Accidentally perfect, p.1
Accidentally Perfect, page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Sweetheart Deal, by Miranda Liasson
The Best Kept Secret, by Tawna Fenske
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Marissa Clarke. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Cover art by Maridav/Shutterstock,
Anna-Mari West/Shutterstock, and
Diana Taliun/Shutterstock,
Interior design by Toni Kerr
Print ISBN 978-1-64937-189-8
ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-190-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2022
Also by Marissa Clarke
Anderson Brothers series
Sleeping With the Boss
Neighbors With Benefits
Chance of a Lifetime
Animal Attraction series
Dear Jane
Three Day Fiancée
For Sally Johnson, friend, cheerleader,
and maker of darned fine vodka tonics
At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage.
https://www.entangledpublishing.com/books/accidentally-perfect
Chapter One
There were good days. There were bad days. And then there was this day.
Lillian Mahoney gritted her teeth as the TV camera moved in closer to the food-prep table. She’d known they’d be filming this segment of Good Day Manhattan outside, but she’d been assured it would be a closed set.
The set was totally not closed.
Since Lillian had created the Living Sharpe brand almost five years ago, she’d forbidden its namesake, lifestyle guru Niles Sharpe, to participate in interviews or make public appearances, and yet here he was, in front of a live audience, with the potential to ruin everything she’d worked so hard to create.
Behind Niles and the show’s host, Sylvia Baynard, a crowd of onlookers had gathered and were all but shoving each other out of the way to get their faces and hand-drawn posters in the shot.
Niles, of course, was loving all of the attention. All the face-to-face fawning from the crowd pushing up against the metal barriers around the tiny stage was like food for a starving man—a starving man who was supposed to be making fondue, not making eyes at every woman in the audience.
She shot a glance at her sister and co-producer, Erin, who looked as horrified as Lillian felt. There was little hope this would end well. She crossed her arms over her ribs protectively. For years she’d protected the Sharpe image as if it were a fragile egg. Now, like Humpty Dumpty, it could come crashing down never to be put together again.
“Salted caramel fondue is one of my favorites during apple-picking season,” Niles said, giving a pretty woman in a tight I heart NY T-shirt leaning over the barricade a wink before grinning at the camera.
Lillian groaned in her head. He hadn’t even known what fondue was until yesterday when they’d practiced this recipe in her kitchen—the kitchen they passed off as his in all their episodes of Living Sharpe.
Left to right, she chanted in her head, unballing her fists long enough to cross her fingers. Left to right like we practiced, Niles. A live performance was a terrible idea, but people were starting to get suspicious because the famous Niles Sharpe always declined public appearances and live TV shows. Maybe this would throw them off the scent. Good Day Manhattan was a great gig in that it was local and hit the right market without the risks of a national program if Niles screwed up.
“First, we’ll need to heat our water and sugar over medium heat.” Niles added the correct ingredients in the correct order to the pot and Lillian sighed with relief. They always had to do multiple takes when filming Living Sharpe episodes.
“How long do you heat it?” the host, Sylvia, asked.
“Um…” He stirred vigorously—too vigorously—and squinted his eyes like he always did when trying to remember something. “It depends on the pot and the heat source. Just until it reaches a rich, golden color.” He shot Lillian a glance, clearly wanting a pat on the head for actually remembering something fundamental. She gave him a nod, and he beamed. “Yeah. Just be sure not to burn it.”
“So, you’ve become a real household name, Mr. Sharpe,” Sylvia said as an obvious time killer during this boring stage of making the recipe. “What got you into the lifestyle business?”
“Call me Niles, please, Sylvia,” he said in his velvety voice while flashing his movie-star smile.
She blushed, like most women did when he turned that devastating smile on them. His looks were a big part of the success formula—well, that and all the research, testing, marketing, and hard work from Lillian, Erin, and the entire Sharpe team. “Okay then, Niles, what got you into this business?”
“My grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies,” he said with a nod. “Best cookies ever. I wanted to be like her for as long as I could remember. I want to make her proud. Hopefully I have.” He waved at the camera. “Hi, Grammy!”
A couple of feminine sighs came from the audience crowded around the tiny stage. Lillian fought the urge to roll her eyes. The real reason he’d become a household name was anything but sigh-worthy. She’d found him in a bar and made him the viral sensation that launched the company. She wasn’t even sure he had a grandmother. Still, this story worked to their advantage, so they kept it in the repertoire.
“Ah, see how we have a nice, even layer of bubbles across the top?” Niles said. The cameraman maneuvered up and over to get a shot inside the boiling pot. “Should be soon now.” He shot Lillian a look as if seeking confirmation. God, she hoped it would be soon. Her heart couldn’t take more of this stress. She swallowed hard, hoping her smile looked casual and genuine.
“So, let’s talk about what you dip in salted caramel fondue,” Sylvia said. “I see you have a plate of apples and some strawberries.” She picked up a tiny disc. “Are these—”
“My famous waffle wafers,” Niles interrupted. “The recipe is on our website and is featured on episode… Ummm…” Again, he began whipping the contents of the pot like he’d experienced a power surge, when really, he’d experienced a brain blackout. He shot a startled glance at Lillian, who held up two fingers and then four. “Yeah. Episode Twenty-Four.” He grinned and slowed his manic beating of the caramelizing sugar before he began flinging it into the audience like a malfunctioning KitchenAid mixer.
“Okay. See the deep golden color? Now we add three tablespoons of butter, and once that melts, the heavy whipping cream.”
Left to right, Lillian coached in her head.
He added the ingredients in the correct order and continued stirring.
Lillian allowed herself to relax a little at this point. Rehearsal and drill had paid off. She should have selected a less burn-sensitive dish, but time constraints and the expectation of something practical yet unusual from Niles Sharpe made this the perfect recipe. Besides, fondue was one of her favorites.
“Ooo. That looks wonderful,” Sylvia said. “I can’t wait to taste it.”
Niles gave a woman in a yellow dress in the audience a smile, and Lillian fought the urge to clear her throat. Pay attention, Don Juan. If only his attention span was as impressive as his libido.
“Now, the last ingredient is some salt.”
As if the entire world had been set to a slow-motion setting, Lillian watched in horror as he grabbed the bowl farthest right—the one full of flaked sea salt he was supposed to use
Crap, crap, crap. The world may have been moving in slow motion, but Lillian’s thoughts zipped and pinged in hyperdrive. She’d known something like this would happen. She should never have agreed to this. Every possible scenario played out simultaneously in her head—none of them good. In fact, all of them terrible.
A woman in the Good Day Manhattan crew held up a notecard with “15” on it written in red Sharpie. Good. Maybe they’d cut away before the tasting, because that stuff was going to be flat-out awful with an ocean’s worth of salt in it.
“We are so honored that you came on today, Mr. Sharpe—I mean, Niles—and I can’t wait to try your salted caramel fondue!” Sylvia said. Niles picked an apple slice, and they both dipped and lifted their bites in salute to each other.
Surely it had been fifteen seconds. Please cut away, Lillian begged in her head as Sylvia lifted the waffle wafer to her mouth and took a delicate bite. The woman was a better actress than expected, because other than a slight furrowing of her forehead, she didn’t give anything away. Niles, on the other hand, grabbed a napkin and spat his bite of apple out with a muffled curse as the camera cut away.
“Well, that was more like caramelized salt than salted caramel,” Sylvia said with a laugh.
Lillian was relieved she had a sense of humor, unlike furious Niles, who was stomping her way. Thank God the camera was off. “What the hell was that?” he said, glaring at Lillian.
No, no, no. Not time for one of his characteristic temper tantrums. Way too public.
“How did that happen?” he said between his perfectly straight, gritted teeth.
“You know exactly how it happened,” Lillian replied in a tone so low it wasn’t even a whisper. Nobody in the crowd around them could have heard her, which was imperative in order to not do any more damage.
“Five years!” Niles practically shouted. “We’ve been together five years, and you do this to me?”
Aaannnd this was why they never did live appearances or interviews. Niles’s ego and his abilities were way out of sync. So, evidently, was his temper. This was not the time for one of his childish tantrums.
“Please keep your voice down,” Lillian said so that only he could hear.
“You sabotaged me. You mixed up the ingredients on purpose,” he said so that everyone within a ten-mile radius could hear.
“Watch the segment, Niles, and then I expect an apology,” Lillian whispered. “A really, really good one. Not like the last one. You should probably present said apology with baked goods, preferably low on salt, and maybe flowers.”
He threw his arms up and shouted. “We’re through.”
If only. Sadly, he was the face of Living Sharpe, and she and Erin were the brains. They were stuck with one another.
He stomped over to Erin. “That’s the last straw. Either she goes or I go.”
It wasn’t until then that Lillian dared a glance around. Phones. Everywhere. This entire drama had been filmed by dozens of onlookers, many still focused on her. Oh, freaking perfect. Her drama king had found a stage.
“Go to the greenroom with Suzanne, and I’ll meet you there, Niles,” Erin said, nodding toward a Sharpe crew member at the ready.
Face red, he pointed an accusatory finger at Lillian. The sound of phone camera clicks came from behind them. “You can’t just send me away. She sabotaged me.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Niles,” Lillian said under her breath.
He folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child. “Her or me,” he stated as if Erin were the only one with a say in the matter. Lillian still pulled the biggest salary because she created the business, but Erin was in charge of marketing and, more importantly, keeping Niles happy and productive, so perhaps it was natural he’d make his appeal to her.
“Go inside with Suzanne, and I’ll be there shortly,” Erin said, pointing an authoritative finger toward the doors into the building flanked by barriers lined with rapt fans and the ever-present phones recording this entire thing.
“And you’ll take care of her?” He tipped his head in Lillian’s direction as if she were a problematic stranger rather than the person who dragged his drunk butt out of a college bar and made him who he was. Inside her chest, sadness and anger warred in a painful tug-of-war. Anger was winning big-time.
“I’ll take care of it,” Erin assured. “Meet me inside.”
With a dramatic harrumph and an applause-worthy swagger, Niles strode away, stopping a couple of times to sign autographs. Once he’d entered the building with Suzanne on his heels, Lillian and Erin both huffed out breaths.
Erin had left her job at a big advertising firm almost four years ago to join the Living Sharpe team at Lillian’s request… Well, it was far more than a request. Lillian had begged, groveled, and even threatened to kidnap her big sister. They’d just sold the Living Sharpe TV series and launched the kitchenware line, and Niles had become uncontrollable with his inflated ego filling every room to the point of bursting. Erin had adopted the role of big sister to Niles and helped keep him even and on task, something Lillian had struggled with from day one.
“It was just an accident,” Erin said, in that annoying big-sister way.
“There is no such thing as an accident in this business. There are careless mistakes and intentional negligence.” Lillian’s cheeks heated as her anger bloomed up her neck and over her face. “I’m going with the latter in this case.”
Erin tilted her head and gave Lillian that hush-now-you’re-overreacting look she’d perfected twenty years ago. “It’ll blow over,” she said, gesturing to two folding chairs that had been abandoned by the Good Day Manhattan crew members who were busy striking the set to clear the area.
Lillian scanned the dwindling crowd. A couple of people still had their phones out, clearly hoping Niles would come back out or that something else exciting would happen. “I’m going to head home.”
Erin gave a thumbs-up to one of her crew members who was loading up the Living Sharpe equipment and the morbid remains of the fondue fiasco, then placed a hand on Lillian’s shoulder. “When was the last time you took a day off?”
“I don’t take days off.”
“Exactly. You work every day, all day, and you have for years.”
That was true, but look at the payoff. They’d grown so big so fast it was mind-boggling, and Lillian was proud of that. She’d grown this business from the ground up, single-handedly for the first year before she convinced her sister to help.
Right now, that sister was looking at her with an irritatingly worried expression. “What do you do for fun?” she asked.
Great. Now Erin was slipping into her big-sister role with Lillian as well as Niles. “I work for fun.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s a blast, Lils. Do you”—she lifted a brow—“date?”
“I’m dedicated to my work. You know that. I don’t have time or interest in”—Lillian mimicked Erin’s suggestive brow lift—“dating.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She went out, but not recently because they’d been winding up that season’s episodes. Besides, dating services were terrible. The guy was never anything like his profile. She closed her eyes. Just like Niles Sharpe, the entire facade was a lie, but with Niles, that was all on her.
“You two have worked closely for over five years,” Erin continued. “He lives in your house, even.”
“He does not live in my house. He lives in the guest house out of necessity.” If he were out in the wild, he’d blow his image for certain.
Erin held her hands up in surrender. “Okay. Whatever. You guys are still up in each other’s business twenty-four seven. Maybe you and Niles need a break from each other.”
God, if only. “Don’t you think I’d love that? It’s like having a high school–aged little brother to look after, and I’m sick of it. Sick of him.”
“Clearly, he feels the same way. Admit it, Lils, you’re pretty intense.”
Lillian’s face flushed hot. Her own sister was taking up for Niles Freaking Sharpe?
