Accidental Honeymoon Read online

  ACCIDENTAL HONEYMOON

  MIRANDA MACLEOD

  Accidental Honeymoon

  Copyright © 2020 Miranda MacLeod

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or

  transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or

  other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of

  the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

  reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Find out more: www.mirandamacleod.com

  Contact the author: [email protected]

  Cover Design by: Victoria Cooper

  Edited by Kelly Hashway

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Preview of London Holiday

  Also by Miranda MacLeod

  About the Author

  C H A P T E R O N E

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Monica gripped the front doorknob, her

  knuckles turning white as she surveyed the dark-haired

  woman who was blocking her departure. Though usually a

  sucker for short, choppy curls and freckle-spattered cheeks,

  this was one of those rare times when Monica was

  impervious to an attractive woman’s charms. It had taken

  her weeks to book today’s meeting at The Walters Art

  Museum, and with a wedding contract in the six figures on

  the line, she couldn’t a ord to be a minute late, no matter

  how pretty the obstacle standing in her path might be.

  Besides, it was much too early on a Monday morning to feel

  anything but grumpy.

  “You’re Monica?” The woman spoke with an easy

  confidence that made it seem like she’d never experienced a

  moment of self-doubt in her life. Deep blue eyes peered at

  Monica from beneath partially closed lids, and it felt like the

  stranger could see right through her and knew she was all

  bark and no bite. How annoying.

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  Monica snapped. She eyed the woman’s baggy denim jeans

  and rumpled plaid shirt that topped a white V-neck tank top

  that had shifted downward to give Monica much more of an

  eyeful than had probably been intended. Talk about being

  put at an immediate disadvantage. It would be all she could

  do to keep her eyes politely above neck level while giving the

  interloper the third degree. “I still have no idea who you

  are.”

  “I’m Ray.” She hoisted her left arm to reveal a sizable

  toolbox, shaking it e ortlessly so the contents rattled. “I’m

  the handy ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “Handy. Ma’am,” she repeated, punctuating each word

  with a lift of the eyebrows that sent sparks to the tips of

  Monica’s toes.

  Monica stepped to the left and closed the door ever so

  slightly in an e ort to prevent the possibility of Ray pushing

  her way in. She seemed like exactly the type of woman who

  would do that, the domineering kind who didn’t easily take

  no for an answer. In other words, pretty much her type

  exactly, though Monica would be loath to admit it. Not in

  real life, of course. She had a professional image to maintain,

  and that meant being seen with the right kind of woman,

  someone as put together and polished as she was. Secretly,

  though? Yeah, a soft butch with a tool belt showing up on her

  doorstep was a scenario that could’ve been lifted straight

  from any number of her late-night fantasies.

  But what were the odds of it playing out in real life?

  “Wait a minute.” Monica’s eyes widened as an

  explanation for the situation sharpened into focus. “Did my

  girl squad send you?”

  “Did who do what?” For the first time, the cocky stranger

  seemed thrown o her game.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Monica grinned triumphantly at Ray.

  “How many times have my twin cousins Trish and Maddie

  jokingly threatened to send me a stripper to help loosen me

  up? But I never thought they’d go through with it.”

  Ray took a step back, her jaw tightening as her eyes

  flashed with what could only be anger. “I don’t know who

  you think you are—”

  “Is this part of the act?” Monica tapped her fingertips

  together. “I’ve always had a weakness for combative women,

  which, if you ask my therapist, is part of the reason I keep

  ending up alone.”

  A hint of surprise flickered across Ray’s face at the

  mention of women, but it was far from the first time that

  had happened to Monica. With her long blonde hair and

  penchant for pencil skirts and dangly earrings, the word

  lesbian didn’t even make the top ten of assumptions people

  made when meeting her. To the woman’s credit, Ray made a

  quicker recovery than most.

  “Listen. I don’t want to hear about your private life. I

  have a job to do.” Ray reached into her back pocket and

  pulled out a business card.

  Monica scanned the details. The card looked legit,

  featuring a list of common household repair tasks that,

  despite her initial assumption, were probably not code for

  anything sexual. So, this was not a stripper sent by her

  mischievous younger cousins to entertain her. How

  disappointing.

  “Rachel Walsh. Tell me; do you call yourself Ray so people

  will think you’re a dude? If that’s the case, you might want

  to adjust your shirt. That cleavage is a dead giveaway.”

  Ray gave a nonchalant shrug that resulted in her plaid

  shirt slipping a few inches down one arm, exposing a very

  shapely shoulder. “Nobody said you had to look.”

  Damn. Monica swallowed, feeling like a rock was caught

  in her throat. Had that shoulder move been intended to

  seduce her? Probably not, but even so, Monica thought she

  knew how a mouse felt when being toyed with by a cruel cat.

  A few more swipes and she’d be a goner. Time to strike back.

  “It’s a weird name for a woman, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t, but as it happens, I was nicknamed Ray after

  my grandfather, who also gave me my stubborn streak. You

  see this?” Ray tapped the dimple in her chin. “Grandpa Ray

  had one just like it. If it turns red, you’ve done pissed me o

  beyond belief.”

  Monica squirmed. “It’s approaching the color of a fire

  engine right now.”

  “Exactly,” Ray said, gnashing her teeth together so her

  jaw became square as a lantern.

  “There’s no exactly about it,” Monica retorted, suddenly

  recalling she was the one who’d been wronged. “You can’t

  show up and barge into my house with a toolbox

  unannounced. I’m on my way to a very important business

  meeting.”

  “Your house?” Ray sco ed. “It’s my understanding

  you’re just a renter.”

  “Yes.” A chill crept into Monica’s tone as she bristled at

  that word just. That she was renting the house was a

  technicality she did not enjoy being reminded of, like she

  was some kind of second-class citizen. “My lease clearly

  states I should receive twenty-four-hours’ notice for any

  work on the property.”

  “Have you checked your messages?”

  “I never listen to voice mail.” Monica tossed her head

  slightly to remove some stray strands of hair from her face.

  “Anything important comes by text.”

  Ray sucked in a deep breath. “Do you think that could be

  the source of your problem?”

  Monica sti ened, her neck growing hot. “Who do you

  think you are, telling me I have a problem?”

  Another bored shrug, accompanied by an additional inch

  of bare shoulder in what was quickly becoming an accid
ental

  strip-tease. “You’re the one who introduced yourself by

  announcing you’re in therapy.”

  “Everyone’s in therapy.” Monica made a show of rolling

  her eyes. “I don’t have time for this today. I already

  explained I’m running late for my meeting.”

  Ray glanced down at Monica’s feet. “I take it shoes are

  one of your other trouble spots.”

  Monica’s eyes darted to the floor, at which point she

  realized she was wearing only a single shoe. She’d been in

  the middle of searching for the other one when the doorbell

  had interrupted her. She started to speak, burning with the

  desire to explain she was a victim of circumstance, but could

  only open and close her mouth like a goldfish.

  “Right, let’s sort this out before we both die of old age,

  shall we?” Ray pulled out her phone and held it to her ear.

  “It’s Ray. It’s like you said. She hadn’t gotten the message

  about you putting the house on the market, and she won’t let

  me in to start the work.”

  An angry chirping came from the phone, which, even at a

  distance, Monica recognized as belonging to her ex-

  girlfriend. Not bothering to ask permission, Monica snatched

  the phone from Ray’s hand and turned her back so the handy

  girl, or whatever it was she called herself, couldn’t gawk at

  the look of wide-eyed terror that surely had taken over her

  face at the phrase “putting the house on the market.”

  “What the hell, Brianna? You’re selling my house?”

  “Your house?” Her ex’s mocking laugh made Monica

  wince. “I think you mean my house—”

  “We had an agreement—”

  “For you to rent it from me for a little while until you got

  back on your feet.”

  “The only reason I’m not on my feet is because you

  knocked me on my ass by leaving me for Judith.”

  “Which is why I’m only charging you the cost of the

  mortgage and taxes instead of the full market rate.” Brianna

  sighed dramatically, and Monica could clearly picture the

  look of self-pity that was almost certainly etched on her ex’s

  face. “I didn’t think you’d be so cruel as to punish me like

  this, Monica. How long do you plan to take advantage of

  me?”

  “Take advantage? You’re the one who suggested the deal,

  I assume because it made you feel less guilty when I found

  out you were cheating on me. On my birthday. I didn’t even

  get to enjoy my cake. You know how I feel about cake.” At

  the sound of shu ing behind her, Monica flipped around to

  see Ray was standing inside the house. Oops. She’d kind of

  forgotten the woman was there and wished too late she’d

  kept that humiliating cake detail to herself. “It’s only been a

  couple months. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent

  rental?”

  “I do, actually. I’m a real estate investor, remember?”

  “Then you should understand,” Monica pleaded, even

  though she knew understanding anyone else’s position

  wasn’t one of Brianna’s strong points.

  “Yeah, I understand the market is way hotter right now

  than I thought it would be for that crappy townhouse. It’s

  not my fault everyone wants to move to the suburbs to get

  away from crowded cities and set up home o ces.”

  “I happen to like this crappy townhouse.” Monica let out

  a low-throated growl as Ray chuckled. As if she needed some

  day laborer judging her on her lack of snappy comebacks.

  “I’m sorry, Monica. You know I’ll always love you, but I

  have to make the best financial decision for me and Judith.

  She has her eye on a three-unit penthouse in the Inner

  Harbor. It’s a total steal right now, but even so, I’ll need to

  sell one of my other properties to make the down payment,

  and yours will yield the highest return.”

  “This is so like you. Money always comes first.”

  “Yep. Everything is my fault. Poor little Moany can’t be

  blamed for anything.”

  “Don’t call me that! You know I hate that nickname.”

  “Moany Monica, Moany Monica,” Brianna chanted like a

  three-year-old.

  Monica covered the earpiece so Ray couldn’t hear the

  dreadful nickname. After several seconds, she tried pleading

  with her ex. “You can’t sell my house. I’ll have no place to

  go.”“You keep calling it your house, but my name is on the

  mortgage. If you ask me, I’ve been a saint letting you stay

  there—”

  “I pay enough in rent to cover all your out-of-pocket

  expenses on the place.”

  “Oh, please. I could easily get three hundred and seventy-

  five dollars more a month on the open market.”

  “There you go again with exact dollar figures.”

  “It’s called the real-estate business. It’s how I a orded

  the house in the first place, instead of flitting around from

  party to party, drinking champagne all night with

  celebrities.”

  “That’s what I do for a living!” Monica squeezed her eyes

  shut. How many times had they argued about this since

  Monica had launched her own event planning business?

  Brianna had been so supportive at first, but she should’ve

  anticipated her ex would get jealous the minute her clientele

  started including B-list celebrities.

  “You barely worked for a year, and I was the one who had

  to carry your dead weight.”

  “It was the worst economy in decades. The entire world

  was basically shut down!”

  Admittedly, it had been terrible timing to venture out on

  her own mere months before the whole planet ground to a

  halt, but it’s not like she could’ve seen that coming. Besides,

  hadn’t she dipped into her savings to make sure she never

  missed contributing her portion to the bills? That was half

  the reason she couldn’t a ord to buy the house, not that

  Brianna cared to remember that. Her ex was the type who

  could only recall the details that were convenient for her.

  Monica tried to settle her breathing, noticing again Ray

  watching her intently. Having this humiliating conversation

  in front of the hottest woman she’d seen in ages just added

  insult to injury. “Come on, Brianna. I’m sure we can come to

  an agreement.”

  “Sure. You can buy the house from me. I’ll give you a

  great deal.”

  Monica could picture Brianna’s phony professional smile,

  and she wished they were having this conversation in person

  so Monica could strangle her backstabbing ex. “You know I

  can’t do that. Not for another year, according to the

  spreadsheet you put together for me. You said you’d give me

  that long.”

  “No, I said you would be able to buy something in a year. I

  didn’t promise you could stay in my house for that long.

  That’s your problem. You only hear the words that suit you.

  Not reality.”

  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Monica felt the

  world around her go red. “I’m not moving!”

  “Either buy me out,” Brianna shouted, “or I’ll have you

  kicked out.”

  “I have a lease!” Monica choked on the words, knowing it

  wouldn’t matter. She was done with stubborn women. Hell,

  she was done with women, period. They were nothing but

  trouble.

  “I know.” Brianna’s voice was as cold as her heart. “I

  wrote it and included an escape clause saying I could sell it if

  the market heated up. Well, guess what? It’s fucking on fire.

  So either fork over twenty percent or start packing.”

  The phone went dead.

  “I hate you!” Monica screamed into the phone before

  tossing it down onto the couch, stomping her foot as she did

  so for good measure.

  “Hey! That’s my phone!” Ray rushed over to inspect the

  damage. Maybe it was Monica’s imagination, but she seemed

  disappointed there wasn’t any. She’d probably wanted to sue.