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Dangerous Exes (Liars Inc. #2)
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In #1 New York Times bestselling author Rachel van Dyken’s scorching series, revenge is a justified pleasure…
Isla made one teeny little mistake. Now she and her PI company, Dirty Exes, are being targeted by one seriously angry and furiously sexy ex-quarterback. Jessie freakin’ Beckett. But there’s no way some NFL superhunk is going to take her business away. If only he didn’t make her so hot—and bothered.
Jessie wants payback for a ruined reputation. His plan? Top secret. His hard-to-hide arousal for Isla? Not so much. Especially when they let down their guards and sneak a kiss. Like any juicy scandal, it goes so viral, so fast, that only a good lie can combat the bad press. Mortal enemies in a fling? No way. Um…this is love!
Actually…could it be?
Isla’s not faking it. Jessie can’t. As the game of let’s pretend gets real, Jessie forgets all about revenge. That’s the problem. His plan is already out of his control. Now it could undo everything they’ve been trying to build. Coming clean may be the only thing that can save it.
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My heart was in my throat as I weaved past hotel guests and down the hall. My entire world felt like it had just fallen sideways.
It was going to be fine.
I just needed proof.
I needed to know whether I was right—or crazy.
I prayed for crazy as I pulled my key card from my purse with shaking hands. Drunk couples walked by me. It was supposed to be a party, I was supposed to be having fun, enjoying myself.
Three a.m. and people were still drinking and networking, and I was . . . panicking, overanalyzing, controlling, as per usual . . . everyone but my fiancé.
Up-and-coming Hollywood director Wayne Alvillar, even his name sounded like something you’d see in bold script flashing across the big screen in giant black letters.
I calmed my breathing, pushed my shoulders back, and shoved open the door.
The lights were on. That should have been my first clue. If he was sleeping, they’d be off, right?
I quietly stepped into the Presidential Suite and surveyed the pristine marble floor, the way the lights bounced off the white rock. The fireplace was on and the sleek flat-screen TV was blaring a Friends rerun. I made my way down the hall, past the fully stocked wet bar and into the main bedroom. The shades were pulled, creating a dark glow across the king-size bed. Wayne was sitting there watching TV as if he really had decided to escape the madness of the party like I’d been told.
Then again, I’d also been told he left on the arm of a Hollywood actress.
I was clearly going crazy.
“Hey, baby.” He flashed me that million-dollar capped smile and patted the side of the bed. “You wanna watch a movie? I thought I was tired then saw the news. My speech was so good.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was so damn nervous.”
“It was . . . perfect,” I said, kicking off my heels and joining him on the bed.
He turned and nuzzled my neck with a kiss.
Yup, I really was losing my mind.
He wasn’t cheating on me with an actress.
He loved me.
His hand moved to my breast as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my neck.
I sighed into him and fell asleep.
I was in his arms for two hours.
Two peaceful hours of knowing that we really did belong together, that my perfect life really was as amazing as it looked on TV.
I had it all.
With a sleepy grin, I got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, and nearly tripped over the rug. I straightened it then saw Wayne’s crisp white shirt bundled in the corner under a towel.
I rolled my eyes, the guy was sentimental, so he’d want the shirt he’d won an Emmy in. I grabbed it and froze.
Blonde hair wrapped around a few buttons. Blonde hair I recognized because it was so glaringly different from my own dark hair. My hands shook.
I dropped the shirt like it was diseased as rage and pain filled my body so quickly that I had to hang on to the door to keep from passing out. I sucked in a harsh breath, and then another.
We were engaged.
I had a plan.
I was looking at houses.
I’d ordered invitations for the wedding.
I tried to get my breathing under control but it was no use, the rage won out over all the hurt, over the sound of my heart breaking. I charged into the room and slammed a pillow over his head until he jolted awake, then punched him in the face.
And when he recovered.
I did it again.
I wish I could say that I walked out after that, but I took him back.
Until I found them together and almost smashed a bottle of wine over his head after he tried to stupidly explain what went wrong and where I could do better.
And that’s where my story starts.
In a wine shop yelling at the man I thought was going to be my husband, falling apart in public only to lock eyes across the room with someone who looked like she’d had an even worse day than me.
I thought my life was over that day in that wine shop.
And then I met my soon-to-be-best-friend Blaire and realized . . .
It had only just begun.
There was a very fine line between love and hate.
Or in my case, a very thin fence where hate decides to set up across the street and stare at you through binoculars even though you’ve repeatedly threatened to get a restraining order.
I glared. Jessie freaking Beckett.
Ex-target of Dirty Exes, the PI company my best friend and I built from the ground up.
Ex-pain in my ass.
I heaved out a breath, that’s a lot of exes. A hell of a lot of exes. He gave me a small wave.