The Frenchman's Proposal

By Kaitlyn Allen Hart

Acting as a fake-fiancée to a mysterious Frenchman might be more dangerous than living on the streets. Can Kendall be his fake-fiancée? Or will the proposal to be a fake-fiancée change to more?

 

Job lost, Kendall literally falls into a limousine carrying the mysterious stranger, Frenchman, Barrett Montau. His unexpected offer to be his fake-fiancée and fly her to France's wine country, stun her. Should she risk traveling to France, living at his chateau, enduring his kisses or go back to being homeless? Barrett underestimates her intelligence. Shocked by her beauty, he struggles to control physical desires. Each wants the other, but it is not in the original proposal. Will the proposal for her to act as his fiancée change?

Learn how Kendall and Barrett struggle with personal desires, battle Countess Duvall, who creates an unwelcomed love triangle, and confront ever-changing proposals.

 

Get The Frenchman's Proposal and fall in love with Barrett Montau and the woman who captures his heart, Kendall Wright.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaitlyn Allen Hart
• Release date: Oct 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215981436

Kaitlyn Allen Hart

Kaitlynn Allen Hart has published thirteen romance novels with several in development. She wrote a series called Royal Persuasions with the first book subtitle being Say Yes to Love. She is currently working on other series and always developing new and inspiring ideas. When working on a new book, it fills her mind with plots, characters, actions, and even the individual words the characters say. An introvert at heart, Kaitlyn has a doctorate and always reads romance novels, her favorite genre. She used to sit before the fire or curl up in chair and read the night away, lost in the characters. About fifteen years ago, she started writing her own stories and only recently began publishing some of her books. Get her newsletter and a free book: The Frenchman's Proposal at https://www.kaitlynallenhart.com/ and never miss a new release.

Book preview

1

E veryone be on your best behavior today! yelled the fashion design sweatshop boss as he strutted like a military officer through the ranks of whirring sewing machines. His filthy boot shoved aside scraps of expensive fabrics cluttering the floor. None of the staff desired to even gaze in his direction, all hoping to be invisible to this heartless man. If you put a whip in his hand, he would beat it against his leg, screaming out his demands for more and more production. Did he want increased quantity or quality? The two concepts were incongruent, transforming the Fabrene Design House into providing lesser quality products to meet the demands of the egotistical and arrogant boss.

Kendall Wright almost laughed out loud at the bellowing order, screwing up her mouth and rolling her eyes after she turned her head to one side to hide her expressions. The obnoxious man was a thorn in everyone’s side who toiled to produce the delicate fashions for the rich and famous. Kendall worked in the world of fashion, not as a designer, rather as a seamstress. Designer clothes were an outward symbol of wealth and social position. As she drudged through each day trying to survive, she was grateful for the job, but frustrated by the grueling hours, limited wage, and verbal abuse. How am I going to go to school?

The seamstress sitting next to her heard the unconscious question spoken out loud. If you don’t meet the quotas today, you won’t even be able to eat. Forget about dreams of school and sew, my friend, said the middle-aged woman, shoving a piece of delicate fabric under the sewing machine needle, pressing the pedal, and listening to the whir of the machines, a sign of progress. Too often Kendall daydreamed about another life, another world. The thought of being a seamstress forever failed to excite her about life. She knew it was honorable work, but she envisioned different dreams and hopes, not to say anything about finding genuine love. She sewed haute couture gowns and matching accessories. Jeweled belts and matching clutches were her specialty. None completed the intricate beadwork as well as Kendall, who performed the delicate beadwork until her eyes hurt and finger tips were bruised and numb. She conveyed pride in her work and refused to be bullied by the manager to produce a final accessory less than perfection itself.

I know you are right, but there must be more in life. There must, she said to her colleague. Kendall Wright wore magnifying glasses to accomplish the delicate work on the belts and she didn’t mind the glasses because half of her face was hidden from the world and almost unrecognizable. In some ways, she was grateful to be invisible. She smiled every time she donned the ridiculous eyeglasses. She wasn’t a surgeon, only a seamstress dealing with thousands of delicate beads and crystals. She even kept her nails cut short to pick up the infinitesimal beads. She must account for the number used and could not afford to drop any of the treasured beads or crystals or they would deduct a fee from her pay each day. They paid her only minimal wage, making less than five dollars an hour before deductions. Once deductions incurred, the final salary amounted to less than five hundred dollars a month. The amount was too small to change her life in a different direction. She existed in a hopeless abyss drown by a redundant routine lacking intellectual stimulation. She heard the cars outside lined up bumper-to-bumper in between stop lights honking, and taxicab drivers fighting for the one great taxicab fare. She imagined jaywalkers waving their arms in the air weaving in between cars, colors intermixed with sounds and smells of food being hyped by street vendors with skyscrapers for a backdrop. She loved the city as she listened to its normal sounds from the dingy loft in the design shop. The towering, irregular skyline created by the buildings rising toward heaven brought a sheltering sensation to persons navigating the hard pavement, and she stared at the skyline through the tiny loft window to give her eyes a rest from the intense intricacy of the daily work.

Kendall, your head is in the clouds again. Back to work, or you’re fired, her boss said, rambling through the shop and observing her daydreaming. Kendall secured a position as a seamstress at a fashion designer’s sweatshop, making exquisite gowns for the most outlandish prices. Now, each designer gown required a matching clutch or belt. Fall was in the air and she thought about fall leaves crunching beneath her feet when ambling through the park. The orange, yellow, brown colors twirling in the air, light and breezy like feathers, showing their beauty one more time before landing on the pavement crushed underfoot. She loved strolling through the park, admiring the majestic and sturdy trees with the blue sky peeking through their limbs as the breeze graced and soothed one’s face. The feel of the breeze on her face, a simple act of appreciating nature. Even as she sat and sewed, she thought about the warm breeze brushing across her face and smiled. She knew her imagination ran wild at work and impeded her ability to concentrate and meet her quotas, but she couldn’t stop thinking about a different world being possible. Unexpectedly, the boss approached from behind and leaned over her shoulder, I will fire you today, unless you meet your quota, or spend some private time with me. His breath smelled of cigar smoke, and his teeth chipped and discolored. She almost vomited over her work, shoving him off her shoulder, and refusing to answer. She heard his sick laughter as he patted her rump before moving through the sewing machine ranks. He was a filthy bastard, she thought.

Today, the fashion house scheduled an important prospective buyer from Europe to tour the shop, and tension among the staff was higher than usual. Each was nervous about retaining their employment if they sold the shop. Head down, eyeglasses on, Kendall sewed and sewed. The ridiculously heavy eyeglasses hid her face and thoughts from the world. Within two hours of starting the morning work, the visitor arrived. The elegantly attired man with dark eyes and dark hair, hands clasped behind his back, strode next to the sweatshop boss, not with a swagger rather an air of confidence.

Her boss bragged, This is our main factory where our best and most talented seamstresses complete their assigned work each day. He pointed to the workers cramped behind their industrial sewing machines. The manager’s job was to escort the prospective client through their sweatshop, praising the workmanship and skill of the seamstresses. The praise and flattering directed toward the visitor made her ill. Kendall viewed the manager as an overbearing bully. The man, a monster who berated every one of them daily to ensure they met their too often unrealistic quotas. He often threatened to cancel any breaks or lunch to ensure the quotas for the day were accomplished, then took credit for the work of his diligent staff.

As the two men wandered through the loft, rows of sewing machines buzzed, creating a deafening noise, but neither man seemed to notice. The poor lighting and failure to offer ear plugs must be a government violation, she thought. The crowded tiny loft space with one small window allowed the sun’s rays to stream through, but required supplemental industrial lights. Each fluorescent light with frayed electrical cables dangled from the wooden, open rafter ceiling. The sewing machine bulbs, the only true lights for the detailed work, cast shadows across the fine fabrics. She didn’t even want to think about the lack of air conditioning during the sweltering summer months. Or the minimal heating during the cold-northern winters requiring the seamstresses to wear gloves with the fingertips removed to handle the delicate fabrics.

The seamstresses peered up, ogled at the foreign stranger, and gasped, but not Kendall. If she didn’t meet her quota today, the manager threatened to fire her. No way would she agree to be mauled by him, or worse. Her perfectionistic approach to everything made the product flawless, but failed on too many days to achieve the required quota. Today she must meet the quota, so there was no time for gawking at visitors. The lunch whistle rang, but Kendall kept sewing. Five more belts with matching clutches required in the next three hours. With her math, it meant eighteen minutes dedicated to each piece. She knew it was impossible, but refused to give up, to give in. Then it happened. A fire alarm screeched through the loft. The echoing squeal demanding attention. Oh no! Not today! Chased from the premises, like a herd of sheep, the employees fled the building, pushing and shoving. A few women stumbled and nearly trampled under the panicked throng. The loft didn’t even have a fire extinguisher which was probably against some fire code. Someone in the crowd yelled a false alarm. A false alarm which cost her a job, she thought. Her wristwatch showed a half hour lost to safety regulations. No point returning now, as she determined the quota was impossible to meet.

As the employees funneled back into the building, Kendall turned away. The sense of hopelessness caused her shoulders to slump and gait to stumble. Tears glistened in her dark eyes, blinding her from... from... him. She smashed into a powerful chest adorned with an expensive tailored shirt and suit jacket. As she glanced upward, direct contact with deep brown eyes caused her to swallow hard. The man was beautiful, if you could call a man beautiful. She pushed away when he guided in them another direction. He realized the situation before her and placed his arm around her shoulder for protection. He held her close against his lean frame. The fire was not a false alarm. The fire was real. Smoke bellowed from the rear of the building and people ran, screaming and waving their arms. Their screams were palpable as flames blazed now behind the windows. The pandemonium was ear shattering as a deep black smoke plume rose skyward and engulfed the building and the people fleeing for safety. It covered many faces with soot as they fought through the chaos.

The stranger drew her close to his side and sheltered her from the oncoming rush, directing her toward a waiting limousine. He gave directions in a foreign language as his driver pulled out into the traffic and raced them from the scene. She found herself flung into the vehicle, sprawled across the seat opposite this stranger. She noticed his dark shoes, trousers, taut waist, belt, and then white silk shirt as her eyes roamed upward from her disadvantaged, virtually prone position. She cleared her throat, coughing, and with her arms pushed herself into a more upright and presentable position. Thank you for saving me. Please drop me off at the next corner, she said in a soft voice, guarding her expression. He was the most handsome man she ever met. Despite their abrupt departure, the stranger was impeccably dressed, and he exuded a quiet power and command with his physical presence.

Her color paled as their eyes met for a millisecond. With a gasp, she darted her eyes, lashes fluttering, and head ducked downward before he said, My apologies. I didn’t fancy being trampled today. I hope I didn’t hurt you. He didn’t reach over to touch her, yet her skin felt burned from his direct gaze. His eyes bore into her soul. Speechless, she shook her head no. Within the next few minutes, positioned more appropriately in the seat, her lips turned upward and pursed. With trembling fingers, she straightened her blouse and jacket before she checked the blouse bow to ensure it was tied securely. Are you a designer at the Fabrene Design House? She couldn’t disclose to this exquisite man who saved her from injury that he saved a seamstress, not a designer. So she refused to answer, gazing downward instead. Well, whatever your role, you may be unemployed. The blaze, according to the news streaming across my cell phone, gutted the building, he said, turning his phone screen toward her so she could grasp the damage for herself. Her mouth dropped open and tears welled up in her dark brown eyes, as Kendall saw her livelihood erupting with the black smoke and deep-orange flames spitting into the air from the windows. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the horror.

Barrett Montau observed the woman’s reaction, noting her beautiful brown hair and eyes. Her complexion was spotless and creamy, soft like her hands, although he noticed an occasional needle prick on the end of bruised fingertips. He didn’t observe one wrinkle on her face or hands. He remembered her now. She was working at the sewing machine, her brown chignon bent over the delicate fabric wearing some silly black rimmed eyeglasses. He became fascinated when she refused to glance up the same as the other women when he entered the loft. Miss, my name is Barrett Montau. I visited the design house today to consider purchasing it, but with this fire, the purchase is now impossible.

Kendall. I am Kendall Wright. I am a seamstress. I am not a designer or a wealthy customer. I am a simple seamstress, nothing more. With a sigh, she admitted her correct position to this stranger, and then she glanced through the blackened glass window. "Please have your driver stop and drop me off at the

Reviews for The Frenchman's Proposal

[Sonia · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Why did I put myself through this?! I don't even know where to start because my thoughts are all over the place, just like this book.
First of all, grammar and punctuation are of the utmost importance when writing a book and yet in this one I could count several mistakes.
Moving on, let's talk about Kendall. She didn't finish HS and yet she could analyse and find discrepancies in a legal document when an actual lawyer couldn't. Intelligence can get you only so far and, even if you are a genius, to correctly analyse a legal contract you need to actually *study* law. Also, one minute she's a genius, the next she's on a plane because she's so stupid and naive as to believe that going away will magically solve everything.
But enough about our main character, the actual story is what is most absurd.
This french guy finds, heaven knows how, a company that makes accessories where women are basically enslaved, does a background check on all of them (or some of them? That's not even clear) and decides to pick one to fly to France, mainly because she's an orphan with no money at all. What?
He thinks she's merely pretty and a little on the heavier side but when he sees her next he "gasps at her beauty" (and later he carries this slightly heavy woman up and down the stairs for days. Is he the Hulk?!). Sure...
Whitin like three hours they've met they say "I love you" to each other. What??
They somehow kiss in the car and just like that they're madly in love. I believe that's humanly impossible. There's basically no tension between them, one moment they're strangers, the next they're in love. And that's not even the 30% of the book by the way.
Shall I go on?
Anyway, can we talk about the villain? She's an entitled countess who somehow cannot keep her ground when confronted by an aneducated insecure woman. Where have you ever seen anything like that?! Also, she cannot hold her ground but she can sneak into people's appartments, physically assault people, set things on fire and basically get away with murder. At this point I think we reached the limits of fiction and we're rapidly descending into the fantastical.
I could go on but I think I've already delivered the point.