The Unexpected Manny: Unexpected Lovers, #3

By JB HELLER

Sebastian Bailey is hot AF, but the dude's a total A-hole.

I have no idea what I'm in for when I sign up to interview hot upcoming romance author S. Bailey. For starters, she turns out to be a he—and he's super hot. Unfortunately, he's also a massive D-bag with a weird thing about punctuality.

Our first meeting is less than stellar, but thankfully the second one goes somewhat better. Except for the part where I get roped into playing his fake girlfriend to his sister's wedding. Oh, and all the week long pre-wedding family festivities.

There's a saying along the lines of fake it 'til you make it. And fake it we did. Perhaps a little too well though. Because the way his eyes devour me from across a room and the fluttering of my heart when he's near, it almost feels real. My head knows this is all a ruse, but try telling my damn heart that…

Oh, and then there's the little issue of my expanding waistline...

*The Unexpected Manny is an opposites attract, fake relationship, unexpected pregnancy rom com, with the most swoony book boyfriend of every bookworms dreams that will have you swooning in no time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JB Heller
• Release date: Aug 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393447436

Book preview

Flicking my eyes to the clock on the wall, my gaze narrows. She’s late.

I snatch my cell off the corner of the table in The Brew Guru and shoot a text to my incredibly pushy agent, Calliope.

ME: She’s late. I don’t have time to sit around waiting for this chick to show.

Her response comes through before I’ve even put my cell down.

CALLIOPE: She’ll be there. And be nice. Her blog is huge. This interview will give your debut a massive boost.

I scoff. Nice? I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.

Lifting my gaze, I scan the room once again—easy to do from my seat in the back corner. But all I see are two chicks with babies, a small group of dudes in bike tights—gross—a kid examining a particularly large booger on the tip of his finger, and nope—she’s definitely not here.

My eyes dart back to the clock, and I scowl. Is it really that hard to be punctual? I’ve been here since five-thirty, and I told her I would be in my reply to the email she sent to confirm our appointment. She’s the one who didn’t want to meet until seven, something about her not being a morning person—like that’s my problem.

Calliope keeps telling me how great this woman is and how all it will take is one article from her and I’ll have readers banging my metaphorical door down. I’m all for this interview putting me on the map as a must-read author, but I would rather remain anonymous.

My agent, however, believes the fact that I have a penis is a selling point that we can and should use to our advantage.

So here I am, waiting on this blogger to show when I should be focusing on the words on the screen in front of me in the limited time I have to do so each day. I have a day job to get to, and my employers are very demanding. I don’t have time to scratch myself, let alone ponder plot holes when I’m on the clock.

With a frustrated groan, I close my laptop and pick up my coffee, taking a large swig of the now lukewarm brew, which only serves to piss me off further. Grabbing the mug, I saunter to the counter and slide it over to the barista. Can I get a fresh one please, Mel?

She gives me a sultry smile and winks as our fingertips make contact for the briefest of moments when she takes the mug from me. No problem, sweet cheeks. I’ll bring it over.

I nod, ignoring her advances like I always do, and return to my regular table. The last thing I need is to bang the barista who makes my morning caffeine fix and end up having to find a new haunt when she realizes I’m not interested in a repeat performance.

Unable to stop myself, I check the time again. Seven-thirty. My jaw clenches. I need to be out of here in fourteen minutes to make it to work on time.

Excuse me. A feminine voice draws my attention away from my cell.

I peer up into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Yes? I say, a little dumbstruck.

She blushes then runs a hand through her wild red hair. I was supposed to meet someone here, and I’m running a little late. I don’t suppose you noticed a woman working on a laptop in this corner earlier, did you?

Umm, I don’t think so. I’m usually the only one working here in the mornings, I tell her as I eye her up and down. She’s wearing a hoodie that says Books are Better than Boys and clutching a Harry Potter notebook in front of her as she gnaws on her bottom lip. I keep my gaze on her then make an educated guess. I think you’re looking for me.

No. Nope. No way. The ridiculously good-looking man seated where my interviewee is supposed to be cannot possibly be her. I clear my throat, smooth my hair down again, and say, Oh, I don’t think so. Sorry to bother you.

He sighs then tilts his chin on an angle, which only serves to draw my eye to the sharpness of his stubbled jaw. You’re looking for S. Bailey. Correct?

My jaw drops. Umm, yeah…

Then you’ve found me, late as you may be.

My brows furrow. S. Bailey… is a dude?

You’re wasting precious time gawking at me when you’re already extremely late, Miss Moss. The clock is ticking, and you only have thirteen minutes of my time left, he says, crossing his sculpted arms over his chest.

What the hell is this—The Twilight Zone? Hot dudes don’t write romance novels.

"But, I—you’re a—" I start to say when a pretty brunette practically shoulder-barges me on her way to delivering the stud at the table a steaming mug of coffee. And somehow, she manages not to spill a drop.

Here you go, Sebastian. I made it just the way you like it, she purrs, lingering as she pushes her arms together at her sides, accentuating her cleavage.

If I wasn’t so shocked, I’d gag. She’s trying way too hard. The guy pays her no heed, not even acknowledging her as he keeps his amber gaze locked on me throughout the exchange. Which she doesn’t like at all, judging by the icy glare she throws my way as she passes me on her return to the counter.

Eleven minutes, Miss Moss, he mutters, glancing at the clock on the wall behind me.

I swallow then plonk down in the seat across from him. "I’m sorry, I just—I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re a guy."

He arches a brow. Is that a problem?

No, I say immediately. I was expecting a woman. It threw me.

His eyes dart to the wall clock again as he takes a sip of his coffee. Ten and a half minutes.

Christ, what is his problem? I drop my notepad on the tabletop then sit back in my seat. Have I done something to upset you, or are you just an ass?

He scoffs. How am I the ass here? You were supposed to be here at seven. And instead of working, like I should have been, I was watching the clock and wondering where the hell you were for the last thirty-nine minutes.

I blink at him. It is way too early for this crap. I heave a sigh then rest my elbows on the table, sliding my hands into my hair at my temples. Look, I’m not a morning person. I got out of bed at six-thirty this morning to be here for this interview. I pause, and he opens his mouth in an attempt to start speaking.

I hold my hand out. Shh, I’m not done, I say. Then my Uber got a flat, and I had to order another one. I didn’t have your number to let you know I’d be late, since we’ve only communicated via email where, by the way, you neglected to mention that you have a penis. So, when I walked in, I was looking for a woman for almost ten minutes before I approached you.

He sips his coffee as he silently examines me after my little tirade. Eventually, he sighs and extends a hand toward me. I’m Sebastian Bailey. Perhaps we should start over, Miss Moss.

Taking his hand, I give it a firm shake, the way my brothers taught me. Fine by me, I say. And call me Emory.

Sebastian nods as he releases my hand. As riveting as this little introduction has been, Emory, I have to go. Day job and all that. He swallows the last of his coffee, slides his laptop into a sleek brown leather shoulder bag, then stands.

Would you like to reschedule? I ask, tipping my head back to maintain eye contact now that he’s standing above me.

He shrugs. If you can be punctual, we can try this again tomorrow.

I promptly bang my forehead on the table. Fine, I grumble. I’m being super unprofessional, but I’m too tired to even care. When he doesn’t reply, I lift my head to see him striding out the door and onto the street.

He glances at me through the picture window, an unimpressed expression on his handsome face as he points to the table. I follow his gesture and pick up a piece of paper with a cell number on it. He’s gone by the time I look back up.

Sebastian Bailey may be sexy as shit, but the dude’s a total asshole.

At six-fifty-five, the chair across from me makes a godawful screech as it’s dragged out from the table, and the hot mess that is Emory Moss drops down into it.

Her hair is a wild mane of bright-red curls as she stares at me. Her bright-blue eyes tell me everything she’s thinking in this very moment, and I can’t help but smirk.

Oh, look, she does know what punctuality is, I murmur.

Her gaze narrows. I got up extra-extra early and forwent my morning coffee to be here. So, you better give me something good for this interview, she says, pulling a notebook and pen from a cotton tote bag with the word BOOKWHORE in capital letters splashed across it.

I hit save on the file I’m working on then close my laptop and sit back in my seat. Am I supposed to be impressed that you actually arrived on time?

She throws her hands in the air, gesturing like a madwoman. Yes! My roommates are going to think I was kidnapped through the night when they realize I’m not at home. I told you; I don’t do mornings.

Or professionalism, it would seem. I’m being a prick. I’m well aware, and I don’t even care. She’s cute when she’s pissy.

Emory huffs, stands, and goes to the counter—I’m assuming to order that morning coffee she was complaining about missing. I’ll take a flat white, I call over to her. In a mug. No sugar.

She glares over at me then turns back to the barista with an epic eyeroll. And I just grin. At our initial encounter, she made quite the impression. I think I’m going to enjoy this interview process more than I’d thought.

After placing her order—and I hope mine too—she returns to her seat, dropping down into it with