off my face, removing that fake mask as well. Stripping down to just my sports bra and compression shorts, I took a moment to study myself in the full-length mirror.

The bruises and cuts from my last sparring session were still fading across my toned abdomen. My knuckles were scabbed over, permanent reminders of the price this dream extracts. Slowly trailing my fingers over the discolored marks, I felt a surge of fierce pride. These weren't blemishes to be ashamed of - they were warpaint.

Gritting my teeth, I forcefully shoved away the memories of Miles sneering at my "unfeminine" battle scars, his cruel words echoing like arrows bent on sapping my resolve. Not today. Today, I would embrace the evidence of my indomitable spirit fully.

With a renewed sense of conviction, I pulled on the crisp, new black shorts bearing my signature logo - a snarling tiger ready to maul any foolish enough to stumble into its den. As the familiar material hugged my muscular legs, I could feel that feral power thrumming through me once more.

Next, I tugged on the matching sports bra, relishing in the comforting compression across my chest. No longer would I be confined by ostentatious getups picked solely to tantalize the male gaze and cater to Miles' vanity. This attire was purely functional, an extension of the single-minded focus I'd need to handily dispatch my opponent.

Finally, I slid my feet into a pair of well-worn boxing boots, giving them an experimental flex to work out any lingering stiffness from the fresh laces.

These were my favorite - a small indulgence that had weathered countless triumphs and gut-wrenching lows with me over the years. They were my lucky charms, grounding me in a tactile connection to my blood-soaked journey.

As I laced up the final boot, there was a tentative rap at the door. I glanced up to see Jane's weathered face peeking in, her expression a mixture of pride and concern.

"What are you doing? You're going to interview not the Ring! For lord sake! , kiddo?" She didn't wait for a response before pushing her way fully inside, eyes sweeping over my ring-ready appearance in a calculating assessment. "Well don't you just look like the fiercest little hellcat ready to scratch someone's wa eyes out," she chuckled approvingly.

I offered her a wry smirk, throwing a playful jab in her direction. "Keep it up and find out firsthand, old woman."

Jane's gravelly laugh filled the room as she swatted my fist away with significantly less effort than it would've taken in her prime. "That's my girl - all vinegar and venom. You're gonna need every ounce of that spit-fire today but not in this outfit your facing reporers not opponent."

Exhaling a steadying breath, I nodded in grim acknowledgment. "Yeah I know... isn't this okay?."

"Hell no!" She yelled. "Now go and change I bring you the right clothes for this.

With that she pushed me and I quickly went in while the reporter are waiting and change into a sleek black jumpsuit with knee-high boots.

The fitted outfit hugged my toned curves as she fastened the zipper up to her collarbone.

With an approving nod to my reflection - looking poised and powerful, ready to face the press.

"Not so bad. Jane Sure knows my taste."

....

As soon as she emerged, a voice barked out. "It's Megan! She's out Over here!"

She turned to find a swarm of reporters and cameramen congregated like vultures circling fresh carrion. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Megan plastered on a polished smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Just a few questions, please." Her tone was measured but left no room for argument.

The queries came in rapid succession, each one a prodding dagger aimed at her still-raw psyche.

"What really happened at the weigh-in debacle?"

"Are the rumors about your bitter breakup with Miles true?"

"How do you plan to bounce back from this very public setback?"

Megan fielded each query with a practiced poise that belied the inner turmoil still festering beneath the surface. Her carefully-crafted responses revealed just enough to satiate while shielding her from having to expose the full depths of those gaping wounds.

"I'm taking this one day at a time," she responded, every word clipped yet controlled. "My focus is solely on the future and the opportunities ahead."

The relentless barrage continued unabated as the vultures sensed lingering traces of blood in the water. Megan's smile became more strained with each incisive jab and invasive inquiry into her personal life.

Then, a welcome reprieve materialized from the throngs in the form of Jake's ever-present lopsided grin.

"Alright, folks - that's enough for now," he interjected, raising his hands in a placating gesture. His voice carried an authoritative timbre that simply would not be ignored. "Megan needs to prepare for the event. She'll take more questions after."

The insistent shouts and rapid-fire questioning continued, but Jake simply shook his head and began ushering Megan away from the melee. She fell into step beside him gratefully, the tension ebbing slightly from her shoulders once they'd escaped the scrum.

"Thanks for that," she muttered, carefully keeping her expression neutral for any lingering cameras. "I'm not sure how much more of the third degree I could've taken."

Jake's grin softened as he gave her bicep a reassuring squeeze. "Always got your back. I know better than anyone how those parasites operate."

They continued down a service hallway, the dull roar of the press area fading behind them. Only once they'd reached a utility closet did Jake finally stop, holding the door open for Megan to duck inside. She leaned back against the shelving unit, letting out a weary exhalation as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"God, I'd nearly forgotten what a fucking circus this was," she grumbled, wincing at the tremor in her voice. "Miles always insisted on playing up that bullshit 'glamorous power couple' angle for the cameras, even when things were..." She trailed off, jaw clenching as she fought to keep the resurgent memories at bay.

Jake's brows knitted together in a paternal expression of concern, but he remained silent, knowing she needed to exorcise these demons aloud. After a pregnant pause, Megan continued in a strained mutter.

"Even when he was talk shit out of me behind closed doors, we still had to plaster on those nauseating fake smiles and play make-believe for the vultures." She barked out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "God, I was so completely brainwashed and gaslit by that manipulative bastard. If you hadn't pulled me out of that, Janey, I probably would've-"

Her voice finally cracked, the raw anguish she'd been harboring threatening to burst free. Jake reached out, calloused hands cupping her face as he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes.

"But I did pull you out, honey," he stated, his gravelly tone leaving no room for argument. "You're here, you're whole, and you're about to show the world just how much of a forged-in-fire badass you really are. That bastard doesn't get to define a goddamn thing about your life anymore - not after tonight."

Megan felt herself giving an imperceptible nod, her throat too constricted with unshed emotion to formulate a proper reply. Jake's words rang with an unshakable truth she could anchor herself to when the turbulent waters threatened to pull her under once more.

They stood like that for a protracted moment, her mentor's gruff yet infinitely paternal presence enveloping her like a soothing balm. Eventually, the maelstrom subsided enough for her to regain her breath and straighten her shoulders.

"You're right," she rasped, swiping away the glistening moisture from her lashes. "This is my night to re-write the narrative on my terms. No more playing the victim - it's time to show the world the Megan Williams they should've been seeing all along."

Jake's features split into a proud, almost feral grin as he pulled her into a brief, grounding embrace. "That's my girl," he rumbled into her hairline. "Now get your ass out there and tell the media what the need to hear." He winked.

And remember the Ghostwriter you asked for is...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-113085-4 / 0001130854
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-113085-2 / 9780001130852