“And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I shall be victorious.”

From any other man, the statement would have been boastful, exaggerated or most likely both, a product of overconfidence, arrogance and a distinct dearth of modesty. Yet his confidence was warranted, the arrogance, though present, was tolerated, and no complaint given for the lack of modesty.

For it was simply true.

Cameron Drake was a man who achieved his goals. He wielded power like a warrior, wrapped in a tycoon’s golden thread, his hair a rich auburn, his emerald eyes shimmering with fierce intelligence. His face was chiseled perfection, curves and angles masterfully formed, with full sensual lips and high cheekbones. He rose inches over six feet, with a heavily muscled body no Armani suit could disguise.

Yet far more than physical features made this man the center of attention, as he gazed at a courtroom filled with million-dollar lawyers, powerful politicians and a corporate defendant who saw no reason not to dump toxic waste in a freshwater lake. The defendant was spending millions to keep doing it.

Cameron was not going to let that happen.

He represented a group of people, who joined together to fight the international juggernaut that would destroy pristine lakes, home and hearth to an aquatic wonderland. They couldn’t afford a law firm like the one he owned, in which millions exchanged hands, yet for this case, it didn’t matter. He had billions, which meant he could defend the causes he believed in – pro bono.

Cameron stood still, seconds after the closing arguments, commanding the courtroom like Poseidon ruled the sea. The jury watched silently, portraits of emotion from his riveting speech, as his clients beamed in delighted disbelief, their confidence evidenced by watery eyes. And the defendants? Their horrified expressions revealed their destruction was over.

Indeed, this man always got what he wanted.

Yet despite collecting legal wins like a child gathers trading cards, Cameron had been restless recently. Something seemed missing – something orsomeone. For most people, this restlessness would have elicited a tangle of hopelessness, frustration or despair, yet challenges only invigorated him. It focused him on the hunt, propelled him to victory. Whatever would cure the restlessness, he would find it.

"Moist chocolate fudgebrownie covered in raspberry ganache."

A soft sigh, a turning page.

"Strawberry shortcake with freshly whipped cream."

Another page, and this time a gasp.

"Whoa. Rocky Road, Dulce de Leche and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, smothered in hot fudge, dripping in gooey caramel and covered with glitter sprinkles and three cherries. Strike that, the entire bottle of cherries."

Kaitlyn Owens tiptoed through the room, edging towards the woman whose nose actually touched the tablet. The photograph showed an iconic surfer with golden blond hair and simpering blue eyes, gazing into the camera with come-hither adoration. Kaitlyn stopped directly behind the woman. "I'd say Special Value Instant Oatmeal, the banana – no, the prune – type."

Kaitlyn grinned as Allison, her closest and oldest friend, jumped and pivoted, flushing at being caught indulging in one succulent sundae. Standing in the backroom ofThe Candy Cane Bakery and Confectionary, the woman was supposed to be helping in the honest work of chocolate and pastry production, but instead of toiling in the trenches of flour and sugar, she had been distracted by hot buns of a different type.

Yet the guilt quickly transformed into disbelief. "Are you nuts? Just look at him, at all of them! They're perfect..."

Had she missed something? Kaitlyn commandeered the tablet, flipping through the pages of so-called delicacies. They were a cornucopia of romance novel heroes, from blond movie stars to tall, dark and handsome princes – chiseled, defined and heavily muscled. Her answer was obvious. "Yup, definitely prune instant oatmeal."

Her friend sighed, as if she knew further argument would be fruitless and simply hadn't the strength to try. "All right," she conceded, abandoning her precious gossip website and striding to the worktable. "So my dream man and his friends are instant oatmeal." At Kaitlyn's pointed look, she elaborated, "The prune type. Then who could possibly rank ice cream sundae in the opinion of picky Miss Owens?"

Kaitlyn joined her friend on the bench and gazed at the small chamber filled to the brim with candy-making equipment and supplies. Rainbow walls and glittering floors accentuated silver racks, laden with whimsical cakes and pastries. The air was fresh and sweet, scented with fresh chocolate chip cookies and vanilla cake. This was her dream come true, a sweet Florida candy and pastry store built with hard work and dedication. After years of toiling, the small shop finally turned a profit, and business was booming. Best of all, she earned enough to give back to the community through free workshops and donations to those in need.

"First let me say I do not need or desire a man, but if I did…" A vision formed, the easy-going man who would fit perfectly into her hectic life. "He would be average sized, probably not very big or muscular. He doesn't have to be the greatest looking of men, but nice and modest. Quiet and shy, yet considerate and good. He would listen to me. He would be very agreeable and sort of… what’s the word? Mellow. Yes, mellow."

"That’s your perfect 10?" Allison gaped. "Are you certain you’re not talking about a puppy?"

Kaitlyn laughed. She attracted her fair share of men, yet the type of male who pursued her left much to be desired. Her last three boyfriends, Mr. Wrong, Mr. Really Wrong and Mr. I-Thought-Neanderthals-Were-Extinct Wrong, proved that. Big and burly, aggressive and narcissistic, the men were more interested in a trophy girlfriend than in a true woman or relationship. If she ever had time to date, she would choose a non-aggressive gentleman who would let her be who and what she wanted. "Sounds perfect to me." Kaitlyn grabbed a handful of gooey cookie dough and began to shape miniature hearts. "But it doesn’t matter anyway. Like I said, I don’t need a man."

"Mail call!"

Kaitlyn smiled as the letter carrier, an elderly man with soft laugh lines etched on his kindly face, placed a thick pile on the side bench. “Good morning, Frank. How are you?”

“Wonderful.” Aged eyes sparkled with mirth. “Thank you again for the surprise gift basket for the wife. It cheered her right up after the surgery.”

“Of course.” She smiled warmly. “On your way out, stop by the counter. I have a little something for both of you.”

His ruddy cheeks deepened. “You don’t have to spoil us

Perhaps not, but it felt great.

She palmed another handful of sticky batter, halted as an unobtrusive letter peeked out from under the stack. She placed down the batter, wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the small brown envelope.

Her heart stuttered as she uncovered the return address. She clutched the envelope tighter, crinkling it in pale fingers, before swiftly tearing it open, accidently ripping the folded note within. The scent of cheap perfume tickled her nose as she brought out a thin piece of paper with three single sentences:

I'm taking you up on your standing offer. See you Friday for a week visit. I can't wait to meet your better half. Cynthia

She read the contents of the missive. Then she read it again. She read it once more. And yet its contents remained the same, the modern version of a gauntlet thrown from across the country.

"What is it?" Allison asked in a low voice. All signs of mirth had vanished, in a charged atmosphere that couldn't be missed. "Has something happened?"

Kaitlyn folded the offending letter and placed it into the envelope. She picked up the batter for the next heart, moving in methodical motions, as the letter repeated itself in her mind. She made a dozen hearts before her hands stilled on the mushy batter. She let out a deep, low breath. "I never thought it would come to this," she whispered.

Allison brought her hands to her lips, her expression tinted with dread. "What is it?"

Then Kaitlyn uttered the most tragic words ever voiced in human existence:

"I need a man."

Allison stood silent, too shocked to speak. Kaitlyn breathed deeply. Her friend clearly appreciated the grave implications of the statement. Caught in a position of vulnerability and the need for… a man. The situation deserved a moment of silence.

"I’m sorry." Allison shook her head. "I thought you said..."

"I need a man," Kaitlyn repeated miserably. "I don’t believe it."

"Neither do I. But backtrack for a second.” Alison pointed to the folded paper. “I’m assuming your announcement has to do with that letter."

"Unfortunately." Kaitlyn picked up the discarded piece of mail, keeping it at arm’s length as if a rabid dog poised to bite. "My cousin Cynthia has decided to visit. In just a few days she will invade my home, where she will expect my boyfriend and I to welcome her."

"Boyfriend?" Allison opened her mouth, closed it. "You have a boyfriend?"

"No. Yes. No." Kaitlyn rubbed the bridge of her nose, where a dull ache had started to throb. Her cousin hadn’t yet arrived and already she was upending her life. "As children, Cynthia deemed it her mission to best me in any and every way possible. It is a practice she’s carried into adulthood."

"Sounds like she never made it past her teens."

"Precisely. Every so often she calls to gloat about this or that, always in a sugar-coated manner that rubs me like fingernails on a chalkboard. A couple of years ago, she spent an hour bragging about her wonderful boyfriend and ridiculing my lack thereof. I finally had enough. I concocted a story about a fictional boyfriend and enjoyed a splendid afternoon convincing her I scored the greatest man of the season."

She shrugged. "I never thought it would matter. How could she ever discover my lie? She’s not on social media and doesn’t keep in touch with the rest of the family, at least not since the incident at my cousin’s wedding, which involved several groomsmen, an extraordinary amount of tequila and not a lot of clothing.” She winced. “According to this letter, however, she's coming in three days and isveryexcited to see my fairytale prince. Which is why I have to start kissing every frog in town."

"But it still doesn’t make sense." Allison held up her hands. "You go after what you want, and I’ve never seen you afraid of anyone. Why don’t you just tell her the truth?"

"I can’t.” Kaitlyn breathed out. “I’m not embarrassed or ashamed I don’t have a fairytale prince, if he even exists. Like I said before, I don’t want or need him, and I’ll tell that to a thousand Cynthias. I just don’t want her to know I got worked up enough to lie about it. Could you imagine her gloating to every relative from my mother to fifth cousin? She'd end the family feud just to do it!"

Allison frowned. "Couldn’t you just tell her you broke up?"

If only it were that easy. "It won't work. Cynthia may be horrible, but she’s not stupid. Whenever she asked about him, I said things were going great. I kept meaning to tell her we broke up but then she’d gloat, and it was just easier to maintain the ruse. Unfortunately, she called last week for her annual ‘I'm better than you’ conversation, and I mentioned him. If I don’t produce Mr. Wonderful, she’ll assume I lied. Same thing if I tell her she can't come."

Allison looked at the letter. "Why would she even want to come? It doesn't sound like you're best buddies."

"We're not. The standing invitation was given ten years ago! After mentioning some issues with a current boyfriend and a former best friend – three guesses on what happened there – she asked if I was going to be in town for the next few weeks. She knows I have nothing big planned. Things must have gotten complicated, and since she's insulted every other relative, she's using me as free rent until the situation calms.” She raked her hand through her hair. “If I can just get through this visit, I promise to invent a quick breakup and never lie again. Yet where am I going to find a prince in just three days?"

A mischievous grin lit Allison's face. "Oh, you don’t need actual royalty. You just need someone to play him. And I know exactly where to look."

When Allisonfirst suggested finding a man through a brochure, Kaitlyn assumed she’d been joking. Pick a man out of a catalog? It sounded like something from a torrid 90’s movie. However, after a thorough explanation, the idea sounded not only feasible but logical. She didn’t need a man, she needed one to pretend to beherman. Who could do the job better than an actor?

And where could she find an actor on such short notice? To her astonishment, they actually made brochures for that type of thing, and her friend had them. Apparently, Allison, a private investigator, used some of the companies on prior cases, all of which turned out successful. She’d gladly lent Kaitlyn the pamphlets.

Now she sat on the plush jacquard sofa of her brightly lit living room, clutching one of the brochures. Kaitlyn lived on the floor above her store, in a small apartment converted from an unfinished loft. Scented with the delicious aromas of cookies and cakes, it had only a single bedroom and bathroom, but an open floor plan combined with aesthetically placed decorations created an atmosphere that seemed almost spacious. Pine furniture, flowering plants and posters of scenic landscapes created a charming space, perfect for destressing after a long day of candy creating.

Now she was searching for a delicacy of a different type. An actor would be perfect for her situation. She wouldn’t have to worry about the calamities of a normal relationship – fighting, break-ups, messy emotions. No risk of an explosive fight or lover’s quarrel in front of the ever-watchful Cynthia. And best of all, she could specify exactly the type of man she wanted. No aggressive, self-righteous, full-of-himself man for her. It was the ultimate solution.

Kaitlyn held up the most promising brochure:The Actors Association. The rates seemed reasonable, the operation professional. They hailed from Houston, far from the Florida town of Greenfield she called home, but they boasted nationwide coverage. Since they flew someone out, it cost a decent amount – payable upfront – but the success of the shop afforded her a little extra cash. She dialed the number and was immediately connected with a receptionist who confirmed availability and price.

Everything appeared legitimate, and yet still she hesitated. Could she really hire an actor to pretend to be her boyfriend? A picture of Cynthia flashed, and she notched up her chin. "I'm ready to place my order."

In a daze, Kaitlyn answered the receptionist’s questions, paid by credit card and reluctantly scheduled the actor for the very next day. Cynthia would arrive Friday night, and it was already Tuesday. Unfortunately, the time to preparewiththe actor had to take priority over the time to prepareforthe actor. She refused to compromise on one aspect, however – the type of man she'd be shackled to for Cynthia's visit.

When the clerk asked for performer specifications, Kaitlyn launched into her speech. "Not too big or aggressive. Mild-mannered, calm and quiet. Maybe not exactly meek, but well, actually meek sounds great. Easy-going with a capital E. Someone who will listen to me and do what is expected without a problem."

She might have to share a fictitious relationship, but it would be with a man she could tolerate. The receptionist assured her they had the perfect performer, who fit her description exactly. He would arrive at 8 o’clock sharp the next evening.

Ignoring the slight feeling of uneasiness that accompanies one’s hiring of a stranger to play a loving boyfriend, Kaitlyn agreed to the terms and completed the call.

Tomorrow loomed like a threatening storm. For the first time in years, a man would hover, pretending to be her boyfriend. Would he look at her with come-hither eyes, pepper feather-light touches on her body? Not only must she allow it, but she would encourage it. As she got ready for bed, she couldn't quite quell her worries, strangely more intense over the actor's arrival than that of her cousin. All would be well…

As long as she kept control.

Wednesday morning dawnedin stormy glory. Gray clouds darkened a sunless sky, all traces of cerulean hidden beneath their gloomy depths. Howling winds blew through rickety old trees and over weathered grasses, sending wet leaves scattering through the air. Kaitlyn slept through her alarm, and only the rumbling of thunder finally roused her from slumber.

In minutes, she consumed a morning meal of cereal and toast, then spent half an hour selecting an outfit. She donned a silk cream-colored blouse with a wide scoop neckline and sheer sleeves, which mixed femininity and businesswoman to harmonious perfection. The matching silk skirt fell to just above her knees, ending in a wisp of sheer chiffon. Long enough to be casual, but short enough to show off her legs, the skirt seemingly floated around her. A single diamond solitaire on an elegant golden chain completed the outfit.

She raced down to the store and completed her morning preparations. In addition to all sorts of candy, the store offered a variety of cakes and pastries, baked from the freshest ingredients each day. She passed a fudge supreme cake dripping in chocolate, a strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream and chocolate croissants still warm from the oven. Her employees had already started crafting the morning's delicacies, scenting the air with their delicious aroma.

Kaitlyn gave a warm greeting to Lily, her baker, and started setting out the rest of the morning displays. Time passed quickly, and the opening hour soon rolled around. Despite the turbulent weather, the store grew busy, and time whizzed by in a hectic but enjoyable rush. It was not until late afternoon that she finally noticed how bad the storm had become. The once light gray sky loomed as dark as night, setting a horror movie backdrop to the thick raindrops that pelted against the windows, hard enough to shake the sturdy glass. Large balls of hail accompanied the rain, shattering against the sidewalk in deafening crashes like a marching band's drum, only to be drowned out by the incessant rumbling of thunder. Now concerned about her actor’s imminent arrival, Kaitlyn left the store in her employees’ capable hands and hurried upstairs to call the acting company.

The same receptionist answered the phone and listened as Kaitlyn apprised her of the situation. The clerk knew of the inclement weather and assured her the flight should arrive on time despite the storm. If the actor couldn’t make it that night, he would be there early the next morning.

The afternoon passed almost as quickly as the morning, although business was slower for the nastiness outside. At half past seven, Kaitlyn finished the last of her closing procedures and returned to her apartment. Since the actor would provide his own transportation from the airport, she hadn't recorded his airline information. With no way to check if his flight arrived as scheduled, she could do nothing but wait.

Another bolt of thunder raged, and the lights flickered, amidst a disturbing thought. Originally, she planned to house the actor in a hotel a few blocks away, even during her cousin's visit. She would pretend he wanted to give her quality time alone with her cousin, which would reduce the risk of Cynthia uncovering the ruse. If he managed to arrive safely, however, she couldn’t possibly send him out again in Greenfield’s own virtual hurricane.

Like it or not, she would be sharing the house with a stranger, at least for the night.

She caught sight of the brochure, smiled and relaxed. There was nothing to fear. Her specified man would be no more threatening than a kitten, and probably just as small. Satisfied with logic’s reassurance, she curled up on the cozy couch, a romance novel in one hand and a glass of white zinfandel in the other, to await the beckoning of the doorbell.

Eight o’clock arrived with neither the actor’s arrival nor a phone call. No problem. She wasn't really, really, really, really grateful for the delay or anything. Even if the plane arrived on time, the performer would likely move slower in the midst of the storm. She waited and waited, putting down the book when she re-read the same scene four times. Nine o’clock arrived, followed swiftly by ten. Fate had granted a reprieve; likely her guest would not arrive until the next day. She all but did a happy dance. Okay, she actually did perform a happy dance, but it was a small one. Relieved for reasons she wouldn’t explore, she reclined on the soft sofa and allowed sleep to overtake her.

“Damn!”

The late model Porsche hydroplaned through the dangerously wet roads, squealing in indignation as the lone driver jerked the steering wheel to the left. A tree appeared out of the darkness, solid and thick and closer and closer and… he veered to the right, swiping as close to the jagged bark as a lover’s caress.

Narrowly missinganotherfallen tree, Cameron Drake regained control of the embattled vehicle, exhaling air heavy with the scent of rain and oak, even in the luxurious cabin. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, heralding his close call, the third almost-catastrophe in as many minutes. Would he emerge intact from the next one?

He drove with restraint, moving as slowly as possible, yet the vicious storm pounded and pummeled the world around him, unforgivable and unrelenting. Like it or not, the elements held Cameron at their mercy tonight. Frustrating and exasperating for a man accustomed to ruling his world.

No sane person would be on the road on such a night, as a virtual hurricane loomed from above. He hadn’t even planned to come through the small town, but half the roads on his typical route were impassible, the other half dangerous. How had something so right turned so very wrong?

It had been a good day, a great one even. He won yet another case, awarding the firm that bore his name another win against those who would destroy the environment. He argued the trial in Gainesville, which, difficult as it was to believe, resided relatively close to his current location. After the case, his colleagues took the first flight back to Miami, and although he held a golden ticket with the same destination, he foolishly declined. More work remained to wrap up the logistics of the case. Leave a job unfinished? That was not how he became the overnight star of the legal world.

At thirty-three years of age, Cameron already posed a major player. He'd worked his way up from a modest upbringing to receive a full scholarship to Harvard. From there he progressed to law school, graduating at the top of his class. He had been accepted into a prestigious law firm in Miami, became their prodigy and won case after case. In an unheard-of scarcity of years, Cameron had branched off into his own multibillion-dollar firm. Now the owner and senior partner ofThe Drake Association, he'd finally achieved his goals, and was part of the elite group the press dubbed theBillionaires of Miami.

He'd traded his plane ticket for an evening flight, which gave him plenty of time to finish his work. Unfortunately, the elements didn't respect his dedication as much as the legal field and upended his flight. Instead of taking a one-day hiatus from the Association, he decided to drive. How hard could it be? Yet as he swerved around another fallen branch, the answer was clear:

Too hard.

He let out another slow breath, squinting past the rapidly swaying yet hopelessly outmaneuvered windshield wipers. Three droplets replaced every one it felled, leaving a small river flowing above his dash. A thundering gale shook the vehicle, its tendrils reaching a towering oak mere yards ahead. He hit the brakes, skidding as the tree swayed back and forth, one way and then another like a drunk ballroom dancer. The tree shook and crunched, crackled and then….

Snapped.