From Fake to Forever. Kat Cantrell

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       One

      Normally, a surprise trip to Manhattan ranked high on Meredith Chandler-Harris’s list of Really Cool Things. A visit to one of the most highly respected fashion houses in the world hit the list even higher than that. Having to tell the man she’d spent two years trying to forget that they were married, not so much. It pretty much ruined Manhattan, fashion and—hell, even martinis.

      That had been Jason’s drink.

      Meredith shifted as unobtrusively as possible on the leather couch as she waited for the receptionist to admit her to the inner sanctum of Jason Lynhurst, chief operating officer of Lyn Couture. Who was also Meredith’s husband. Apparently.

      “Mr. Lynhurst will see you now,” the receptionist called in her frostiest voice.

      Meredith always got frosty from women, who were largely unforgiving of the assets God had bestowed on her at birth. And she especially expected frosty from a woman who’d tried not-so-politely to show Meredith the door. She obviously had no clue who she was dealing with.

      Lyn Couture bustled beyond the reception area, with sharply dressed men and women engaged in a myriad of tasks. Fascinated, Meredith craned her neck to peek at chalk outlines of sleek outfits stenciled on parchment and fabric swatches laid out on cluttered desks.

      This was where the alchemy of fashion and style converged. It was enough to make a woman giddy. She adored everything about clothes: buying them, wearing them, owning them, matching them. But to a woman who wanted to buy half of her sister’s wedding-dress-design company, Lyn Couture was so much more than a place of business—this was a mecca for like-minded people.

      Even Meredith had a pair of Lyn jeans. Of course, she hadn’t known who Jason was when she’d caught his eye across the dance floor at that club in Vegas. She’d only known that he moved like a man comfortable in his own body and had cheekbones to spare. And she’d wanted a piece of him. Only to learn two years later she’d bitten off a much bigger piece than she’d ever dreamed.

      Curious gazes swung in Meredith’s direction as she followed Frosty Receptionist to the corner office.

      “Mr. Lynhurst?” the receptionist called through the open door. “Your visitor is here.”

      Mr. Lynhurst. Please. That man had done more wicked things to Meredith in one weekend than all the men since then...combined. Much to her chagrin. Wasn’t there one who could make her forget the perfection of the man who had rocked her world so very long ago?

      “Thanks, hon. I’ll take it from here.” Meredith skirted the receptionist and swept into the office as if she owned it because that’s how you got people’s attention.