One and Only

© 2023- Karla Sorensen All Rights Reserved Cover Designer-Najla Qamber Design www.najlaqamberdesigns.com Interior Design- Tina Stokes Editor- Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies Proofreading- Julia Griffis, The Romance Bibliophile No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. To my boys. I hope you never read this, but if you do, you are the very best encouragers in the world and that’s about the only reason I finished this book on time. 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 Want more of the Wilder Family? Other books by Karla Sorensen Acknowledgments About the Author Chapter 1 Greer In my own defense, the decision to hire a husband wasn’t actually a bad one. It was the execution where I stumbled. Yes, I could’ve thought things through better (my tendency to act first and think second was one of my personality flaws) and sure, I could have tried to do it the old-fashioned way (really though, who has the time). The truth was that I never should have scheduled interview possible husband candidates and last-minute design consultation for my stupid brother’s teammate on the same night. Convenience—the location of the restaurant to my hotel, getting both of these things out of the way at once—and cravings—I would fight someone over baked ziti—were the drivers for that decision, and no doubt, I could look back on my desire for cheesy carbs as the thing that caused my downfall. The walk from my hotel to the restaurant didn’t take as long as I thought, so I showed up plenty early and paused before I told her my reservation name. In hindsight, this would’ve been the moment to call the entire thing off. Before giving her my name, I was the only person involved. Before sitting down in that booth, no one knew what I was attempting. In my mind, I could see the proverbial door of my escape sliding shut. My chest went a little tight at the ramifications, but instead of walking away, I hitched my chin higher and approached the host stand. “Reservation for Greer Wilder,” I told her. She gave me a polite smile and grabbed two menus. “Of course. Follow me, please.” The booth I requested was in the farthest corner from the entrance, curved for privacy. In the center of the table was a tasteful arrangement of short, squat candles flickering with warm light and a bud vase filled with a single rose. Perfect. I gave her a frank look and pulled a fifty out of my purse. “I will need this table all evening,” I told her. She arched some seriously perfect eyebrows. “Okay?” “I’ve allotted a very specific amount of time for each guy I’m meeting, and as long as no one shows early, it should be just fine.” Her mouth fell open. “How many dates do you have tonight?” First, they weren’t actually dates, and for a moment, I considered explaining that to her. But then there would be questions and judgment, and I really didn’t feel like pausing for either option. Second, whatever they were called, I had way too many of them to be considered sane. “A few,” I hedged. “I have something very specific I’m looking for.” A nice smile. Taller than me. Relatively sane. Moderately attractive. Willing to fake marry a stranger for money. I didn’t say any of that, of course. But nonetheless, when she gave me a wide-eyed look that straddled the line between worry and awe, I felt a hysterical bubble claw its way up the back of my throat. The front of the restaurant was a long uninterrupted stretch of windows, so I specifically chose a seat in the booth that had me completely hidden from view. Normally, I’d want the opportunity to study any approaching male specimen—especially given my current situation—but for the sake of any early arrivals, I wanted to make sure they couldn’t see me from the host stand. A server approached with two glasses of water and a speculative gleam in his eye. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rocco, and it looks like we’re in for a fun evening.” Someone had warned her coworker. I sighed, reaching into my purse for another fifty. “Rocco, you have no idea.” “What can I start you off with?” “Fresh waters after every guest, please,” I said with a tiny smile. “And a chardonnay.” He exhaled a laugh. “You got it, boss.” I’d taken a small sip of my ice water, trying to decide whether it was rude to eat half the basket of bread before my first appointment arrived when my phone screen lit up with my sister’s name. “Sorry, Poppy, don’t have the time right now,” I muttered and hit ignore. I let out a slow breath, tucking my hair behind my ears while I waited. My hand reached out to straighten the perfectly straight silverware, but I pulled it back and set my clenched hands in my lap. I could do this. I had really good reasons and great gut instincts. The hostess approached. “Here you go,” she said to gentleman number