A wilde match, p.1
A Wilde Match, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by Lily Michaels
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
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Pride Publishing books by Lily Michaels
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Falsely, Madly, Deeply
A WILDE MATCH
LILY MICHAELS
A Wilde Match
ISBN # 978-1-83943-341-2
©Copyright Lily Michaels 2024
Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright February 2024
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2024 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
A Falsely, Madly, Deeply story
Morgan’s future may start with a fake boyfriend but end in happily ever after.
When a social media influencer, Bella Donna, starts a vicious rumor about her, Morgan Wilde, the owner of Wilde About Love Matchmaking Services, finds herself in desperate need of a boyfriend to parade in public to squelch the gossip—and save her business. The last person she expects to offer himself for the role is her best friend Max Murray, who has been happily married to his husband for more than seven years.
Max and Ryder have a strong partnership, but both have felt a pull toward Morgan for some time that went well past the bonds of friendship. A polyamorous relationship is something they are both more than comfortable with, and the nasty videos spread online implying Morgan shouldn’t be trusted with other people’s happiness may have been the opening that they needed to show Morgan how they feel about her.
As their exploration into the depths of love and passion that blossoms between them intensifies, Bella Donna releases another salacious commentary that threatens not only Morgan’s business but also both Ryder’s and Max’s reputations. The three are put to the test when their growing connection is thrust into the cruel spotlight and they are forced to be on very public display.
Dedication
This book is for all the alternative ‘happily ever afters’ out there.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Louis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier Corporation
American Express: American Express Company Corporation
Audi: Audi Aktiengesellschaft Corporation
Instagram: Instagram LLC
Merriam-Webster: Merriam-Webster Incorporated
Cheshire Cat: Disney Enterprises Inc.
Chapter One
Max
At the tingling of the bells over the door of my café, I nearly turned to greet my customer until I heard the oh-so-familiar clicking cadence of high heels marching purposefully across the wooden floor. Instead, I slid a basket of dark grounds into place with a twist and put a cup beneath it to start the espresso brewing while I steamed the oat milk. As the wrought-iron stool at the counter behind me slid across the floor, I poured the piping milk into the rich, brown liquid, shaking it slightly to create a decorative leaf on top.
However when I turned to present my more-than-regular customer with her usual, I was greeted with her crown of red hair facing me and her perfectly manicured nails with hot pink tips and artistic hearts hanging over the ledge. I set the cup beside her, a smile breaking free, despite my attempts to keep it under control. “Tough day already, Wilde? It’s barely nine a.m.”
She groaned and lifted her head enough to make eye contact with me. Her green eyes were rimmed with darkness, despite the well-applied makeup that attempted to conceal her exhaustion. “It’s been a long, long night.” She straightened a bit more and greedily pulled the latte close, not hesitating before taking a long sip, punctuated by a contented sigh.
Morgan Wilde was a lot of things, but needlessly dramatic wasn’t one of them. In the years that she’d turned from patron to friend to close friend, she’d rarely overstated a problem, and her behavior this morning was a sharp juxtaposition to her normal caffeine-addicted presentation. “Seriously, Morg, what’s up? You look like you haven’t slept in a week, but everything seemed fine yesterday morning.”
She sighed, took another drink and replaced the delicate cup in the saucer before running her fingers through her wavy locks. “Yeah, it was. Actually, yesterday had been a great day overall. That is, until I made the massive mistake of checking my socials.” She pulled her phone out of the Louis Vuitton purse hanging off her shoulder, swiped a few times, then turned the device toward me.
I hit the triangle on the screen to play the video clip that had been shared on the social media app, and Bella Donna, one of the most popular gossip commentary hosts, appeared on the screen in front of me, her platinum-blonde hair piled on top of her head and makeup just a bit more dramatic than the camera would require. “We are all well aware that Morgan Wilde’s insanely successful matchmaking firm has paired up some of the hottest A-list couples. Ms. Wilde is well known for not only delivering jaded celebrities into the hands of their one true love, but also millionaires and billionaires the world over.”
The woman shimmied her shoulders as if leaning in to tell a dear friend a dark secret rather than spreading rumors to her three-point-two-million followers. “But is Ms. Wilde’s entire career a scam? The woman who sells love and romance to dozens of wealthy and influential clients is herself completely unattached. A very reputable source has disclosed to me that the reason Ms. Wilde coyly avoids talk of her personal life is because she doesn’t have one. And the last three relationships she did have ended in explosions when Ms. Wilde’s significant others found her being a little more ‘hands on’ than a reputable matchmaker should be. This raises so many questions for this bystander, and I am sure all of you as well. I mean…would you really trust your heart and your future to someone who can’t manage to stay faithful to her own partner?”
She sat back and folded her hands in her lap, an extremely self-satisfied smile on her dark red lips and cracking the veneer of her porcelain foundation. “I have reached out to the publicity team at Wilde About Love for comments on the accusations and with an offer to interview her right here on my show and tell her side, but I have only received crickets in response. I will, of course, keep my viewers posted on all the latest news as soon as I can.”
I set the phone back on the counter with a bit more force than necessary. “That is utter bullshit.”
A sheen of unshed tears glistened in Morgan’s eyes. “She isn’t completely wrong.” She sniffed slightly. “Obviously the ‘hands on’ comment was utter bullshit, but I haven’t even had so much as a date in nearly two years. The closest thing to intimacy in my life is in the top drawer of my nightstand.” She polished off the rest of her latte and pushed the empty vessel toward me. “Hell, the last three movies I went to were with you and Ryder, where I was the very obvious third wheel.”
I fired up another latte and shot her what I hoped was a playful grin. “But an incredibly adorable third wheel.”
She narrowed her stare and dipped her chin. “Ha ha, very funny.” With an almost pained groan she rubbed her temples. “What the hell am I going to do? This is my busiest time of ye ar. People have gotten over their holiday blues, made their New Year’s resolutions to find the love of their life and have Valentine’s Day blipping on their radar. My clientele list is going to be drier than the Sahara in less than a week…guaranteed.”
I gripped her hand in mine and rubbed my thumb across the back while the large machine made sputtering sounds as it brewed more espresso. “This sucks, I agree, but it isn’t the kiss of death for your business.”
Her chin quivered as she met my gaze. “It might as well be. Who in their right mind would trust their future to a woman who is painfully single, even if the reason I am is because I’ve spent too much time on said business, much less to someone who carries the stain of impropriety with her customers?” A tear trailed down her left cheek, quickly followed by one making a path on the right.
In the three years we’d known each other and slowly became closer and closer friends, I’d never seen her as distraught as she was in that moment, and the sight caused a crack in my heart. One of the people I cared most about in the world had a problem, and the need to right her world was an overwhelming one. I released my grip on her and pulled my wallet from my back pocket, sliding out the black AmEx card and pushing it across the smooth surface toward her.
“Here’s what you’re going to do…” I held up a hand as soon as she opened her mouth. “Let’s start with, for the first time since I’ve met you, you aren’t going to argue with me.” That statement promptly snapped her lips back together, although it managed to elicit a slightly defiant glare. “You’re going to book a spa day, ignore the price tag and try to forget about every lie that woman plastered across the internet. Then you’re going to come over for dinner, and by then, I promise I’ll have a solution for you. Understand?”
She blinked once, twice then a very slow third time. “I’m more than capable of paying for a pampering session on my own. You can put that piece of plastic back in your wallet.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed, even though I’d expected the disagreement. “Did you miss the entire first part of my statement where I said no arguing?”
To my surprise, acceptance settled into her expression. “No, but it is wholly unnecessary. I have enough zeroes in my bank account to cover a massage and pedicure.” She pursed her lips together. “For now.”
“I’m very aware of how successful you and your company are”—I lowered my chin a notch—“and will continue to be. However, I want to do this for you, and I want to hear, ‘Thank you, Max’ rather than continued protestations.”
Morgan lifted herself up and stretched across the counter to place a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Max.”
The whisper-soft tone of her voice struck me in a highly unsettling way, but I pushed down the very notion. An idea had been taking root for a long time, but there needed to be a lot more thought—and some additional input—before I approached that topic with her. “Go have fun, Morg. Let me know when you’re on your way, okay?”
She inclined her head to the cup I’d begun to refill behind me. “Aren’t you gonna give me my second drink before I go?”
I shook my head and crossed my arms in front of me. “Nope. You’ve been completely sleep deprived and already had one dose of self-medicating caffeine. I want you to use your time to relax and rest. That second part is important and much less likely to happen if you’re hopped up on more espresso.”
She obediently took my credit card and exited my coffee shop without additional arguing. Clearly a day for miracles.
As soon as the bell heralded her departure, I pulled my cell from under the counter and redialed my last call. The spark Morgan had unintentionally created fanned into a burn low in my gut with the gravely “Hello” after two rings.
“How is the sexiest law firm partner in Florida doing today?” After my husband made partner—which only happened after over eight years of nearly ninety-hour work weeks with his most recent firm—I never missed a chance to mention it, whether that was to him or practically anyone else. Even four years later, the title hadn’t lost its shine.
His low chuckle echoed across the line, and my pants nearly immediately tightened in response. “Since I have nearly an entire day until I see you again, not as good as I could be.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t normally call me at work. Is everything okay?”
I could practically see concerned lines forming between Ryder’s brows, even without us being face-to-face. After a decade together, I knew the man better than almost anyone. “With me, everything is good.” I sucked in a deep breath. “But Morgan had a rough day. Well…night. Well…it is a lot to explain, but I’ve invited her over for dinner tonight to see if we can help.”
“Having Morgan over isn’t exactly phone-call worthy under normal circumstances…” His voice may have trailed off, but the implication hung clearly in the air.
In as few words as possible I relayed the content of the video that was circulating online. “So basically,” I concluded, not entirely sure how my husband would respond to my proposal, but mostly confident, based on our many, many late night conversations, “I was thinking that maybe I could pretend to date Morgan for at least a little while until we get a few photo ops and the buzz dies down—at minimum to get through Valentine’s Day. It’s a pretty big time for her business.”
“Pretend?” The single word carried significantly more depth with the slight lilt turning it into a question.
Our marriage may be the stuff of fairy tales, but it was definitely missing the G rating. And our fantasy came with clear, open discussions on our sexual preferences and desires, as well as what we wanted the future of our relationship to look like. It would always include each other, but adding someone special was the topic of more than one detailed discussion.
Talks where Morgan’s name may have surfaced before.
“Pretend,” I confirmed. For now, I added, only to myself.
“I think this warrants me taking an early day today.”
I smiled, even though Ryder couldn’t see me. “Smart and gorgeous. You really are a deadly combination, Mr. Murray.”
Chapter Two
Morgan
As loath as I was to admit it, Max had been right. The pedicure was amazing, and the facial was an absolute delight, but neither came close to the pure ecstasy of the massage. Combined with my near complete lack of sleep the night prior, I managed to fall asleep when the masseuse was somewhere between my calves and my neck. For a few blissful minutes, I forgot about the threat to my reputation and my livelihood.
Even as I sat in my Audi R8, speeding along the road to Max and Ryder’s home, the tension that had coiled in me for hours and hours so tightly that I was sure I would snap seemed just slightly less catastrophic. Striking up the friendship with who I thought was my favorite barista had been so easy, but—after the embarrassment of learning that Max actually owned the coffee shop I frequented—he had become so much more without me even realizing it. And now he was such an integral part of my life I didn’t know how I could exist without him. Somehow Ryder and I managed to click just as well, if not better.
If I didn’t love them so dearly I would be deeply jealous of the fact that the two most attractive and caring men in my life were not only gay but also represented Instagram levels of relationship goals.
Their housing plan was designed to add a measure of privacy to each residence, despite being in a community setting. Large live oak trees with their massive trunks and sweeping limbs draped in Spanish moss lined the street and also broke up the space between properties so that each home had a more secluded feel. That was the exclusivity a small fortune could buy you in the Florida panhandle.
I swung easily into the driveway and pulled close to the carriage-house-style garage doors. I unplugged my phone from the car charger, and it immediately lit up, displaying a litany of notifications that brought the tight balls of stress back to my shoulders. Instead of sliding it into the pocket of my yoga pants, I tossed it onto the seat beside me. Dinner in my best friend’s house didn’t require the cursed device anyway, and a couple of hours of pretending the swirling storm didn’t exist sounded heavenly.
