Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance, page 1
PRAISE FOR JJ KNIGHT
“Always hilarious on page one, JJ Knight delivers romantic comedy like no one else. Each book is an irresistible seduction and a tale of connection that pulls you in and leaves you smiling.”
—Julia Kent, New York Times bestselling author of Shopping for a Billionaire
“Every time I finish one of JJ Knight’s steamy, hilarious books, I think this is the best one yet—then she writes another one that becomes the best! Slapstick comedy combines with heartfelt romance and some sultry scenes that will have you fanning yourself.”
—Blair Babylon, USA Today bestselling author of Rogue
“JJ Knight is delightfully funny in an incredibly creative way. She will make you laugh so hard you will cry, and then wrench your heart until you shed real tears. Each new book has me wondering, What is she going to come up with next?”
—Olivia Rigal, USA Today bestselling author of the One Favor series
“Funny, romantic, sexy, sweet. JJ Knight wrote a real winner!”
—Lynn Raye Harris, New York Times bestselling romance author
“Dogs aren’t the only ones panting for this saucy romance between a brooding veterinarian and his upbeat receptionist. The Wedding Confession is immensely enjoyable and the perfect combo of heat and heart.”
—Jennifer Bardsley, author of Sweet Bliss
“The Wedding Confession is an absolute delight! Ensley and Drew’s chemistry is electric from their very wet meet-cute, and it just gets better from there. Another JJ Knight book you won’t want to miss.”
—Addie Woolridge, Amazon bestselling author of The Checklist
“The Wedding Confession is a fun and flirty romp, filled with grumpy-sunshine goodness and steamy will-they-won’t-they chemistry.”
—Kelly Siskind, author of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover
“A laugh-out-loud romantic romp with so much heart.”
—Stephanie Jayne, author of I’ve Got My Mind Set on Brew
“Booze brawls and stingrays and smoking-hot tension . . . hilarious from the very first page. A must-read escape for any romance lover.”
—Lainey Davis, USA Today bestselling author of Vibration: An Accidental Roommates Romance
“JJ Knight does it again! The Wedding Shake-up is a one-sit read—I was rooting for Gabe and Tillie from their crabby meeting right to their surprise HEA.”
—Danika Bloom, USA Today bestselling author of Rhodes to Love: Daring with the Single Dad
“The Wedding Shake-up is the perfect beachy escape with all the fun and magic of a well-mixed drink!”
—Olivia Sinclair, author of Deal with the Devil
“The Wedding Shake-up is the best rom-com I’ve read this year! It’s the perfect beach read that had me laughing out loud and wishing I could join Gabe and Tillie on the beach (and have one of their drinks)!”
—Krista Lakes, bestselling author of Saltwater Kisses
OTHER TITLES BY JJ KNIGHT
Big Pickle
Hot Pickle
Spicy Pickle
Royal Pickle
Royal Rebel
Royal Escape
Tasty Mango
Tasty Pickle
Tasty Cherry
Juicy Pickle
Second Chance Santa
Single Dad on Top
Single Dad Plus One
The Wedding Confession
The Wedding Shake-up
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by JJ Knight
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781662523960 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781662523953 (digital)
Cover design by Hang Le
Cover images: © Rix Pix Photography, © Andrey_Kuzmin, © NeonShot, © Lovecta, © Manamigraphic / Shutterstock
For Kurt.
I was small town.
You were California.
And we had one HECK of a meet-cute.
I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. (Or did I?)
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 KELSEY’S BOSS AND OTHER DEMONS
Chapter 2 ZACHERY HATES ON THE GOLDEN CHILD
Chapter 3 KELSEY SEEKS HER FORTUNE
Chapter 4 ZACHERY’S SECRET OBSESSION
Chapter 5 KELSEY MOURNS THE MUG
Chapter 6 ZACHERY’S ROM-COM-A-THON
Chapter 7 KELSEY ASKS, “WHAT WOULD REESE DO?”
Chapter 8 ZACHERY PLAYS BIG BROTHER
Chapter 9 KELSEY LOSES AN EYE
Chapter 10 ZACHERY PACKS THE SOAPS
Chapter 11 KELSEY AND IT’S ALL POISON HERE
Chapter 12 ZACHERY MEETS THE BEAVER
Chapter 13 KELSEY’S TROUBLE WITH TINKLES
Chapter 14 ZACHERY GETS STEALTH CUDDLED
Chapter 15 KELSEY’S HEART SKIPS TOO MANY BEATS
Chapter 16 ZACHERY’S KEN FRAGILITY
Chapter 17 KELSEY GETS THE SURREY WITH THE FRINGE ON TOP
Chapter 18 ZACHERY HATES ON A MEET-CUTE
Chapter 19 KELSEY’S DREAM IN FOUR-PART HARMONY
Chapter 20 ZACHERY’S SORDID PICTURE PAST
Chapter 21 KELSEY ROUNDS THE BASES
Chapter 22 ZACHERY UNLOCKS THE JELLY JAR
Chapter 23 KELSEY GOES UNDER
Chapter 24 ZACHERY GLIMPSES THE INFINITE
Chapter 25 KELSEY CHANGES THE SO-CALLED SHEETS
Chapter 26 ZACHERY AND THE RED RIVER
Chapter 27 KELSEY MEETS THE WRONG CUTE
Chapter 28 ZACHERY WITNESSES THE REAL DEAL
Chapter 29 KELSEY HANDLES THE BALLS
Chapter 30 ZACHERY STAVES OFF THE DEMON
Chapter 31 KELSEY MEETS THE IN-LAWS
Chapter 32 ZACHERY: 0, WOOD: 1
Chapter 33 KELSEY ROUNDS THE RIGHT BASE
Chapter 34 ZACHERY TURNS ON A DIME
Chapter 35 KELSEY IS FINE ALL FINE
Chapter 36 ZACHERY THE DANCING CHICKEN
Chapter 37 KELSEY AND THE QUEEN OF GLASS
Chapter 38 ZACHERY RIDES AWAY
Chapter 39 KELSEY THE BIG SHOT
Chapter 40 ZACHERY MAKES ALL THE WRONG MOVES
Chapter 41 KELSEY RISKS IT ALL
Chapter 42 ZACHERY GETS THE NEWS
Chapter 43 KELSEY AND THE FOOL
Chapter 44 ZACHERY RETURNS TO THE WHALE’S BELLY
Chapter 45 KELSEY’S TRIPLE MEET-CUTE
Chapter 46 ZACHERY IN THE STARS
Epilogue ZACHERY IN MOONLIGHT
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
KELSEY’S BOSS AND OTHER DEMONS
Any minute, somebody is going to fall into the pool. They’ll make it look like an accident, but it will totally be on purpose.
It’s a classic move, a staple of Hollywood movies because it happens so often in real life.
I sip a glass of champagne that costs more than a tank of gas as I stand on a terrace overlooking an impeccably manicured yard filled with Hollywood glitterati. Everywhere you turn is someone you’ve seen on a big screen, small screen, award show, or interview.
Clear plastic balloons twinkle with lights as they bob at the base of a waterfall. A band plays on a stage across the lawn. It’s a perfect California night, the subject of movies and songs. We’re on the cusp of summer, the air warm and breezy, with the ocean only a whiff away.
But I wish I were anywhere else.
I’m hoping to hide up here until an acceptable hour to leave. The tension below is thick, evident in the uptight body language, false laughter, and wild gesticulations.
Everybody’s working angles, trying to seem more important than they are to secure a nebulous advantage. It’s so fake. So stressful. It takes incredible mental energy to make it through every interaction.
But right now, I have a moment of peace. Nobody’s trying to put their arm around me, or tell me what they can do for me in the business, or worst of all, walking away when they realize I’m only a lowly casting assistant.
A grating voice makes me jump. “Kelsey? What the hell are you doing up here?”
Dang it. I’ve been spotted. It’s Desdemona Lovechild, the hottest casting director in Hollywood, if she may say so herself. And she does, regularly, followed by a hollow laugh that makes you wonder if she’s kidding or being self-deprecating.
But no, she means it.
She’s also my boss.
I drain my glass before she can take it away. She’s dressed dramatically in a silver lamé shirt with wide sleeves that flap like bird wings when she waves her arms. The color matches her hair.
“Hello, Desdemona.”
“Call me Ms. Lovechild here, you know the rules.” She says this while faking a brilliant smile as people glance our way, then adds a tinkling laugh as if I’ve said something funny.
This is the worst. I’d rather be home watching movies in my Care Bear pajamas, but Desdemona insisted I come to do her bi
Nobody says no to Desdemona.
Her minions, me included, secretly call her the Demon. It’s right there in her name.
She flutters her fingers as if she’s conducting a firefly opera, looking past me at anyone who might climb the stairs to approach her divine self. “I need you to go talk to that hot young thing by the champagne fountain.”
I turn to look. “The one in the eight-hundred-dollar T-shirt?”
Her voice is laced with irritation. “Oh, you and your silly hobby. But yes, him.”
I ignore her dig. Adding up the cost of an outfit is one of my favorite pastimes. I’m quite good at it.
Mr. Pricy Shirt has $400 Diesel jeans and, oddly, $60 Converse. Grand total: $1,260. This is good information. He’s a working actor if he can afford those clothes. He’s not running to auditions between shifts at In-N-Out.
Not that it’s bad to be in that place. Everyone starts somewhere. But it helps to know how to approach him.
Desdemona can’t take her eyes off him, which would be creepy, given she’s sixty-three and he’s barely twenty, but I get it. She’s picturing him on-screen.
“Get his name. His agent. His credentials. I want him on my roster by Monday morning. Go!” Her flapping arm flutters her silver sleeve. “Get him before anyone else fills his head with other plans.”
I set my empty glass on a tray and hurry away. I hate when she does this at parties. She doesn’t see how awkward it is for me to walk up to young, successful actors in a casual setting.
Desdemona insists I try to fit in. I work hard to ensure my thrifted $40 red sheath and vintage $35 silver stilettos look $1,500. But because of my blond hair, the dress, and the shoes, my approach to this actor will seem like a come-on. Hollywood party hookups are legendary.
Desdemona, on the other hand, is a cross between Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada and Cruella de Vil. She’s not in it for the rug burns.
But as I slowly navigate my way around the pool toward Desdemona’s new mark, I get it. If she talks to him, and the next role he accepts comes from Arista or Jenny Wolfgang or any of the other casting directors that Desdemona considers her rivals, she looks like a chump.
If I fail, well, blame the lousy assistant for botching the deal.
I know the drill.
Before I can wade through the crowd surrounding the booze, someone bumps my arm. I turn to see Zachery, who also works for Desdemona, holding two fresh glasses of champagne.
My heart leaps a smidge, even though it shouldn’t.
“You look like you need this,” he says, passing me a plastic flute.
I clutch it like a dog with a favorite toy. “You are a lifesaver.”
He smiles with the single dimple that got him decent parts before his career dried up. He could have taken it hard a decade ago, washed up at twenty-six, and disappeared from the industry. But instead, he invested his money wisely and nurtured his network.
Now, like me, he gathers actors for Desdemona.
And at this moment, he’s exactly what I need.
I lean in close to him. “The Demon wants me to nab that guy in the Diesel jeans.”
“What project?”
I shrug. “She didn’t say. She might just be collecting.”
Zachery’s wearing a simple white button-down (Burberry, $800) and navy pants (Santorelli, $250), and he smells so good. He can layer colognes like a chemist. Sometimes I sit next to him at auditions to get a good sniff. If somebody bottled Zach No. 5, I’d sell my car to buy some.
But work proximity is as far as it goes between us. He’ll never be mine. He’s your classic Hollywood playboy, and his ability to charm up-and-coming leading ladies into attending premieres is legendary.
And undoubtedly the source of his usefulness to Desdemona.
“You want a wingman?” Zachery asks.
“Totally. We can’t have a repeat of Plumeria Drive.”
Zachery frowns. “My knuckles have never recovered.”
I lift his hand to kiss them. He punched a guy who tried to get up my skirt at a premiere party earlier this year. “My hero.”
Too bad he’s not “my” anything. But we’re like this all the time. Jester, our casting associate who schedules auditions, has dubbed us “the old married couple.”
And we are. There would be no way to survive Desdemona without each other.
We both love Jester. Zachery and I sometimes fantasize about hanging our own casting shingle, dumping the Demon, and hiring Jester right out from under her.
But this business is built on threats and promises, and Desdemona is one of the hubs. I sometimes regret the day I applied to be her assistant. I should have gone with someone more easygoing. Most casting directors are.
But here I am. Zachery and I often realize we’re stuck in this web, right up close to the spider in the center of it all.
Speaking of which, Desdemona has moved into our sight line, frantically pointing at our mark. He’s already speaking to Glen Jacobs, who everyone knows has been tapped to cast a new superhero series. If Jacobs pegs our guy for something, he might get too busy for us.
And Desdemona will be pissed.
I glance at Zachery. “I’ll take the mark. You take Jacobs.”
“Got it.”
I down my tank of gas for courage, and we move in for the kill.
Chapter 2
ZACHERY HATES ON THE GOLDEN CHILD
Kelsey and I squeeze through the crowd, and it takes everything I’ve got to not glower at every man turning to watch her pass.
Nobody here can hold a candle to her. With blond hair, a siren-red dress, and strappy stilettos, she steals all the attention as she walks.
Not that I’m looking. She’s a coworker and a kid. Okay, maybe not a child at twenty-five, but young in the industry, having worked for Desdemona for only two years. Sharks tend to circle, and I beat ’em back, even if it means I bloody my knuckles.
We head toward this overblown man-child who undoubtedly thinks he’s the greatest thing to hit cinema since Marlon Brando.
But Desdemona wants him, and we generally do what she says.
Between her contact list, Jester’s organization, and Kelsey’s uncanny ability to spot romantic chemistry between two actors, our team makes movie magic.
In truth, there’s no reason for me to associate with Desdemona. I live off the interest of the money I socked away when my career was hot. I don’t have to work another day in my life.
But I stay for Kelsey.
Strong Kelsey. Trusting Kelsey. Long-suffering Kelsey.
I’m afraid that without me, the Demon will eat her alive.
And Kelsey loves her job. She’s good at it. The industry at large may not realize how many projects were cast from her brilliant pairings, but I do.
So does Desdemona, which is why she keeps her assistant so tightly under her thumb. No one can know that the Demon is out of touch, unable to adjust to younger sensibilities, ignorant of trends. She relies on Kelsey now.
But I don’t have the clout to do anything about it. Not an actor out of the game.
So I stay, lingering, watching.
Like tonight.
I walk up to the tall, angular Jacobs. “Been a while,” I say, easily pulling the man aside so that Kelsey can approach the actor.
Jacobs lifts his champagne glass in a half-hearted toast. “Zachery Carter. Looking for parts or for dames?”
Yeah, this will be fun. “Neither. Just making conversation. And I’m not sure any lady here enjoys being called that.”
Jacobs has no business using the word “dame.” He’s barely forty. But like so many people in this industry, he has an act. He wears a suit, for one, even though it’s balmy this evening.
And a fedora. Nobody else out here wears a hat, other than a woman in a pink sequin bra with a matching beret.
Jacobs scowls at my reprimand and sips his drink.
I’ve taken the wrong tack. I’m here to keep him off Desdemona’s new golden boy. If I piss him off, he’ll make a point of stealing the mark.
“What projects are on your desk?” I ask. “I hear you’re in demand.”
This is the right strategy. Jacobs likes to gloat, and he brings up a limited series everyone wanted to cast but that ended up going to him. As he launches into a spiel about his successes, I look over his shoulder to see how Kelsey is faring.
“I haven’t seen you at one of these before,” the Golden Child says. “You an actress?”
Kelsey shakes her head, and I’m mesmerized by how the ends of her hair brush her bare shoulders. “Oh, no. I work for Desdemona Lovechild in casting. Have you heard of her?”
