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  Copyright

  Copyright 2019 by AJ Wynter - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Author's Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  Editing: Teresa Banschbach

  Cover Design: Kari March Design

  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Copyright Page

  ACCIDENTAL CHANCES | Chance Rapids | Book 3 | A.J. Wynter

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Deleted Scene

  Coming Soon

  Also By A.J. Wynter

  Connect with A.J.

  ACCIDENTAL CHANCES

  Chance Rapids

  Book 3

  A.J. Wynter

  About This Book

  REPEAT AFTER ME: NEVER, EVER, fall in love with your fake fiancé.

  Oh, Please.

  That's easy. I hate him.

  Sure, he's hot and his abs could make a washboard jealous, but he's also arrogant, cocky, and worst of all, a player...

  Now, we're stuck playing house in Chance Rapids; faking it for his family - and the small-town rumor mill.

  They have to believe that we love each other - a life depends on it.

  That means putting on a show: kissing, holding hands, and gazing into his crystal blue eyes...but that's where it ends.

  Nope. There's no way I'm sleeping with him.

  This is a business arrangement, and I don't mix business and pleasure.

  But, tell that to the butterflies in my stomach, the ones that go wild whenever he touches me.

  We can never be together, but I think I'm in trouble...

  What do you do when your fake relationship starts to feel real?

  Accidental Chances has all the small-town feels you love: canoes, cabins, and loads of flannel shirts. This is the third book in the Chance Rapids Series, but can be read as a stand-alone.

  Chapter 1

  SERENA PULLED BACK the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony of her high-rise condo. As she suspected, even thirty stories up the summer air was hot, which meant it would be scorching at street level. She smiled. She had the perfect outfit for her date tonight. She was meeting a guy named Thomas, but he pronounced it tow-mass. He checked all of her boxes: tall, banker, six-pack abs.

  She stepped back into her studio loft, pulled on a silk sundress, and spun her long blonde hair into a messy topknot. Unlike her friends, Serena loved the sweltering weather – it gave her face a dewy glow that couldn’t be created with makeup alone. A little sweat went a long way in her photographs.

  She put her phone into a tripod to take a photo of herself leaning over her balcony. She knew her angles and how to look contemplative, yet sexy. She set the timer and arched her back unnaturally, not enough for the camera to pick it up, but enough for her ass to pop. Fifty shots later, she selected the winner and set to work applying filters until she was happy with the finished product. She flipped through her quote book and selected one about horizons and light and posted it to her social media account. Satisfied, she propped her phone up on the ledge of her medicine cabinet and videoed her makeup routine. She made sure to hold up the products that she was being paid to use and wax poetic about how she couldn’t live without them. She posted the video and checked the number of likes on her contemplative balcony shot. Six hundred so far, not too shabby. She smiled and dropped her phone into her handbag, slipped her feet into her favorite gladiator sandals and headed out the door to meet Thomas, hoping that he would be different from all the rest.

  He was standing outside of the restaurant looking at his phone as her car pulled up. She could tell it was him and was pleasantly surprised that he was just as handsome as in his photos. He looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a sailing magazine, wearing a pressed linen shirt, Bermuda shorts, and Top-Siders.

  She sashayed up to him and wanted to ask him where he had docked his yacht, but instead just smiled and said, “Hi.” She rarely let her humor shine until she really knew someone. Not everyone got her dry sense of humor.

  “Hi,” he said and smiled back without showing his teeth. “Shall we?” he gestured to the tapas bar and opened the door for her. They squeezed into the narrow entranceway of the restaurant and Serena shivered as the air conditioning blasted on her shoulders.

  Thomas grinned at the pretty hostess and leaned onto the sleek black desk. “Trent, for two.”

  The dark-haired hostess consulted her book and then shook her head, “I have a Trent at 9 p.m.”

  “I must have booked it under my first name,” he chuckled. “Thomas, party of two for seven.” He leaned onto the hostess stand, so he was only inches from her face.

  The girl trailed her pointy fingernail down the lines of the appointment book, “Oh, here it is, Thomas,” she giggled.

  Serena watched as her date blatantly flirted with the hostess. She cleared her throat and Thomas turned and smiled at her.

  “Follow me,” the hostess said without meeting Serena’s eyes.

  Serena trailed behind Thomas and the hostess. At the table, she slipped into the dark booth and rubbed her arms to combat the goosebumps that had erupted all over her body. Thomas sat across from her and pulled the nautical sweater that had been draped over his shoulders on over his head.

  “Your server will be with you shortly to take your drink order,” the hostess said.

  “I’ll take a scotch, neat,” he said.

  Serena knew then and there that this date was going to be a disaster. First of all, this spoiled prep school jerk had blatantly flirted with the hostess in front of her. Secondly, he didn’t seem to notice that she was freezing her ass off in her cute sundress, and thirdly, he was rude to the waitstaff.

  “I’ll get your server to take your drink order.” The hostess’s flirtatious tone was gone.

  Thomas shook his head and then registered that Serena was seated across the table from him. “What kind of restaurant is
this?”

  It’s a tapas restaurant you idiot, she wanted to say. She knew what he meant. The man wanted to be waited on hand and foot, and he wanted his drink yesterday. She was already counting the seconds until she could go back home. “I’m sure our server will be here soon.”

  “I could die of thirst before then,” he grinned.

  Did he think he was being funny? Drink your water asshat, Serena thought as she took a sip of her own.

  “Ah, here she is.” Her date lit up as an even prettier brunette approached the table.

  “Would you two like to start with some cocktails?”

  Serena opened her mouth to order, but Thomas interrupted, “I’ll take a scotch on the rocks,” he said.

  The server looked to Serena with a raised eyebrow, “I’ll have a white wine spritzer, thank you.” Serena had worked countless waitress jobs when she was in school and went out of her way to be friendly to people who worked in the service industry.

  Thomas Trent looked like he came from old money, but his boorish behavior had new money written all over it. Serena had seen them all.

  When their drinks arrived, Thomas pulled out the little red straw, tossed it onto the tablecloth, and took a sip of his drink.

  “Cheers,” Serena said and held her glass up.

  Thomas swallowed his scotch and clinked his glass to hers, “To a great evening.”

  She smiled and held in her eye roll as she sipped her spritzer. “I’ve heard great things about this restaurant,” she said as she perused the menu.

  “The food is great and the service is usually much better,” he said as he took another sip of his drink and shoved the menu aside.

  There had been nothing wrong with the service that evening. “Would you like to share a few small plates?” she asked. “I was thinking about the coconut shrimp.”

  “Ugh,” Thomas groaned and leaned in as if to whisper Serena a secret. “I only eat seafood when I can see the ocean. You should come with me to my beach house this summer.”

  She wondered if this line worked with other women. Were they blinded by hints of a beach house? She thought about pulling the plug on the date. She already knew she didn’t like Thomas, but she had heard such good reviews about the chef. Could she put up with his arrogance for another hour or so for some succulent shrimp? Her stomach growled. She had her answer. She plastered on her biggest fake smile. “Where is your beach house?”

  “It’s on the shore. You can hear the waves from all the bedrooms, even the one over the carriage house, the one where I’d take you,” he winked.

  “Sounds quite peaceful.” She didn’t know what else to say. Thankfully, she was saved by the reappearance of their server.

  “Did you have any questions about the menu?” she asked.

  “No, we’re ready to order,” Thomas said. “We’ll take a bottle of your merlot, the escargot, the carpaccio, and the samosas.” He reached for Serena’s menu and handed them to the server.

  “And the shrimp, and grilled calamari,” Serena added. View of the ocean rule be damned, she wanted some seafood. She smiled sweetly at Thomas, he narrowed his eyes at her and then shrugged. “Someone’s got an appetite tonight.”

  Serena spent the evening asking Thomas questions about his job - banker; about his hobbies - squash and golf (surprise, surprise); and his family. He was long-winded in his responses but didn’t ask anything about her in return. The date could’ve been a one-man show, a monologue of his accomplishments and possessions. She zoned out. Big time. She wondered if she remembered to put her towels in the dryer and whether the frozen yogurt shop would still be open after she left the restaurant, all while nodding periodically as she watched Thomas’s lips move.

  After what seemed like three years, the sommelier opened the bottle of merlot and the server delivered their plates of food. Serena immediately popped one of the coconut shrimp into her mouth and regretted it instantly as the billion-degree shellfish seared the inside of her cheeks, she fanned her hand in front of her mouth and blew out steam like a dragon.

  Thomas shook his head in disgust, but she didn’t care. She was hungry as hell, and the faster she ate, the faster she could get home and back into her comfy bed. She admired the perfect grill marks on the calamari and snapped a photo before she cut off a piece, allowing the shrimp a little time to cool.

  “How is it?” Thomas asked the first question he had asked her all evening.

  “The calamari is delicious, the lemon and capers are a nice touch. Would you like to try it?”

  “Sure,” he said. He reached across the table and jabbed his fork into the remainder of the calamari and popped it in his mouth.

  Serena frowned.

  “Not bad,” he said through his mouthful.

  Molten lava shrimp be damned, Serena popped the remainder in her mouth in quick succession. She drained her spritzer, removed her napkin from her lap and folded it on the table. Her foot bumped the table leg as she attempted to cross her legs, but as she shifted in her chair, she realized that it wasn’t the table leg, Thomas had stretched out and was trying to play footsies with her. She turned her body sideways and drummed her fingers on the table.

  “Would you like another one?” he asked and pointed to her glass. “Or some of the merlot?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute,” She was going to burn some time in the restroom, giving Thomas time to finish his meal so she could politely excuse herself from the table, and the date.

  “I could use another, where is that girl?” He gripped the edge of the table to peer around the restaurant. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and marched over to the bar before she could leave.

  Serena realized that he hadn’t heard a word she had said. She picked up her handbag and made her way to the restroom. She took out her phone and scrolled through her social media feed, posted some of the photos she had taken of her dinner, reapplied her lipstick, and then snapped a selfie in the mirror. The bathroom was stark white with great lighting, her floral print dress and fuchsia lipstick popped against the background. Satisfied with her new posts, she popped her phone in her handbag and washed her hands. She opened the door to leave and practically ran into the hostess.

  She and the hostess both did an awkward step left and then right, that old dance, to try to get around each other, then laughed. “Whoops,” she said.

  “Are you here with Mr. Popped Collar?” the hostess asked.

  “Not for much longer,” Serena replied.

  “Good. I usually wouldn’t say anything, but he has another reservation here at nine p.m. under his last name, I checked, and the phone number is the same.”

  Serena nodded. It didn’t surprise her that she was first string in what was clearly a multi-date night. “And he’s cruising a dating site at the bar right now.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. This is our first and only date.”

  “Are they all the same?” the hostess asked. “I see this stuff all the time.”

  Serena paused with her hand on the sleek door pull, “I think they are.”

  Back at the booth, Thomas stood up as she arrived. “Where did you go? I ordered you another one of those spritzer things that you were drinking,” he said.

  “I’m ready to leave now,” she said.

  “Alright then. Let’s get out of here,” Thomas smiled and stood his words slurry.

  “What about your backup date? Just going to stand her up?” Serena slung her handbag over her shoulder.

  Thomas’s face blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes narrowed and he changed his tone. “Fine then, leave. You’re old anyway.”

  Serena bristled. At twenty-six years old, she was ten years younger than he was. She hated the double standard, hated the fact that men could happily get crow’s feet and embrace their gray hair, becoming ‘distinguished’ as they aged.

  She had two choices: one was to walk out of the restaurant with h
er head held high and never see Thomas again; two, the option she took, was to pick up his precious glass of scotch and watch surprise register in his dark eyes as she slowly poured it down his crisp white shirt until the remaining cubes tumbled down into his crotch.

  Then, she walked away with her head held high, glad that she would never have to see Thomas again. As she passed the hostess stand, the young girl shot Serena a sly smile. Serena returned it and gave her a wink.

  The hot evening air hit her with a blast, driving away the chill of the restaurant and the heebie-jeebies from her date. She sighed as she realized that while it was bad, it wasn’t the worst date she’d ever had. At least Thomas was a jerk up front. She gave him a smidge of credit, Thomas was a grade-A asshole, but at least he owned it.

  She stepped into her condo, slipped out of her dress and had a cool shower. She pulled on her favorite cotton pajamas and a silk robe from one of her sponsors. She snapped and posted a photo of herself posing in the robe, then sat down on her sofa to mindlessly scroll through the social media feeds from her friends. She felt a tinge of jealousy as she checked out their photos. Their nights were still going and they looked like they were having a lot more fun.

  She sighed and opened up her sketchbook. Earlier in the day, she had seen some beautiful details on an old house and she lightly sketched the gingerbread pattern. Her phone pinged and she set down her pencil to check her email. She smiled when she saw the message. Her dress was ready. It was her very first, very expensive, designer gown.

  The road to her designer gown hadn’t been easy. A month earlier, she had arranged for a high profile ‘date’ to the film festival with a big-name hockey player, Logan Brush. She wasn’t a hockey fan, but her agent told her that he was a huge deal. He tried to back out of the agreement when he got serious with his new girlfriend, but not before the woman found out about Serena. A huge misunderstanding ensued and the woman, Charlotte O’Hare, had dumped a bottle of champagne over Serena’s head. Serena got it. She would’ve jumped to the same conclusion too. At the time, Serena was livid. The dress was ruined and her followers saw the entire thing happen in real-time.