For LL,

  Wine time yet?

  Acknowledgments

  When I set out to write Dax and Becca’s book, I wanted to explore what would happen when a one-night stand turned into a two-week stand that eventually turned into forever. Forced proximity is my favorite trope, so writing a rained-in romance was a blast! I know I say this a lot—but this book was really special. I teared up when I wrote it, and each and every time I read it! Something about this couple got to me, and I hope they get to you too.

  Thanks to my agent, Nicole, for all you do. To Shannon Richard for your advice on this book, and to Jules Bennett for brainstorming with me—your idea: “Hey, what if she liked to cook?” ended up being a huge plot point! Big hugs to my Facebook group, the Lemmondrops, for your enthusiasm for this book when I shared a few early passages. You all keep me smiling.

  And last but not least, thank you to my readers. You’ve followed me from bad boys to billionaires to dark angst and back around to romantic comedies. I’m so grateful to have you!

  Rumor Has It - Excerpt

  The Real Love series continues with a notorious bad boy seeking to repair his reputation, and a type-A journalist whose feathers he loves to ruffle…

  * * *

  xo, Jessica Lemmon

  Catarina

  To keep from becoming antiquated, the Columbus Dispatch newspaper split into two parts five years ago. The Dispatch still “dispatches” print newspapers—the kind that line the bottoms of canary cages for our more senior readers—but its online presence has been growing steadily over those five years, thanks in part to new blood in the office.

  Thanks, mostly, to me.

  Columbus Community Chat, or the Chat if you’re an insider, is the online version of the Dispatch. Some of the articles I write also run in the actual printed paper, which is fun to see. Even though “seeing it” requires me to flip waaaay back to the relationships section of which I’m in charge.

  Before you accuse me of writing “fluff”, let me assure you, I know my strengths. Much as I’d like to aspire to landing on the front page of the Dispatch, unless Channing Tatum becomes our next president, chances are it’s not going to happen.

  I don’t attempt any feat that I’m not sure of achieving one hundred percent. That includes jobs, relationships, and every other nook and cranny of my highly organized life.

  Mia Blakely, my boss, stumbles into our weekly meeting in her usual manner. Her curly hair is barely tamed, a pencil is jutting out of the brown locks just over one ear, and her brown skirt/peach blouse combo is outdated, though, honestly, not that bad. I’m not being unkind—just stating the facts. Mia doesn’t care about the latest trends or fads. What she does care about, and what she does best, is run this office, manage this newspaper, and keep her journalists paid. She’s entrusted me with more large assignments than she has anyone else who writes for the Chat, and for that I’ll owe her my firstborn son.

  “Good afternoon, kids.” Mia eyeballs us over a pair of glasses with half lenses. She flips through a few scribbled-on sheets in her yellow legal pad, finds our agenda, and sits.

  Megan, a young and plucky intern, dutifully places a mug of coffee at our boss’s right hand. Mia nods her thanks.

  While Mia recaps the assignments for this summer, I jot notes into my planner—a black and white beauty with thick, luxurious paper and a posh striped cover—with a black gel pen, appreciating the precision of my handwriting in the “notes” section for June.

  I can’t believe it’s June already. Seems like only yesterday I was huddling over the space heater under my desk in an attempt to ward off Columbus’s winter chill, which has the naughty habit of creeping through the walls of this very building.

  “The last order of business is Catarina.” Mia smiles and peeks over her glasses again. I smile back. “I’m changing your ‘Fun in the Sun’ column this year to something more focused on relationships. A personal relationship. Your. Personal relationship.”

  I rarely blush, but I can feel heat work its way from the placket of my white blouse to my neck. I place a hand to my cheek and press my lips together. All of my fellow co-workers’ eyes are on me.

  “Oh?” It’s the only word I’m capable of at the moment.

  “Dating in Summer. Summer Fling. Fling into Summer.” She makes a “help me out” motion with her hand, and our writing staff begins scrawling furiously on their notepads in an attempt to come up with an idea she might like.

  Carla’s suggestion of “Sex in the Summer” quiets the entire boardroom.

  “That. I like.” Mia sends me a saucy wink, and I bristle. “Sadly, we can’t pimp out poor Catarina.”

  “Your Sexiest Summer Ever,” Adam blurts.

  “Yes, but no,” Mia says. “Catarina isn’t being assigned a self-improvement article. She’s going to date a bad boy and tell our readership about it. In detail.”

  I make a choking noise and force out a laugh. “Mia, with all due respect to my boyfriend, North isn’t exactly a bad boy.”

  What an exaggeration. Northrop Phillips, III, is as far from a bad boy as you can get. He’s a country club guy who loves golf and finance in equal measures. He’s the perfect pick for a partner, and that’s why I picked him. One hundred percent in everything, remember?

  “Not North, Catarina. I’ve pulled in a bad boy especially for this occasion.” The gasps around the table suck the oxygen from the room.

  “I thought you weren’t pimping me out,” I reply carefully.

  “You don’t have to have a physical relationship with the guy.” Mia leafs through her papers again.“But you do have to pretend date him and write about it. We want our readership living vicariously through you. Think of it as an acting role.”

  I blink at her. A heads-up that she wants me to “pretend” date someone before our staff meeting would’ve been nice. Then again she knows I’d have said no.

  “Your cohort will be writing from his own POV on what it’s like to be the bad boy now committed to dating. It’s a dash of fiction, a dash of romance, and a dash of what you’re best at writing: relationships.”

  “Who is it?” Nanci asks, excitement rounding her blue eyes. I’m not there yet. I’m still in shock.

  “Me,” a rough voice announces from the doorway behind me.

  I turn my head to look over my shoulder, stunned further into silence by the sheer attractiveness of the man standing there. He’s so good-looking it’s criminal. But then, he is—

  “Barrett Fox!” Nanci says and then bursts into a series of nervous giggles.

  “In the flesh.” He bends at the waist to place a kiss on Mia’s temple. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “I’d expect no less,” Mia says with a smile that—yeah, is a little gooey. She bats her unmascaraed lashes while she’s at it.

  Who knew my boss had a sexual bone in her body? I thought she was made of steel beams and asbestos.

  Everyone at the conference room table, save me, stands as one and moves to Barrett Fox like he has his own orbit. Mia shushes the chatter around us.

  “Okay, all right. Now that you all have your assignments, let’s leave Barrett and Catarina to theirs.” She makes a shooing motion, and everyone shuffles reluctantly out the door.

  I slide a derisive glance to my new “co-worker” and wonder what I did to Mia to make her stick me with this assignment. Except I know exactly why she did it. My boss’s work ethic can be described in two words: bottom line. She knows a prime opportunity to bring money to this paper when she sees it.

  She flips to another sheet in her yellow pad before ripping it out and laying it in front of me.

  “I’ll let you hash out the details.” Before she shuts the door, she adds, “Barrett. You know where to find me.”

  “Sure do, doll.” He winks, then takes her chair at the head of the table, going as far as leaning back and kicking up his feet on the table.

  I recoil from the blatant rudeness of that move, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Barrett Fox is known for his rude antics, and this one is tame by comparison. Unlike the photos of him I’ve seen online: sweaty, streaked in dirt, or even dressed in a suit making lewd gestures at the camera.

  There’s no way to escape the popularity of the local OSU football player who went pro, especially in Columbus. This paper was built on a foundation made of footballs.

  He wears a crisp, white shirt tucked into dark pants, black leather shoes, and because he kicked his feet up and crossed them at the ankles, I also notice a pair of red socks with white polka dots.

  “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  I reroute my gaze to his face. Sharp, angular, a deep dent in his chin. His eyelids are narrowed in assessment, but I know under those red-brown eyelashes his irises are so blue they border on turquoise.

  Nanci had a calendar of him last year. I’ve seen this guy in every pose from decked out in full gear to shirtless, to the one where he’s lying on a beach, his shorts pulled down past his ass crack.

  He’s long and lean, and I might have had a passing appreciation for how attractive he is if I didn’t know so much about him.

  “What if I called you Ginger? Would that upset you?” I ask tartly, referring to the perfectly coiffed reddish hair on top of his head. He’s good with gel, or has his own stylist. Or maybe he’s sleeping with a stylist.

  He grins at my question—straight white teeth he didn’t lose any of playing ball for eight years—and laces his hands behind his head. His shirtsleeves are uncuffed and rolled to the elbows, the scruff on his face two days past clean-shaven.

  “Apologies, beautiful, but you know my name. I don’t know yours.”

  “You mean Mia didn’t tell you my name when she threw me to the wolves?” I have a momentary fantasy where I talk her into reassigning this puff piece to Nanci, but she won’t. Nanci mostly helps out with articles. She hasn’t honed her journalistic skills well enough to be entrusted with a column.

  When ad dollars are involved, Mia’s focus is ensuring a climb in readership. Not to brag, but that’s the reason I’m in charge of the relationships section. I’m good. Not because of some magic fairy dust but because I work my ass off.

  Still, it would have been nice to write a commentary about how to date a real man instead of this one. A man who knows how to properly wear a button-down shirt, for example. Like North.

  “Ouch. I’m guessing you’re not a fan?”

  “Of you? I barely know who you are, Mr. Fox.”

  “You seem to know plenty. I can read it in the pleat between those two perfect eyebrows.” He runs those blue eyes over my face, down my blouse, and lingers at my breasts.

  I lift the paper Mia left behind in front of my chest to avoid further scrutiny.

  “Catarina Everhart,” I say as I read over the sheet of paper in my hand. Mia’s shorthand is atrocious but after five years of practice, I can read her hieroglyphics without any problem.

  “Do you go by Cat?”

  “No. I don’t. Do you go by Bare?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugs, lowers his feet to the floor, and leans over the table. He flicks the back of the paper I’m using as a shield.

  “Is this what ‘dating you’ is going to be like?” I sneer.

  “Close.” His lips twitch at the corner. “Add in a few slow, long, wet kisses that’ll curl your toes and a little under the shirt/over the bra action, and you’re there.”

  Barrett

  There it is. The reaction I was expecting. Catarina’s back snaps straight. She slams the paper onto the table and proceeds to lecture me. She’s saying I won’t ever touch her, let alone kiss her. She mentions a boyfriend and says that even if she didn’t have one there’s no way she’d allow me anywhere near her. While she’s complains, I commit to a plan to taste those lips.

  Mia told me about this “boyfriend” of hers. He was described to me as a stick-in-the-mud guy who is self-consumed and aloof and doesn’t treat Catarina the way she deserves. I’m not sure if Mia has an ulterior motive to break up Catarina and the bozo she’s dating, but I’m not getting involved either way. My job is to date Catarina and be myself. That’s what I’m doing. Or well, the version of myself Mia’s paying me to be.

  Catarina is fucking beautiful, by the way. And prissy. Rigid. Haughty. But beautiful. Long, dark brown hair with the right amount of weight and wave rolls over slender shoulders. Her white blouse is classy, like her. Even angry, her shaped eyebrows slammed together, all I can think about is winning her over to my side of the field. If she let me kiss those lips, she’d forget her problems. They’re the pinkest, fullest lips I’ve ever seen, and I’m an excellent kisser.

  “Mr. Fox, could you do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye?”

  “Sorry, Kitty Cat. I’ll try.” I shrug helplessly. “I like that lip color.”

  Her mouth drops open before snapping closed. She’s decided not to like me, which is par for course where I’m concerned. Most women don’t like me, but are willing to stoop to hang out with me to get what they want. I’m used to it.

  I do as she asks and look at Catarina’s eyes. They’re as beautiful as the rest of her. Coffee-brown and sparkling. Big and wide and taking in the world around her. Not innocent though. More jaded. This is a woman who’s seen a lot of what the world has to offer and has decided not to like most of it.

  “...going to talk to Mia about this,” she announces as she stands.

  I stand with her and she turns and pokes me in the center of my chest with one short, polished fingernail.

  “Alone.”

  “I’m on assignment here, too, Kitty Cat.”

  “Stop calling me that. I don’t care how much money you’ll bring to this paper. I’m not pretending to date you. I can’t stand looking at you.”

  With that she opens the conference room door and storms through the office. I watch her go, admiring the proud way she holds her shoulders back and the flow of her long hair behind her as she walks, and yeah, okay, the wiggle of her small, round ass in a superslim skirt.

  I catch the eye of the cute blonde who was in here a moment ago. She’s still mooning. She bites her lip and gives me a little wave. I wink at her, knowing that made her whole day. I can tell by the way she blushes fiercely.

  Whistling, I amble in the direction of Mia’s office in hot pursuit of Catarina Everhart.

  Damn.

  I love being me.

  Buy Rumor Has It

  About the Author

  Jessica Lemmon is a former job-hopper who resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dogs. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing emotionally-charged stories, she spends her time drawing, drinking coffee, and laughing with friends. Her motto is Read for fun, and she believes we all should do more of what makes us happy.

  Jessica Lemmon's romance novels have been praised as "purely delicious fun" and "lavish, indulgence-fueled romance" by Publisher's Weekly, as well as "wonderfully entertaining" and "a whole lot of fun!" by RT Book Reviews. She is the bestselling author of over forty books that have been translated into a dozen languages and sold in over 30 different countries worldwide, with her debut novel releasing in January of 2013.

  Her work has been honored with awards such as a Library Journal starred review, an RT Top Pick!, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Month. She has been recommended by USA Today and NPR.com, and has achieved the rank of #1 bestseller on Nook as well as earned a seal of excellence nomination from RT Book Reviews.

  Through witty banter and fun, realistic situations and characters you’ll want to “sit down and have a drink with,” Jessica tackles tough relationship issues and complicated human emotions while delivering a deep, satisfying experience for readers.

  Also by Jessica Lemmon

  Real Love

  Eye Candy

  Arm Candy

  Man Candy

  Real Love: Fame & Fortune

  Rumor Has it

  America’s Sweetheart

  Lost Boys

  Daring Devlin

  Craving Caden

  Standalone: Forgotten Promises

  Blue Collar Billionaires

  Once Upon a Billionaire

  Charmed by the Billionaire

  Billionaire Ever After

  Walt: a Christmas novella

  For a complete book list, go to jessicalemmon.com

 

 

  Jessica Lemmon, Man Candy

 

 

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