Marrying My Best Friend's Sister: A Billionaire Enemies to Lovers MC Romance (Secret Love) by Nikki Bloom (free ebook novel .txt) 📗

handed me into the car. “Careful.” He held the top of my head so I would not bang it. He went round to the other side, as the driver put the bags in the trunk.

“Did you pack everything we need?”

“Yes, my love. I did. Or rather, your assistant did. It’s going to be great, don’t worry.”

We were driving to Connecticut where Domenic was scheduled to receive a prestigious award for his work with disadvantaged youth. The Chadwick Thurgood Prize for Excellence would be presented to him by the current CEO of Tech Dyne, who’d approached us last year to look into ways that our two entities might collaborate.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” I told him, reaching out to kiss his cheek. “I’m just so proud of you.”

He turned and smiled at me. “You make me who I am, my love. I’m so glad we decided to do this marriage of convenience thing. Thank you for thinking of it.”

I reached forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips, feeling just a little bit smug. “Yeah, it kind of worked out, didn’t it?”

— THE END —

Mechanic’s Home Run SNEAK PEEK

Hazel came right out of left field,

and so did her unexpected pregnancy…

All I did was fill up for gas and there she was.

Grease smudge across her cheek.

Overalls and an old band tee.

Hair in a messy bun.

But, oh, that smile. It got me the second I saw it.

If I wasn’t so much of a gentleman, I would have pushed her onto the hood of the nearest car and well…

I’ll let you fill in the blanks.

Just know that I was thinking about it, too.

For a whole season.

The next thing I know it’s off-season and I’m riding in her pickup truck.

She starts telling me all about her dad and then, all of a sudden, she’s proposing.

Talk about a curveball.

But hey, that’s why they call me an MVP.

I can hit those curveballs right out of the park.

So, yes, I agreed to fake a marriage.

Every great actor knows he has to make his part believable.

Oh, there’d be flowers – rose petals even.

Late nights.

By the seventh-inning stretch, it was a totally different ball game.

Rejection. Fireworks. Tragedy. Pregnancy.

We had it all.

But most of all, I had caught feelings.

It wasn’t a game of pretend anymore.

This wasn’t some throwaway game in Spring Training.

This was game seven of the World Series.

It was time to get that diamond ring on her finger – to walk her down the aisle – for real.

Man, I can’t believe I’m saying this but…

I think I might love her more than baseball.

But will she be there to witness my grand slam? Or will she be cheering for the other team?

Prologue

Hazel

It was a typical November day, as far as I was concerned. Perhaps it was a little nippier than usual with a cold snap coming in from the north, but tucked away in the garage, I barely felt those arctic winds. And underneath the hood of my old pickup truck, I was actually working up a sweat.

“Your fuel line has sprung a leak again.” It was my dad. He was under the truck and helping me with the repairs like he always did. We were a working pair — father and daughter — and the only certified mechanics for miles. And yet, it seemed that more often than not, I was fixing up my truck instead of anyone else’s. Most people would have brought it to the junkyard long ago, but I got a pretty stubborn streak from my father even though he would never dare admit it. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t stubborn — he was always right.

“Of course it is,” I answered. “I’ll patch it up until the replacement line arrives from the factory. I’m going to have to give them a call and check on the status. It better not be sitting at the warehouse…”

“Let me call them. I’ll be sure to give them a piece of my mind.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s why they delayed the delivery in the first place.”

“They needed to hear what I had to say. It isn’t my fault that they took offense to the truth. Back in my day…” Dad went off to tell me how when he was a young man, people weren’t afraid to work for a living and that Americans were proud to work blue-collar jobs so long as it put food on the table. Nowadays? “These damned kids want nothing but their fancy phones and their good-for-nothing gadgets. I’m sorry but this new generation will be the death of this nation.” He pulled himself out from under the car and smeared grease across his brow in an attempt to wipe away the sweat that had gathered there. “It is a crying shame. I served this country. I laid my life on the line and for what?”

Dad liked to rant. You could call it one of his pastimes, and left to his own devices, he’d go on for a good half hour if not more. Most of the time, I let him get whatever was bothering him off his chest, but today I caught sight of something you just didn’t see every day. “Dad. Would you look at that?”

He stopped mid-sentence and followed the line of my outstretched finger. In the distance was a vintage car, cruising along Mr. Bayard’s cornfields. The pearl black paint job was made even more extravagant by the mid-morning sun and the contrast of green in the background. With every turn, the chrome finishing would reflect the sun just like a diamond might.

“Who do you think it is?” I asked, squinting. “Must be an outsider because if someone around here had a car like that, we would know about it.”

“Might be whoever bought that plot of land down by Berry Creek. The paper says it's some up-and-coming baseball player who just got signed to play for the Rockies, but I don’t believe a lick of what they say. Why would a fellow like that want to