Fake Marrying the Grumpy

Fake Marrying the Grumpy NOVA ETHAN Before You Get Started! Do not forget to add my previous books "Arrogant Billionaire" and "The Billionaires Nanny" to your TBR! And get my FREE Book " Grumpy Billionaire's Baby " by joining my newsletter! Contact info: Email: novaethanauthor.com My Website My Facebook Group My Instagram Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Copyright © 2023 by Nova Ethan LLC All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. One ELLIE I sighed and bounced on my toes as I waited for the appraiser to join me in the driveway. I was trying not to hover, but I couldn’t help feeling impatient. Was it supposed to take this long? Was he supposed to be making so many notes on his clipboard? The man was still on the side of my house, maybe checking something with the electric meter. Or the foundation. To be honest, I still didn’t know very much about houses even after all this time. Quentin, my older brother, had always been the one to make sure that the necessary upkeep was done. Since he’d left for his round-the-world tour, I’d found myself thrust into a world of things I didn’t know much about – house upkeep, car maintenance, tax preparation, and more. I had known he’d been helping me out for all those years, of course, but I hadn’t really thought about what that help truly entailed. Hence bringing an appraiser in to take a look at the place. I was starting to think seriously about selling the house, and I didn’t know the first thing about figuring out its worth. I had watched a few reality TV shows about home renovations and sales and such, but they didn’t help much. I understood that you sort of based the price of your place off other places that had sold in the neighborhood, but how did you really figure out how your house compared to theirs? I hadn’t told Quentin that I was thinking of selling the place yet. He and I both had so many memories – both good and bad – tied up in our childhood home, and I wasn’t sure how he would react. Besides, he was traveling right now, and the last thing I wanted was for him to feel like I was ripping the place out from underneath him, or like he needed to come back home to help clear the place out. Still, I figured I could at least get the process started. I knew that one of the best ways to get Quentin on board with selling the place would be to present all the facts to him so that he knew he wasn’t going to have to do any extra work. So, an appraiser. When the appraiser finally joined me in the driveway, the expression on his face was grim. He turned toward the house, making a few final notes on his clipboard and squinting up toward the roof. I couldn’t even think of the questions I was probably supposed to be asking. “Everything okay?” I finally managed. The words sounded dumb and childish to my ears, but hey, I couldn’t be the first person he had ever met who didn’t know a damn thing about their house beyond how many bedrooms it had. The appraiser turned to face me; his expression tight-lipped like he was trying to figure out how to word the bad news. “I’m afraid that your foundation is a huge problem,” he said slowly. “It’s infested with termites.” “What?” I asked in shock. Then, I shook my head. If the whole house were full of bugs, wouldn’t I have noticed? “Is this one of those things that you tell me because I’m a girl, and I’m just supposed to nod along and agree to pay whatever thousands of dollars it takes to fix it?” I asked suspiciously. The appraiser held up both hands. “Look, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said. “But it’s a wonder the whole place hasn’t fallen in on itself. It’s structurally unsound.” “Can you show me?” I asked. As he led me around the house, jabbing his fingers toward tiny holes, little cracks, bug havens, I had to admit, he presented a compelling case. My head spun. I felt like I might get sick. The whole house was rotting away, and somehow, I had never noticed. Quentin was going to kill me. “So, what can I do?” I finally asked as we came back around to the driveway. The appraiser shook his head. “You need to get the place fumigated. Like, yesterday. Now, I know you think I’m trying to upsell you to some ridiculous charge, but here’s a business card of a company I’ve had good success with for other clients. Tell him I sent you and he should even give you a discount. But…” he paused and looked back to the house, squinting. “You probably shouldn’t be living there while they’re fumigating. And you definitely won’t be selling the house any time soon. Even after they’ve fumigated, they’re probably going to have to get in there and replace some of the joists. You’re in for a long and expensive process.” “And otherwise?” I asked, feeling desperation well up inside of me. “You could have the place condemned,” the appraiser said, turning back to face me. “But at