There’s a magnetic attraction when a happy-go-lucky gig worker agrees to a fake relationship with a rich, uptight New Yorker in this steamy romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young.
Star Shine Meadows is all about freedom, thanks to the hippie parents who raised her. Juggling her jobs as a professional costume character actor and a line sitter, she believes in no expectations, no stressful ambitions, and no-strings-attached relationships. So when she meets a birthday girl’s grumpy uncle while working a princess party, she can’t help but needle him. She’ll never see him again, and honestly, he's pretty hot.
Rafe Whitman may be a veterinarian with a great bedside manner, but that doesn’t mean his patience extends to anyone with opposable thumbs. His family will not stop nagging him about finding “the one,” so when he runs into obnoxiously cheery Star again, he makes her an offer: He’ll pay her more than she would make doing her odd jobs if she’ll pretend to be his girlfriend at family gatherings. She can stop sitting in line waiting for someone else’s new phone, and he’ll get his family off his back.
When the tension between them heats to a breaking point, Star’s desire for "no strings" is tested against Rafe’s staunch stability. They say opposites attract, after all....
I have loved Young’s words since the start of her career and The Love Plot is another stunning addition to her catalog! I love a good grumpy sunshine story and this one was a lot of fun. From two completely opposites attract to fake dating, Rafe and Star Shine take you on a roller coaster ride of all the emotions, quirky moments because of the different ways these two have grown up. This is a fun read and keeps you on your toes!
Excerpt:
I was shocked to find Rafe striding determinedly in my direction again. His broody face was more brooding than usual, so I braced myself.
Rafe Whitman drew to a stop before me and blurted out, “You’ll literally do anything for money?”
Anger flared in an instant from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair, so I didn’t hear the tone in which the question was asked. I threw back my shoulders. Taller than average height at five-seven, I was still a good seven or eight inches shorter than this arrogant Manhattanite, but I was prepared to take him. Anyone who knew me knew I was a patient, laid-back kind of person . . . but Rafferty Whitman had crossed the line!
“What the hell does that mean?” I seethed. “Are you suggesting I charge money for sex?”
Rafe’s blue eyes flashed with indignation. “No, I am not,” he hissed at me, eyes darting around. “And lower your voice.”
“I will not lower my voice.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I like most people, but you sure do make it difficult, Whitman. It’s like you get off on being as insulting as possible.”
He mirrored me, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not insulting you. If you’d paid attention, you’d realize the question was not meant to be untoward.”
“Untoward?” I grimaced. “What, are you from the nineteenth century? Is that why you hate phones? Because if the technology is difficult for you to grasp, I can teach you how to use a phone.” I was being a little shit now, but he brought it out in a person.
Rafe sneered. “How much will that cost me?”
Argghhh! I narrowed my eyes but smiled. “Oh, for you . . . twice as much as I’d charge anyone else.”
“I see. Well.” Rafe uncrossed his arms to reach into his back pocket. He removed his wallet and then a business card from that. Holding it out to me, he continued, “I guess you stand to make a lot of money for doing very little. If you’re interested, call me.”
Flummoxed, I took the card. “Um . . . doing what?”
But he was already walking away.
“Doing what, Whitman?” I yelled after him.
He didn’t answer, just casually strolled off. His suit pants molded perfectly to his sculpted ass. So unfairly physically perfect.
“Are you going to call him?”
I looked up from the business card that read Whitman Veterinary Clinic, Dr. Rafferty Whitman.
His vet clinic was on the busy, tree-lined Columbus Avenue. Nice location, Dr. Rafe.
There was his phone number right beneath the address.
Yvonne grinned at me, and I answered her question. “Nah.”
Her eyes bugged out of her head as her friends gaped at me in shock. “Uh, Clark Kent just asked you to call him, Star. You don’t turn down Clark Kent.”
“You do if he’s an asshole. Life lesson, girls: an attractive face should not sway you if a pompous, arrogant, insulting, offensive turd lurks behind it.”
Yvonne chuckled. “You did yell at him and try to embarrass him with the peanut butter and jelly stuff. That’s not true, is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s not true.” But she was right. I had antagonized him.
“You should make it true. I’d roll in a bathtub of jelly with that man.”
Slipping the card into my purse, I shrugged. “Impossible. His ego would take up the whole tub. No room for jelly. Or me—I mean you.”
“You’re not the least bit curious to find out what he wants to pay you to do?”
“Considering how that sounds, nope. Not at all. Ooh, look, the line is moving. Yay.”
But as the girls turned to move with the line, I knew I was lying.
I was so curious, my heart still raced from my encounter with Rafe.
Samantha Young is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the On Dublin Street series, including Moonlight on Nightingale Way, Echoes of Scotland Street, and Fall from India Place, and the Hart's Boardwalk series, including Every Little Thing and The One Real Thing, as well as the standalone novels Fight or Flight and Much Ado About You.
