Miss Taken Identity (Man Who Knows What He Wants 292) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Miss Taken Identity

  NEWSLETTER

  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

  Three Months Later

  One Year Later

  Five Years Later

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  MISS TAKEN IDENTITY

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 292

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2022 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  MISS TAKEN IDENTITY

  Chloe

  Running late to get back to my nowhere and nothing life after dropping out of college, I almost miss my flight home.

  But luck’s on my side, and I find myself getting on board and being bumped up to first class.

  Sweet. I figure it’s just to fill a seat until I realize their mistake.

  Being called by another name, I quickly overlook their error. I vow to enjoy myself before I’m given the bill or, worse, sent back to cattle class.

  But the first-class treatment doesn’t end there.

  Whoever it is, they think I am has an appointment for today. A very special appointment by the look of things.

  The limousine ride to the newest luxury hotel sees me starting to panic.

  No way could I afford to repay any of this now. It’s gone on long enough, and I have to come clean.

  Don’t I?

  I figure I do until the man who I’m supposed to be meeting shows up.

  Not just any man, mind you, but the single, sexiest man alive is who.

  Apart from being half as old as he is, plus a few pounds heavier than my resume says, I think I’m here for a job interview.

  But from knowing nothing about what that even means, I wonder if a successful guy, an older, more mature guy, could really go for a younger, thick-set girl like myself?

  Hell, even if the job’s only licking stamps or anything else in his office, I’m sure I could do it.

  After five minutes in his company, I feel like I could do anything he asks of me. And I mean anything!

  Xander

  I’ve given half my life to someone else. Made him a fortune in the process too.

  As if he needs it.

  Running the leading global chain of hotels is all I know. It’s all I am. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself all these years.

  That hard work and ‘stuff’ really does mean something.

  But what is there to go home to? What am I doing all this for? Is it just for me?

  Is it just for Condor Hotels?

  It’s the end of the week, but I have one last thing to do. A new head of accounting is due to fly in for her final interview.

  Old man Condor dragged her up from somewhere, deciding she’s the one for the job in his own special way.

  But something doesn’t add up.

  I’m due to meet a Ms. De Laurent at the new Condor Hotel in an hour, but she’s on the phone saying she won’t be there.

  There’s only one way to get to the bottom of this. I need to see for myself who exactly is there pretending to be someone else.

  But the imposter isn’t just somebody. She’s fucking perfect.

  Is it just a simple case of mistaken identity, or is this what I’ve been waiting for?

  Fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it – bringing us together.

  She's half as old as she’s supposed to be and about an eleven on the Richter scale of shockwaves running through my pants. I’d say she’s got the job.

  Can’t do the job? Not sure if you’re a good fit? Well, let’s try and find at least one thing you’re good at and start from there.

  * Miss Taken Identity is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Chloe

  “Mom, I gotta go. They’re boarding –.”

  “Just make sure you call me the second you land. I’ll make sure I’m at the gate to pick you up,” she gushes, talking over me with the same excitement I know she’ll have once I’m finally home again.

  Two years away is a long time, but she’s cool about everything, even the “Sorry, Mom, I just dropped out of college” part from a few weeks ago.

  Right now, both my mom and dad just want me home again. And soon.

  No more leaving the house for anything, I’m guessing. At least not for a while. And that suits me just fine.

  The world’s getting crazier by the minute, and I just want some peace and quiet for a change. Some security, even if it is with my slightly backward and overly protective parents.

  Huffing after what feels like a marathon effort, I get to the boarding gate just as a stewardess is pulling the red rope across, signaling the boarding window is closed.

  “Wait!” I squeak, feeling flushed from breathlessness as well as anxiety.

  “I’m here. I’ve got my –,” I try to gasp, but my voice snaps with a dry croak.

  Running and shouting aren’t my greatest skills, I discover.

  The perpetual smile from the stewardess threatens to crack too, crimping her mouth. She checks her watch before looking around.

  “Well, alright. But you really need to be at the gate before boarding, miss,” she chirps, smiling again with that level of passive-aggressive only people in her job can pull off.

  “Thank you… Thank you,” I gasp, flashing my boarding pass and feeling the burn of a stitch that outdoes the burning in my short legs.

  My thighs are hot from friction, and I’m ready to collapse by the time I meet the next stewardess.

  But it’s alright.

  Planes never take off when they say they will, and it’s a cabin full of passengers still finding seats and stowing overhead luggage that I walk into as my pass is checked for the second time.

  “I dunno where I left them,” the stewardess murmurs to her male co-worker after directing me aimlessly toward the throng of bodies clamoring for their seat.

  “Well, a sixteen-hour shift without your glasses isn’t gonna help me any, is it?” her co-worker snaps, clicking his tongue
and mincing stiffly toward another part of the plane.

  I make my way to what I know should be my seat but feel relief turn to pressure in my gut when I see someone already sitting in it.

  “Umm… I think this is my seat,” I murmur, still trying to catch my breath, even showing the guy my ticket, which he ignores gruffly.

  “I was here first. You find someplace else,” he barks, folding his arms and staring straight ahead like a spoiled child.

  There’s an announcement for all of us to take our seats, buckle up…the usual airplane spiel.

  “Excuse me?” I say, waving a hand as close as I dare in front of this guy’s face. “I said I believe you’re in my seat,” I add, summoning as much attitude as I can before he turns on me.

  He proves to be the reason why we shouldn’t put our hands near wild animals, let alone upset them if they’re cross. He’s a big guy, and once he raises his voice, everyone on the entire plane turns to look at us.

  To look at me!

  My sightless stewardess is quick to appear, offering to solve any problem the gentleman might have with me.

  I explain the situation as best I can, and after showing her my boarding pass again, she smiles knowingly.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. De Laurent. We have you booked on first-class, row three, seat A,” she announces, drawing a humph of ridicule from my seat thief as the entire cattle class gives me the stink eye.

  I’m not De Laurent… I’m Faulkner. Chloe Faulkner.

  Nobody in the economy section wants to hear about someone else’s first-class seat.

  “But I– I’m not–,” I try to explain, realizing the stewardess wouldn’t know which end of the plane was which right now, let alone which seat I’m supposed to be in or who I really am.

  “Right this way, Ms. De Laurent,” she chirps again, gently placing her hand on my arm and smiling. She nods to any eyes still on us until I step through what feels like a portal into another dimension.

  That mysterious, fabled gateway between worlds – First. Freaking. Class.

  Sweet.

  In moments my carry-on luggage is whisked away, stowed in my own private compartment while I’m given a detailed tour of my miniature suite.

  It looks like a hotel room that’s been shrunk down to the size of three or four airline seats, with more room than I thought anyone could or even should have at thirty thousand feet.

  The actual ‘seat’ is a massive leather recliner, and there’s fold-out, slide-in, pop-up, everything.

  Plugs and ports, TV and music. Even my own little fridge filled with drinks and high-end snacks.

  “If you need anything, just press this here, and we’ll be at your service,” my stewardess says, her smile fading as she makes her way back to cattle class.

  And me?

  I’m waiting for Ms. De-whatever she’s called to turn up and turn me outta my seat like I was trying to do to the other guy just now.

  But the gentle hum of first class is the only thing I hear before the captain announces we’re taking off.

  Ten minutes later, there’s no way the real Ms. De Laurent is getting her seat back, and I have two hours of first-class bliss ahead of me.

  Once I’ve forgotten about the ugly boarding incident, I almost convince myself I could get used to this sort of thing.

  Oohing and ahhing to myself once I unload all the complimentary swag courtesy of the airline, I’m interrupted only by a first-class stewardess who’s brought hot face towels and some orange juice.

  “We’re very sorry for the confusion, Ms. De Laurent,” she says in a low, almost smoky voice, and I can feel my face reddening again.

  Lying isn’t something I’ve been brought up to do, but nobody’s suggested I’m anyone else, so….

  “That’s okay,” I squeak, fidgeting with my hot towel, which I discover is actually really hot.

  “It’s just –,” the stewardess continues, leaning closer as she almost whispers it. “We didn’t want to make a bad impression…with Condor,” she says knowingly, creasing another apologetic smile.

  “With Condor…,” I echo back to her, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.

  “If there’s anything at all we can do, just let me know,” she promises. And as quickly as she appeared, the stewardess was gone, and I was alone again.

  Her Condor reference stumped me until I spy the in-flight magazine. There was a pile of things for a passenger to get through during a flight. Condor Hotels was on the front of a magazine.

  They obviously have a deal going with the airline, with the whole magazine showing off just how great the luxury hotel chain is. And how my next first-class flight would qualify me for a single night’s free accommodation. Terms and conditions apply.

  But something tells me that whoever I’m supposed to be isn’t just another first-class traveler.

  As intriguing as it is, I have to put it to the back of my mind.

  Just get home, and get off the plane before they stiff you with the bill for first-class….

  But something does bring me back to that magazine. And more than just once.

  It’s not the glossy cover or the smell of expensive printing either.

  Between my hot towel, juice, and then a three-course lunch that looks and tastes like it came from a world-class restaurant, I glance at it absently at first.

  But by the time we’re coming in to land, I’ve dog-eared the page and feel like I’ve put holes in it. I’ve been staring at it so hard.

  Staring at him. Xander Alexander. Global Manager of Condor Hotels.

  That’s what the title under the photo of him behind a huge mahogany desk tells me.

  The office wall behind him is lined with leather-bound books and framed photos of him shaking hands with some of the most influential and well-known people on the planet.

  It’s not all for show either. He’s the face of Condor Hotels, and they have an image to uphold. An image that the airline most likely wants a share of too.

  The whole magazine is an ad for both, but just seeing him in there makes me feel…special.

  I guess they want every guest to feel the same.

  What better way to do that than by having the hottest man alive as your manager slash poster boy? But he’s no boy. I can see that.

  The man’s eyes and yearning look are telling me a lot more. His naturally perfect smile shines through from a mouth I could kiss for a year and never come up for air from.

  His smooth complexion is wrinkle-free, set in proportion to his chiseled jawline.

  Even though he has a little silver at the sides of his thick, dark hair, his penetrating brown eyes shine with a power, an aura of a man who knows what he wants.

  But there is a hint of sadness in his stare – longing even.

  A look I’ve seen staring back at me plenty of times in my own mirror, the look of someone who knows there’s more than flying solo.

  But is he single? A man like that would’ve been snapped up years ago.

  I mean, even through what I can see of his suit in this photo, he’s built like a linebacker.

  His muscular frame is highlighted by the hand-tailored, European class that makes ordinary clothes seem like rags.

  Diamond cufflinks and an equally but tastefully expensive watch do nothing to detract from the power of the huge hands he has folded in front of him.

  The man oozes confidence, and apart from spiking my blood pressure, I half wonder if I don’t need the bathroom or something more intense down there to calm me down.

  It sounds stupid, but I’ve never felt so God damned horny from looking at anything.

  Maybe it’s the altitude, or maybe there’s added sugar in the OJ they’re serving. But there’s something about this Xander Alexander, something about this whole experience, that has me feeling like I’m falling deeper into it the longer I look at him.

  The longer I spend in this first-class seat being waited on hand and foot, a girl could get used to this.

  No w
onder everybody hates rich people…They really do have it way better.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Xander

  “No photo?” I ask without looking up.

  Feeling more than annoyed as I flip through the wafer of a file in my hands.

  “Uh…No sir. But she’s touching down any minute. The car will take her to the hotel –.”

  My anger surprises me and watching my hand slam down on the desk, I realize just how uptight I’ve been lately.

  “Well, how am I supposed to know who to have a face-to-face interview with if I have no idea what they fucking look like?” I roar, regretting it as soon as my words echo back off the office walls.

  “Sorry, Mark. It’s…Not your fault. Just been a stressful week,” I murmur to my secretary in a rare show of apology.

  “I know she’ll be at the hotel, so there’s no need for–.” I break off.

  Mark’s face is granite, and lucky for me, he has the hide of a rhino. But fair’s fair. Nobody deserves to have me go off on them for something so stupid.

  But it would be nice if I could at least see the latest executive material before I meet them.

  “A new head of accounting for Condor is stressful,” Mark relates, “For all of us….”

  The company projects a forever image, but the past two years have seen the company almost broke a dozen times.

  I’ve done all I can to keep it afloat, but it’s time for me to step back after next year.