Free Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) by Melissa Tagg

building, casting off thoughts of Matthew Knox. She stopped in front of the meeting room door. “For the good of the show,” she muttered and swung the door open. “Hey, Linc.”
    “Ahh, Randi!” He stood, arms folded, in front of a white marker board covered in Lincoln’s scribble. Born in Charlotte, no siblings . . . college at Duke . . . three years in South America after college . . . met in Brazil . . . thirty years old.
    Ladies and gentlemen, her life condensed into dry-erase board notes.
    “I caught your interview,” Lincoln said. “Nice job. Though, interesting choice of attire. I especially liked the stain on your arm.”
    Oy, and she’d thought she’d been so careful.
    “Randi Woodruff, meet Blake Hunziker.”
    Miranda barely heard Lincoln’s voice as the figure rose from a chair at the head of the conference room table. The same face she’d seen last Friday, deep-set, dark eyes, mop of black hair, square shoulders—all uncanny in their resemblance to Robbie. But the likeness stopped at this man’s carefree grin flanked by twin dimples.
    He sidled around the table and held out his tanned arm. “Hi, um, honey. Darling. Sweetheart. Which do you prefer?” The man’s dimples deepened with his teasing, a playful glint in his eyes.
    “Randi will do,” she said wryly, accepting his handshake.
    “Really, this is all too perfect,” Linc declared, clamping one hand on Miranda’s shoulder, the other on Blake’s. “You look good together.”
    Miranda stepped back. For the good of the show. If she just kept telling herself that . . .
    “I go by Blaze, by the way. So how long have we been married?” Blake asked. He ran a hand through shaggy hair, thelazy smile never leaving his face, and then tucked his hands into the pockets of his board shorts. Wasn’t it a little chilly to be dressing like a surfer?
    “A few years, right, Rand?” Linc looked to her.
    “Three as of last Friday,” she said on autopilot. Couldn’t take her eyes off Blake. It was like staring at a hologram of Robbie. Freud couldn’t have deciphered the emotions twisting inside her at the moment.
    It’s only temporary. You can do it. She ripped her gaze from Blake. “For the record, Lincoln, I have serious reservations about this.”
    He nudged his glasses. “But you’ll do it, right? I’ve already filled Blake in on everything.”
    “And I’m perfect for the job,” Blake offered. “My parents are on a three-month safari in Africa—no joke. And I’ve spent the last five years country-hopping on one adventure after another, haven’t kept in good touch with anyone. So friends, hometown folks, they won’t have any reason to doubt this thing.”
    In other words, no ties, no one to question the logistics of their marriage.
    “Siblings?” she asked.
    For the tiniest moment, a shadow flickered over his face. “Not anymore.”
    She’d have stopped him right there if she could have, at that first glimpse of vulnerability from her husband-elect, but he’d already continued. “And another thing: I can cook like no one’s business. You will be one well-fed wife during our little marriage, pumpkin.” He fiddled with the zipper on the sweatshirt he wore over a bright orange T-shirt.
    “Call me pumpkin again and our marriage won’t make it past the honeymoon.”
    He donned a properly chagrined expression and dropped into his chair. “So, where do we go from here?”
    Lincoln pulled out his cell phone. “I go to a meeting with the publicity team. You two lovebirds can take a few minutes to get to know each other.”
    Miranda’s eyes pressed into slits. She ought to whack Linc.
    No, she ought to about-face and leave the room, the surfer dude, and Lincoln’s smug expression behind. But resolve anchored her in place. As much as she hated it, this was the best plan to save her show, her career . . . her identity.
    As Lincoln exited, she lowered onto the chair at Blake’s right. “So, uh, Blaze. That’s