Stealing The Fiancé's Shadow
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Summary
Three months into my gig impersonating the spoiled trust fund idiot, Grant Harrington tossed his burner phone at me and told me to keep his fiancée on the hook.
“Flirt, Jamie, not fall,” Grant warned, his eyes barely lifting from the twenty-year-old on his lap. “You mess this up, and your scholarship money is the first thing I cut.”
To keep the lights on—and, more importantly, to keep my grandmother alive—I spent the next ninety days showering Delaney Croft with sickeningly sweet devotion. Morning and night texts. Weather reports.
