The Accidental Harem: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
1: Vivienne
2: Brady the Bull Rider
3: Vivienne
4: Brady the Bull Rider
5: Vivienne
6: Brady the Bull Rider
7: Vivienne
8: Mitch the Billionaire
9: Vivienne
10: Mitch the Billionaire
11: Vivienne
12: Mitch the Billionaire
13: Vivienne
14: Vivienne
15: John the SEAL
16: Vivienne
17: Vivienne
18: John the SEAL
19: Vivienne
20: Vivienne
21: Vivienne
22: Vivienne
23: Vivienne
24: Brady the Bull Rider
25: Mitch the Billionaire
26: Vivienne
27: John the SEAL
28: Vivienne
29: Mitch the Billionaire
30: Vivienne
31: Adolfo from Monte Carlo
32: Brady the Bull Rider
33: Vivienne
34: Adolfo from Monte Carlo
35: Vivienne
36: Mitch the Billionaire
37: Vivienne
38: Vivienne
Epilogue: Vivienne
Sneak Peek of the Single Dad rom com series
Also by JJ Knight on Amazon
A Standalone Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy
By JJ Knight
author of
Single Dad on Top
Single Dad Plus One
Uncaged Love
Fight for Her
Revenge
Blue Shoes
Summary:
A spunky travel agent with dreams of being a country music singer accidentally books four men to the same cabin on a secret luxury cruise line, discovering that happily ever after doesn’t mean you have to choose just one.
Copyright © 2018 by JJ Knight 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, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, fan-made graphics, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons , living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
V1.1
JJ Knight
www.jjknight.com
1: Vivienne
I never have been very traditional.
Case in point number one: I started coloring my hair strawberry blond when I was sixteen.
Mother didn’t know. She’d have skinned me alive. I was very tricky about it, pretending to have a hat fetish. She didn’t see my full head of hair for almost a year, when I was a senior and she couldn’t do diddly squat to punish me as I had already been accepted to junior college.
Daddy said he liked it anyway, and he’s the one who always handed over the car keys. What does it matter what color your hair is anyway? Gramma always says it’s what inside that matters. And I am loyal and kind and have zero problems with anybody’s way of living. Gramma taught me all that too, even when we sometimes felt full-on surrounded by jerks and cheats.
But strawberry blond is my color. The darker kind, anyway. I’m too lazy for platinum. We are L’Oreal soulmates. Till death do I part from my squeezy chemical bottle.
Case in point number two: I slept with my first boyfriend at age fifteen.
Okay, I know. You think I was too young. You’d probably be right. But boys were just so…how do I explain it? More than interesting. More than fun. Intoxicating. Necessary.
I became a serial monogamist right off. I learned never to jump one ship until another was in the harbor. So I never cheated, no way. But there might have been a rather narrow window in between them every once in a while.
I like to be passionate, both in bed and at the microphone.
Case in point number three: I want to be a country music singer.
I’m aware that I’d probably get more fame as a pop star. But country music is in my bones, growing up in Tennessee. Love gone wrong. Oh that “Lonesome Me.” “Tear in My Beer.” I like the songs with a powerful gut punch.
“He Stopped Loving Her Today” makes me cry for an hour every single dang time. Yeah. Google it. It’s a tear jerker in the hands of George Jones. I’ve also heard Dolly do it. LeeAnn did it. All good.
I may or may not have recorded a version for YouTube.
Despite my aspirations, I’m twenty-five and work as a travel agent. It’s a good gig, as I more or less set my hours, work on commission, and can use my travel discounts to go to auditions, which isn’t easy since I live in Miami now.
Plus I get big perks on cruises, and I always choose the ones for singles. Everybody hooks up in every direction there, and nobody blinks an eye when we don’t even exchange last names.
Karaoke is standard fare on these ships, and I know if I can get up there and sing a soulful rendition of “Crazy,” I’m going to have my choice of men that night. Works every time.
Does this make me a tramp? Maybe. I don’t know. I like to think of it as sexual agency. Boys have always been able to sow their oats.
I just planted a couple of fields of my own.
All this is to say is that when hunkalicious in jeans and cowboy boots walks into our office to book a cruise, I am all over it. My coworker Sam, who just finished her transition to the Sam she was meant to be, sees him saunter in and instantly waves him over to me. Sam likes girls regardless of her gender. We can generally eyeball which direction to send a walk-in within three steps of the door.
We refer the retired couples back to Janet. She loves helping them find bargain tours with the least amount of walking. Sam and I are hopeless at those.
We’re all about the adventure, the perfect pairing of the dream vacation with the ideal package.
And I’m already eying this guy’s package.
I cut him a shy smile. Sam may have sent him to me, but I did see her check out his Wranglers. She might like girls, but she’s got eyes.
And that butt is gold.
I stand up and hold out a hand, tilting my head so a dangling earring will peep out from my hair. I’ve practiced this look in the mirror. I want to dazzle the man I’m interested in. There is no room to be coy. Nothing about me translates as hard to get.
Case in point number four: I’m easy.
But you’ve figured that out by now. Hopefully you’re not judging me. Because by the time this story is done, I’ll have done a lot more than just sing a few songs and bang a few boys.
But back to the hunk.
He drops into the chair. His smile is slow and full of more promise than a TV talent show. Which I’ve auditioned for, three times. Those lips would have made a drag queen cry. You could kiss every part of them for the better part of an hour and not cover all the territory.
Despite being ready to take him on my lunch break, and dinner, and breakfast, I manage to sit up straight and ask him what sort of trip he’s thinking about. All the while imagining how that sandy brown hair would feel running through my fingertips.
I get another slow smile. God, I need an air conditioner in January. Of course, here on the ocean I’d need one anyway. But you get my drift. The back of my neck is as hot as the back of his jeans.
“The Blue Sapphire Yacht site says you’re an authorized agency,” he says, and his voice is just as sexy as his lips. Low, rumbly, like a tractor in a field.
I’m already naked in the hay with him while he mentions that Blue Sapphire Yachts was hard to track down. Their online presence is a little short on information.
And with reason. Their cruises start at ten thousand dollars.
Per day.
I size him up. Dusty boots. Wranglers. Totally need to peruse those again. A half-buttoned blue checked flannel over a white T-shirt. Nice hair, but not anything high-end in cut or style.
No watch. The phone sticking out of his pocket is a run-of-the-mill iPhone, the previous version, not the newest.
He looks pretty normal. Although he definitely works out. That means he has a job that encourages it or else he has leisure time. Access to a gym or equipment at home.
Still, I’m not seeing $50,000 cruise material. And that’s the starter package.
“They are pricey,” I say. I tug out a brochure for a more reasonable option. “Any particular reason why you chose them? You can get really nice cruises for much less.” I open the tri-fold to show a lovely ship on a deep blue sea.
It’s a singles cruise. One I’m thinking of taking in a couple months.
I’m shameless.
But he dashes my hopes.
“No, I’m pretty specific,” he says. “I need the Blue Sapphire Yacht Cruise starting three weeks from now sailing from Miami to Cuba.”
“Okay,” I say. The brochure goes back in the rack, and I turn to my computer. “Let me see what their schedule is. Three weeks out isn’t long. It might be booked.”
He nods, a flash of dou
Of course, who knows. Maybe he won a lottery. Or inherited some cash. And it’s not unheard of for people to live way below their means or to hide their wealth.
It’s just that rich people don’t come in person to book a Blue Sapphire. They have assistants or secretaries do that.
And newly rich people wouldn’t have heard of them. Even as an authorized agency, we’re not allowed to mention them unless the customer talks about them first.
Blue Sapphire Yachts doesn’t advertise. There’s no way to know unless you just…know. When someone takes you on one. Or a company sends you there. It’s a secret passed by word of mouth. Like a kiss.
A hot kiss on a pair of lips made for sinnin’.
“You okay?” the man asks.
Damn, I’m staring.
“Just waiting for the numbers to crunch,” I say, swinging back to my screen. Of course the numbers crunched instantaneously, but people are always blaming their slowness on their computers. I do it at least twice a day.
I scan the screen. There are six Blue Sapphire Yacht cruises involving Cuba in the next month.
“I’ve found several,” I say. “Was it five days? Seven? Ten?”
He frowns. “I’m not sure. I heard them mention Grand Cayman.”
I wonder who “them” are. Maybe he’s going with friends as hot as himself. I imagine being surrounded by Wranglers and several of his hot buddies, and my face flushes.
“That helps,” I manage to say. The five-day boat doesn’t stop in Grand Cayman. It has to be either the seven-day one or the ten. I hit print on both.
“I’ve found two,” I tell him. I lean down to pull the print outs from the tray below. His eyes go where I’m hoping they will, into the cleavage that pops as I bend.
I’m sooo glad I wore the wrap around dress today. It fits like a dream, and I can conceal or reveal as I choose.
This guy warrants a reveal.
“How did you hear about Blue Sapphire Yachts?” I ask as I lay the printouts on the table. “They don’t advertise.”
His gaze skitters down my body and onto the papers. “I have a business connection taking this one. He suggested I look into it.”
“Oh.” So maybe he is all right. This is a corporate expense. Except nothing about Wranglers says business. Unless he’s getting up in my business.
“Well, here are the two in that time frame.” I turn the pages around. “Blue Sapphire Yachts are very exclusive. This one is mostly booked, but it looks like I can get you on.” I point to the seven-day cruise.
“This one is oddly open.” I turn it back around. “This itinerary was just created a few days ago.”
“That’s it,” he says quickly. “That’s the one. I want on it.”
My eyebrows lift. I can see Sam watching us, probably now regretting sending Wranglers to me. The commission on this one cruise is what I make in a week. Two weeks, when it’s slow.
I circle the price in my pen. “This work, though?” It’s six figures. Low six figures, but still, six.
He hesitates. “Can I put a down payment on it and pay the rest in a week?”
“Sure,” I say. “But if you don’t cover it, you forfeit the down payment.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll have it. I have money coming.”
I was right about not being easy rich. But now he’s got me curious. I glance at Sam, who quickly turns like she wasn’t listening in.
I lean forward. “You sure? I can get you lots of nice places for less.”
His eyes drop to the V of my neckline and rest there a moment. I haven’t even displayed this angle on purpose. But he seems to be enjoying the view, so I keep it there. My boobs are one of the few parts of my body I’m not shy about. Hell, I’m not shy about anything, but maybe self-conscious is the word. I only like my belly when I’m lying flat on my back.
And my thighs are hopeless.
But back to Wranglers.
“No, this is the one,” he says. He has to wrestle his eyes back to my face. “You book many of these cruises?”
I shrug, and the movement drags his attention back to my cleavage. “There are only three authorized Blue Sapphire agencies in Miami,” I say. “The company has very particular requirements.”
His eyes come back to mine now, inquisitive. “And what are those?”
“I’ll have to fill out a background screen on you,” I say. “And take a photo and go over some of their policies. We’re trained special for them.”
Now his smile is lazy. “When do you take my picture and ask me questions?”
He’s flirting.
Okay, my lady bits are starting to sizzle. “I’m sure a gentleman traveler such as yourself has a favorite restaurant?”
Yes, friends, I just invited myself on a date.
I do this often.
He sits back, scrutinizing me. “Is there a high rate of denial on this screening?” he asks.
And I get it. He’s playing me too. He thinks I can get him in. But I’m super crazy curious, and he’s the hottest one-night stand I’ve spotted in a while. So I’ll go along.
“The price is a pretty high barrier already,” I say. “But I’m sure there are some unsavory ways of earning money that they prefer to screen out. The boats are small, and the clients are interested in protection and privacy.”
He relaxes a bit. “That makes sense, actually. So I suppose I should pick you up for this interrogation after work?”
Now I’m smiling. “I get off at six,” I say. It’s four actually, but I want to run home and prep a little for this one. Some waxing. Some spritzing.
He stands. “Then I’ll return at six.”
I hop up from my chair, aware that my boobs get a good sway on as I do. “I’m Vivienne Carter,” I say. “And you are?” I hold out my hand.
He extends a strong hand and accepts mine. “Brady,” he says, letting his voice fall into a touch of a drawl. He’s a Southern boy but can hide the accent when he wants. Interesting. “I’m Brady Wilson.”
He lifts my hand, but instead of kissing the back of it, he turns it over and presses his lips to my wrist.
My pulse jumps like crazy.
“I look forward to tonight,” he says and lets me go.
Oh yes, so do I.
2: Brady the Bull Rider
The travel agent doesn’t suspect a thing.
I get to my truck and climb into the cab. She was one sweet little number and flirty as all get out. I haven’t saddled up with a girl like that in six states. Maybe I shouldn’t have come on so strong, but she seemed into it.
Besides, I need her. I have to get on that cruise.
I don’t have anything to hide really. But swinging a hundred thou on a cruise will set my bank account all the way back to my early bull-riding days, when the winnings were small and I had to sleep in my truck to get by.
Actually I’ve been sleeping in it anyway, driving to Miami straight from Houston, stopping only when I flat out couldn’t make another mile without running into a bar ditch.
I check the clock on the dash. I have all day until she gets off. I need to combine some accounts, pool my funds, and call that rodeo office in Nashville to find out where my last check is.
Fool’s Errand. That was the bull in Nashville that put me over the top. And in the nick of time. I had no idea a chance to meet with a major sponsor was going to happen so fast. I’d been driving the wrong way, thinking I could find him in Houston. Thankfully, I’d overheard a conversation at a ranch where I was assessing a bull that the guy I wanted was going on this cruise.
His name is Adolfo Felini, and he manages one of the royal casinos in Monte Carlo. He’s been looking for American sports stars to endorse beyond the Formula One racers that Monaco famously started.
I feel like bull riding is a perfect opportunity for that, and I’ve been ready to make a steady gig. I’m pushing thirty, and there’s only so much tossing into the dirt a man’s body should have to take. If I can get in with this Felini while I’m still a hot commodity on the circuit, we can parlay my dust crunching into training, endorsement deals, and I can be calling some shots myself at the major rodeos.
