Possessive Fake Husband Read online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)

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Possessive Fake Husband

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

B.B. Hamel

Book Information:

I’m about to marry my rival’s daughter just to get what I want.
Except she’s all I really need.
When I agree to marry Maggie Fyall, I don’t expect her to be drop dead gorgeous and sharp as a tack. I’m only taking her to make sure this business deal goes through. But as soon as I kiss Maggie up on that altar, I know I’m not letting her go.
Her father owns a competing internet firm, and we want to merge our companies. But a bitter rivalry has left my board hating everything about this deal, and they’ll never agree to it without some persuasion.
Which is why I need to make Maggie mine. Together, we’ll convince my board that a merger is the only way forward. And in the process, I’ll convince Maggie that every inch of her was meant for my pleasure.
She’s my little plaything. My perfect wife. And I’m going to possess her before this little fake marriage is through.
That’s right, another possessive romance! You might’ve noticed Maggie made her debut in the previous book, and now it’s time for her story. Possessive Fake Husband is a steamy romance with a little excitement, a little drama, and plenty of emotion. As always, there is no cliffhanger, no cheating, and a happily-ever-after guaranteed. Enjoy! XO BB
Books by Author:

B.B. Hamel



I follow my father in through a set of large wooden double doors and a man in a tuxedo gives me an odd look. My heels make a clicking sound on the marble floor and I feel underdressed, even though I’m wearing a long dress and my hair’s up in some stupidly complex twisted pattern I spent all day perfecting. I don’t know who owns this house, but it’s packed with men and women, all older than me, and all of them wearing expensive outfits. Women have glittering jewels in their ears, at their throats. The men look at ease in absurd tuxedos. There’s an oil painting hanging on the wall that I swear I’ve seen in a museum before as we slowly move through the crowd toward the back door.

The house is more like a mansion and it took us an hour of driving to find it tucked away in some small town outside of Philadelphia. My father glances back at me with a little smile and takes my arm. He’s tall, graying hair going thin, and his suit is just slightly too baggy for his skinny frame.

“I know, Mags,” he says. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“This place. It’s not really our style.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Dad.” I give him a look.

He laughs. “Look, I told you this was important, okay?”

“And that’s why I’m here. Wearing this dress. With this hair.”

He grins at me. “You look great, honey.”

“I look like I’m going to my prom, but whatever.”

He laughs again and shakes his head. “If I remember right, you skipped your prom out of protest.”

“They wouldn’t let boys go with boys,” I say. “I mean, seriously. I’m still outraged.”

“It was a Catholic school, sweetie. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Some humanity?”

“It’s not inhumane to have beliefs.” He sighs, shaking his head and smiling. “You showed them though, didn’t you? Went to Harvard, graduated with honors.”

“Oh, I’m sure all those nuns are sitting in their convent, feeling very chastised.”

He frowns. “I don’t think the teachers at your school live in a convent.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Right.” We step into a large formal living area. More people are packed into this space. A caterer walks past holding a tray of champagne glasses. I snag one before my father can stop me and take a nice, long sip.

He gives me a look. “I know you’re old enough now but it’s still weird,” he admits.

“You’ll just have to deal with that, Dad.” I take another sip. “If I have to be at this weird business thing, I’m drinking.”

“Juist don’t drink too much,” he says, already scanning the room. He smiles at someone and starts to walk toward him. I have to hurry to keep up, not used to walking in heels, and definitely not used to this kind of party.

It’s subdued, almost quiet. I can’t say I went to a bunch of ragers at Harvard, but we had our fair share of fun. This is less of a party and more of a formal gathering, with little groups of people talking quietly as the caterers move around the space with food and alcohol.

We skirt around a couch and a few chairs as Dad shakes the hand of a portly guy with a big bushy mustache. “Chuck, this is my daughter, Maggie.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Chuck says. “Your dad talks about you all the time. Proud of you, you know.”

“Obviously,” I say. “I’m amazing.”

Chuck laughs and sips his drink. “Listen, mind if I talk your father’s ear off for a second?”

“Go right ahead,” I say. “I assume that’s why we’re here.”

“Just a sec, honey,” Dad says.

I wander off a bit. The room’s crowded and I don’t recognize a single person anywhere around me. I feel lost and out of place, but I’m going to at least make the best of it, as I find my way toward the bar. It’s pressed back against the far wall, probably where a television used to be, based on the layout of the room.

I’m not sure why my dad wanted me here. He said it was important that he made a good first impression on these people, and he thought having his daughter with him would help. I didn’t really question it, since I don’t have much going on right now. After I graduated from Harvard with an English degree, I realized there weren’t too many opportunities for a liberal arts major. I mean, I can be super impressive when it comes to quoting Romantic poetry, but that’s not about to land me some amazing job.

So I’m stuck at home while I figure out what the heck I’m going to do next.

I slip through the crowd and approach the bar. The bartender is a young guy with a nice smile. “White wine, please,” I ask him.