There comes a time in every almost-thirty-year-old woman’s life when getting kidnapped off the street is preferable to admitting that the hot, rich boyfriend you’ve been bragging about for months does not, in fact, exist.
Yes, it’s terrifying being stuffed in the trunk of a Mercedes, but I would rather be locked in a stranger’s penthouse than sleeping on the floor of my parents’ apartment like the loser daughter I am.
Honestly?It’s nice to get some alone time. And my own bathroom.He bribes me with money not to call the police.
I scream at him for forcing me to go to brunch as his prisoner at the hottest restaurant in New York.
Now everyone in my parents’ aggressively posh Manhattan neighborhood thinks we’re dating.
Buckle up, buddy.I have a full wedding itinerary to attend, and congratulations—you’re my fake boyfriend.
Unfortunately, my kidnapper is the worst fake boyfriend in the history of fake boyfriends.
He’s mean.Aloof.Emotionally unavailable.And deeply offended by how much time I spend on my phone.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to ignore how yummy he smells, all muscular and tall as he fumes next to me in bed, furious because I asked him when the sexy portion of the kidnapping is going to happen.
It’s a fair question, though, right?!? I thought kidnapping came with benefits!
Guess my kidnapper didn’t want me that much after all.
Men lying about their desire for a relationship. Story of my life.
Now I’m trapped.He’s miserable.And somehow, this is starting to feel dangerously like a relationship.
EXCERPT:
The one time a hot guy shows interest in me… and he’s a violent kidnapper.
My screams cut off as he tosses in my laptop case. It lands on my ribs, knocking the breath out of me. He shoves my legs fully into the trunk, then tosses in the barking Lulu, then slams the door.
I assume it’s a mistake.
The expensive German car. The bespoke suit. The cologne that smells like money and expensive scotch—Men like him don’t grab women like me.
So why did he just shove me, in all my pizza-sauce-stained, Costco-clothes glory, into the trunk?
I needed a boyfriend, sure, but I did not expect him to arrive via a felony crime.
The engine purrs.
Wait.
Am I really being kidnapped?
Like… for real?
Sleet rattles against the roof as the realization hits.
Oh.
Oh no.
I’m trapped in the trunk of a stranger’s car. A dangerous man. Being driven God knows where.
Sure, he’s attractive—but that is deeply unhelpful information right now.
I’ll never see my family again. Never eat a dollar slice of pizza again—
Wait.
I squint.
Window.
This isn’t a sedan. This is an SUV.
I’m not trapped.
I haul myself up and pop my head over the back seat.
“You’re a crappy kidnapper!” I scream.
“Shit!” he yells—and nearly plows into a parked truck. “You—!”
The car jerks to a stop at a stop sign. He throws it into park and starts climbing over the seats toward me.
“You can’t kidnap me,” I say, panic creeping in. “You don’t want me. I’m not a girl anyone kidnaps.”
My dog barks.
Emerald-green eyes catch the light.
“Sit down,” he commands.
“My mom is going to be really upset if I don’t come home tonight,” I blurt. “Let me go.”
The doors lock.
I fumble in my purse. Find my pepper spray.
“Yes!” I whisper. “I’m a strong, independent —”
I spray… myself.
“Water,” I gasp, coughing, wheezing, blind.
I suck in a lungful of peppery air and yank at the door handle, begging it to open.
Too late.
“Stupid fucking girl,” he snarls, grabbing my jacket and dragging me forward.
“You didn’t even handcuff me!” I wheeze.
He pauses. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
He loosens his tie.
I gulp.
“I cannot believe,” he sneers, “that I kidnapped the most unattractive woman in Manhattan.”
Oh.
Author Bio:
I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.
When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books...
You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.
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