Bad Dog – Too Bad It’s Fake Read online Jamie Knight

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)

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Bad Dog - Too Bad It's Fake

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jamie Knight

Book Information:

Sam: This relationship started out on a fake premise. But now I'm falling in love with her for real!
I rush my friend's dog to the vet when he falls ill under my care. But I've never seen a vet as drop dead gorgeous as Dr. Ronda is. Once I lay eyes on her curves, the dog isn't the only one drooling.
As a rich lawyer, I'm usually a smooth talker. Even around beautiful women, since I'm known to be a player. But Ronda leaves me tongue-tied. And I don't correct her when she assumes that it's my own dog.
Especially because it lands me a play date with her and her dog. Of course I want to do a different kind of playing, with only her. And I'm even finding myself wanting to seriously settle down.
This successful, voluptuous woman already has my heart on a leash. But when Benny has to go back to his family, will I lose Ronda, too?

Ronda: Open mouth, insert foot. What have I gotten myself into?
It's not news that I'm not great with people. It's a big part of the reason I love working with animals. But when a ridiculously hot guy comes in with a cute puppy, my social awkwardness bites me harder than a patient ever has.
So now, I have a doggie playdate. Just me, super-hot Sam, his adorable puppy... and my own dog. Who he assumes exists, but doesn't.
I shouldn't have started out so fake, but it was just a spontaneous fling. Now I'm falling for real and need to make it right before it's too late.
Will our budding relationship end up as tattered as a chew toy? Or is this more than just a case of puppy love?

Bad Dog is a steamy romance featuring a hot guy, his feisty love interest, and some adorable pets to boot! Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers.
This is the seventh book published in the Too Bad It's Fake series of standalone books with connected characters and a shared world that can be read separately or binge-read altogether for maximum enjoyment. It was originally published in a different form in the Bad Boys: Too Bad It's Fake series box set, but it has now been edited, expanded and published separately for maximum enjoyment.
Books by Author:

Jamie Knight

Chapter One


The sleek chrome machine gurgled low and deep, the meticulous German engineering working its magic. As the coffee brewed, I tried, not for the first time, to make a slightly bigger dent in the novel I’d been reading.

The trouble with a one-thousand-plus page book like that one was that by the time you got to around page eight hundred or so, you’d forgotten most of what happened before page five hundred. But on the plus side, the thing could seriously double as a blunt-force weapon.

I had actually resorted to taking chapter notes as a refresher. I was just reviewing them when she came slinking out of the bathroom, already dressed for the day and carrying her shoes, trying to be stealthy.

“Good morning,” I said, not turning around.

“Jesus!” she yelled, almost jumping out of her skin.

“Not even close,” I joked, with a low chuckle.

The machine dinged, as though chiming its agreement.

Without a word, I dispensed two cups’ worth of the fancy European coffee: a mug for me and a lidded take-out cup with a heat sleeve for her.

“Thanks,” she said, a stunned expression on her face.

“Have a good day,” I said, before kissing her gently on the cheek.

“Thanks,” she said again, a bit more confidently this time, and headed for the door, “Um, you too.”

I had met her at the pub the night before. April was the name she gave me, but whether it was her real one or not, I couldn’t say. Neither of us were drunk. I actually made it a point to stay sober, rare for one in my profession, and could spot intoxication from across the street through a thick fog. I made it a point never to fuck anyone who was drunk.

I loved women and could even be considered a ‘player’, but there were limits. A general moral code that kept things on the up-and-up. I would have asked her to stay for breakfast, but she was clearly in a hurry.

Properly caffeinated, I popped a multi-vitamin and slipped into the requisite professional costume required by my employers. Mostly, the clothes I had to wear to work were boring. I still had a little room to play, though, and took every opportunity I was afforded.

My suits were all in respectful, subdued shades of blue, grey, and black. But to bring a little life to them, I coupled these with bright paisley shirts and nearly neon checkered pocket squares. My “style” attracted looks, of course, although fortunately most of them were ones of interest or admiration as opposed to distaste.

Easing my Jeep out into the winding snake of the L.A. morning traffic jam, I aimed in the general direction of downtown and clicked on the radio to my favorite stations. The pounding drums and wailing electric guitar filled the built-in speakers, and the blaring music was almost as much of an energy boost as my morning coffee.

There were legends among the White & White ranks about space in the parking garage dedicated to select members of the firm’s staff. Not only the partners, since there were only two of them— Jim and Ann White, who had built the company to a billion dollar enterprise out of nothing— but you had to be fairly high ranking before such a gift would be bestowed upon you.

This situation was most likely rooted in circumstance rather than engineered by design. When the spots were first rented, the firm only had eight employees, including assistants, so eight was the number of spots they booked, with no way of knowing how big the firm was going to get.

I wondered at first why they didn’t just book more, but apparently the garage was full by the time the firm had expanded. So instead the coveted spots remained a mysterious prize, and the rest of us scrounged downtown parking where we could.

White & White, while undoubtedly successful, was also unassuming. Housed in a red brick heritage building, you could see the mountain range of the office blocks that made up the city’s skyline. But the smaller building felt less stuffy and formal than some of the stiff, gray towers, and I was glad for that fact.

The smells from the on-site café reached out like a siren song, tempting me away from the task at hand, but I forced myself to focus.

Settling in my scandalously comfortable Swedish-designed office chair, I booted up the computer, a nearly ancient desktop model I was pretty sure had gone extinct around the same time as dial-up internet. Fortunately, my research skills were still 21st century, and I was elbow deep in the legal archives before the screen got warm.

Suddenly, there was a tapping on my door. My train of thought thoroughly derailed, I got up and huffed over to the locked office door. When I had it open, however, I was glad I had bitten down the string of profanity I had felt bubbling up in the back of my mind.