The Producer's Fake Fiancé (A Contemporary Interracial Romance): UnReal Marriage, #7

By Tasha Hart

Angela needs a husband and Micah needs money. Seems like a match! Maybe...

 

Now, Micah's not lazy and looking for a sugar momma. His whole life is spent helping lower income folks at a soup kitchen. So he's simply super duper broke and needs the money to support his charity.

 

Plus he is so fine! With a capital F!

 

Angela needs a husband for a reality TV show. She was married but her husband died and she never told anyone at work of his passing. How the hell is she supposed to tell them now—years later—that it's just her and her daughter? That'd be a hella awkward conversation, right?!

 

This is a bad situation and Angela thinks that only lying can fix things.

 

What happens when a poor but beautiful white boy gets into a fake marriage with a gorgeous Black woman who has all the money? He brings happiness back into their lives. But what are they gonna do when the snakes at work start to tear away at their idyllic life? Are they close enough to fight back? Or will they fall apart and lose it all?

 

Discover what happens by one-clicking this sensually sweet contemporary romance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215957752

Book preview

Chapter One

I think about my situation at work as I drag a brush through my brown hair, and swipe some mascara on my long eyelashes. I’m usually really confident at the network, but lately I find myself getting extremely anxious before I head in.

I’ve got this new project on deck that basically requires me to have a family. Given everything, I would’ve said no, but they didn’t really give me a choice.

I know I should be flattered that they want me, but they don’t realize that my family is missing one extremely important person. My husband isn’t in the picture anymore. And, it’s not because he left me.

No, he’d been driving to the store, when there was a three-car pileup in front of him. He got out to help since he was an off-duty EMT, and a fourth car crashed into him, ending his life in an instant and he never saw it coming. The most painful part is he was only trying to help save someone else, and it cost him his life.

I was a wreck, but I’ve always prided myself on keeping my personal life private. Which means, I still haven’t told my job and, at this point, (years later) telling them would just make me look bad. I can’t afford to lose this job and I still haven’t figured out how to navigate this situation.

I take a hard look at myself in the mirror.

If only I could find someone willing to be my pretend husband until this project is over.

Wait. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.

Though the thought has me wondering what Emerson would think about me right now. I know he would be proud of me for all the progress I’ve made over the years, despite grieving him. But I wonder what he would think if I got some guy to pretend to be him. It almost feels like I would be tainting his memory.

With a sigh I tell myself to finish getting ready. Layla’s still sleeping, and I don’t plan on waking her. If I get her up before the babysitter gets here, it’ll be even harder for her when I leave for work.

Layla and I are very close, more so than a typical mother-daughter relationship. Her father died not too long after we had her, and so she almost feels like the last piece of him that I have. Thanks to that, we’ve become two peas in a pod and practically attached at the hip.

I know it’s hard for her when I leave for work on the days she doesn’t have school. I’m going to have to plan a mini mother-daughter girl’s weekend for her pretty soon. I can tell she needs it—her first year of school has been pretty rough.

When the sitter, Tabitha, arrives I grab my purse, and I’m just about to head out the door when I decide to take a peek at Layla. I crack open the door and stare at her. She looks so peaceful sleeping all cuddled up with her favorite stuffed lion. Every time I look at her, I feel a little pang in my heart.

She looks exactly like me, same dark skin, and long hair. But her eyes? She has Emerson’s eyes. Mine are a bright hazel while his were a dark forest green. It almost hurts to look into them sometimes, because I feel like I’m looking at Emerson. I tiptoe into her room and plant a quick kiss on her cheek, then dash out before she can wake.

It’s a pretty day and, as usual, Micah is outside my building and waves to me as I walk to my car. I see him almost every day outside of my apartment building and he greets me almost every time we see each other. He’s very polite, but I usually don’t interact with him. Handsome fella, though. Not that I let that matter too much nowadays.

Ever since Emerson died, I have a really hard time letting men in, especially really handsome ones that say Hi to me every day. I mean, I’m not going to lie—Micah is really the only man I’ve even been attracted to since Emerson’s passing.

It’s not like I know him well at all, though. I just think it’s significant progress for me to finally look at another man, let alone exchange pleasantries with one. There was a point where I thought that day would never come.

The moment I get to work, I step into chaos. Everyone is running around and yelling orders. This is nothing new though—it would be weird if I got here and it wasn’t a disaster area.

I prepare to settle in, and start working on the new project for the third time this week. I want off this project so bad. Unfortunately, I know that begging out would only put me a step backward in my career, and I’ve worked a long damn time to get this far. There’s no way I’m giving an inch.

My boss, Dylan, was the one who put me on this. I’ve never really liked him, but he’s usually tolerable. There are a couple of folks around here I like well enough, but my favorite is Michelle. I stop by her office on my way to mine.

So what level is he at today? I say as I plop down in the chair across from her desk.

Hmm, definitely a seven, Michelle murmurs.

Oh, come on! I snort. This is the second day in a row he’s been at a seven. I’m steering clear of him today.

Well, that’s going to be a bit hard considering we’ve got that meeting with him in about fifteen minutes, Michelle lets me know.

"What? Oh my god, I thought that wasn’t until tomorrow?"

Nope, it got moved up last minute.

I immediately feel nervous because I know it’s going to be all about this new project. He likes to get us together a couple times a week to make sure everyone is on the same page.

I don’t know what I'm going to do. On one hand, I can keep the lie going and just not tell them that my husband died and stay on this. That’d be cool, right? On the other, I could just be honest with them and tell them, then keep my fingers crossed that everyone understands.

There’s a third option, I think to myself.

I keep coming back to that crazy stand-in husband idea that popped into my head this morning. If someone was willing, I could set them up pretending to be my husband for a few months. It sounds nuts—okay, super crazy—but I think