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Vintage Love Series Book 2

He lives in the spotlight. She has to exist in the shadows.

If Formula 1 racing driver Daniel Michaud is to win the championship, he must steer clear of all distractions. However a compromising photo has his sponsor demanding that he be chaperoned for the rest of the race season. It’s bad enough a sexy advertising executive is assigned to accompany him, but then they’re joined by her adorable car-obsessed son. It’s all Daniel can do to keep his mind on the track and off the tantalizing taste of love and family that could destroy his career.

Lexy Camparelli blames the Formula 1 circus for her parents’ divorce and the obsessive eating disorder that ruined her teenage years. To keep her job, she’s forced back into that high-stakes world. At least her heart isn’t in jeopardy, given Daniel’s playboy reputation. Then she discovers the gorgeous driver’s secret and it’s a race to see if Lexy can emerge victorious or lose everything—including custody of her son.


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Copyright © 2016 by Alexia Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author. Final, edited copy may vary.


Excerpt From The Playboy and The Single Mum


Chapter One


It was only eight in the morning and already Lexy wanted to start her day over. Of course being awakened at 5:30 a.m. by her three-year-old son with the news he had a tummy ache seconds before he threw up all over her was never the best way to begin a day. Thankfully, as soon as he’d vomited, Max’d felt better and had toddled off to watch CBeebies while she showered, threw her bedding in the wash and got them both ready for their respective days. His to the downstairs flat where Sonia looked after him while Lexy was at work. And hers to catch the Tube to her office in Victoria where she spent her time trying to sell crap to people who already had too much stuff. Ah, the joys of advertising.


     She was about to fall asleep on her forty-minute commute when the front page article of the paper the man across from her was reading caught her attention. Daniel Michaud, Formula 1 driver and the face of her firm’s biggest client, stared at her in all his masculine beauty. What the hell had he done now? She’d been the one to pitch him to Destin Designs as the perfect front man for that up-and-coming fashion house’s luxury brand. He had specific behavior clauses in his contract. If he’d screwed up, she’d be the one to pay the price. Losing a 2.5 million euro contract was probably nothing to the international playboy. Losing her job would be devastating to Lexy; she barely covered the bills now.


     She tried to read the article from across the carriage, but as the train filled up and people stood in front of her, it proved impossible. Of course she couldn’t read the story on her phone because for some reason the London Underground had to remain the last bastion against technology so there was still no mobile service available.


     Finally, she reached Victoria station and rushed aboveground, only to find it was pouring rain. And she’d left her umbrella on the Tube. Typical. And, as with all rainy days in London, the city’s fleet of taxicabs had dissolved into black puddles. No getting around it: she had to leg it to work in three-inch heels and a pencil skirt. Still, it was only four blocks—how wet could she get?


     Turned out, very wet.


     “Is it raining?” Tori, the receptionist asked as Lexy squelched across the marble-tiled floor. There was enough water in her shoes to bathe Max.


     “No, I thought I’d switch it up and shower after I dressed today,” Lexy replied as she pushed a dripping strand of hair behind her ear. Chirpy Australians were just too much to take some days.


     “And a happy Tuesday morning to you, sweetie. To further make your day, Mr. Petersen wants to see you as soon as you get in.”


     Oh God, this wasn’t good. There was only one reason the head of the company would want to see her on a morning when he normally didn’t get in until noon. She was about to get fired. Well, she wasn’t going down in this state. She had some pride.


     “Give me ten minutes before you tell him I’m here,” Lexy begged.


     “What’s it worth?”


     “I’ll cover the reception desk for an extra half hour on Friday so you can meet your boyfriend for lunch in Docklands.”


     “You’re on. Oh, and here.” Tori tossed her a plastic shopping bag. “I was going to return this to the store because it was too small, but looks like you could use it. Girl, if you’re going to wear a white top and get drenched, you should at least put on a nice bra. That one looks like it was left over from your breastfeeding days.”


     It was. She’d been so busy with her final assignment for her online university class, she hadn’t done laundry in two weeks. She peeked inside the bag. A light turquoise top lay at the bottom. “Thanks, Tori. I owe you.”


     “Remember that when Daniel Michaud arrives. I expect an introduction.”


     “Daniel Michaud is coming here?” Could my day get any worse?


     “He’s expected in around noon. I have a car at City Airport ready to pick him up when his private jet lands.”


     “Have you read the story? What’s he done?”


     “Some other guy’s wife, apparently.”


     Lexy groaned. The top of the list of forbidden behavior. At least she’d get the chance to kick him in the nuts for getting her fired. “Thanks for the shirt.”


     Lexy fled to the women’s washroom to survey the damage. So not good. Her mascara had run and irritated her eyes, so she’d have to wear her glasses now. Her hair was plastered to her head, and there wasn’t a dry spot anywhere on her clothes. 


      She needed a miracle. Preferably one that would occur in next ten minutes.


     What she got was a pathetic hand dryer and some wipes she kept in her bag to clean Max’s endlessly sticky fingers. Oh God, she couldn’t lose her job, as miserable as it was. She had to provide for Max and keep his father from finding out their son even existed.


     There was a sharp knock on the door and Tori stuck her head around. “Thought you might need this, too,” she said, handing over a Marks & Spencer bag.


     Lexy pulled out a super-sexy bra. “Um, why?”


     “Because I refuse to allow you to wear that nice top with that ugly thing you’ve got on. And you need the confidence of a good sheepdog bra.”


     Lexy shook her head. Anyone who tried to have more than a two-minute conversation with the antipodean receptionist would come away with the firm conviction that English and Australian were two entirely different languages. “Dare I ask?”


     “Rounds ’em up and points ’em in the right direction.” Tori grabbed her own breasts and demonstrated.


     I’m getting fired with perky boobs. But she had to admit it did help in the confidence department. And if she fell on her face, there’d be something to cushion the impact.


     “Mr. Petersen called again to see if you’d come in yet. So you’d better get a wiggle on. And good luck,” Tori called out with the door already closing behind her.


     Tori was right. Lexy couldn’t hide out in the bathroom all day. Time to face the music. She risked one more glance in the mirror. It was the best she could do. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight bun and put on red lipstick to make up for the fact that she wore no other makeup. Thankfully, her skirt had dried somewhat by using the hand dryer. How presentable did one need to be to get sacked?


     Daniel Michaud had better hope she was out of the building by the time he arrived. Or he’d be driving his next race with one less functioning testicle. 


     “Alexandra, please come in,” Mr. Petersen said as she hovered by his door. His secretary obviously hadn’t expected him in so early either and wasn’t at her desk yet. Her boss was one of three people who always used her full name, rejecting the diminutive Lexy. Her ex-husband and her father were the other two. She didn’t care much for them either.


     “You wanted to see me, Mr. Petersen?” Dumb question. Maybe she should have had a second coffee this morning. And a sausage buttie. It was definitely a sausage buttie day.


     “Have you seen the papers?”


     “No, unfortunately, I haven’t. Has something happened?” She widened her eyes and let her bottom lip fall open. Her son Max got away with mischief by playing the sweet innocent; she’d give it a try.


     “Daniel Michaud has breached the terms of his contract. It is too late in the ad campaign to get another face. But this can’t be allowed to happen again. So the CEO of Destin Designs and I decided that he needed a minder.”


     Yes! She wasn’t going to be fired. They just needed her to come up with someone to keep a sexy playboy in control. She ran through a list of possible candidates in her head, ready to suggest a name as soon as Mr. Petersen stopped looking at her with that odd expression.


     He cleared his throat. “You will accompany Mr. Michaud for the rest of the F1 season. Make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble.”


     “Mr. Petersen, I can’t. Have you forgotten? I have a son. I can’t leave him for two months.”


     “I’m sure you can come to some sort of arrangement for him. Our client is willing to pay 20,000 pounds for you to secure childcare for the next two months. Further, if the campaign is successful and Mr. Michaud behaves in a manner as outlined in the contract, you will be given a bonus of 50,000 pounds. I’m sure that’s a sweet enough deal to put up with two months without your son. Besides, you can see him between races.”


     “All the remaining F1 races are abroad. The European season is over. I appreciate your generous offer, but I’m sure we can find someone else suitable.”


     “The fact that you know where the remaining races are is proof that you are the ideal candidate, Alexandra.”


     She was drowning in quicksand, reaching for anything to stop herself going under. “There has to be someone else.”


     “Name me one person who first knows the Formula 1 circus as well as you. You were practically born on the track. And second speaks fluent French as well as, what? Two other languages?”


     “Four. Italian, Spanish, German, and Russian.” Languages she’d picked up trailing her father around the Formula 1 races for the first five years of her life. Mr. Petersen had described it accurately; it was a circus. One she’d put far behind her.


     “Point three: you have a degree in psychology. You can get inside his head and keep him on the straight and narrow.”


     “I haven’t completed my degree yet.”


     “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure you know enough. He drives a car for a living and has a different woman in his bed every night. How deep can he be?”


     Not as deep as she was sinking. “But the whole idea behind the advertising campaign is for him to be seen as an international playboy with a different woman in every city. If I’m trailing him around, won’t it look like we’re dating? The media may start to think I’m his girlfriend,” she said.


     Mr. Petersen didn’t even bother to look her up and down. “You’re not his type. And no disrespect, but I don’t think anyone would confuse you for a WAG.”


     No, she was the antithesis of a sports celebrity wife or girlfriend. With her frizzy hair and high street clothes, no one would mistake her for a woman able to attract a celebrity. And given Daniel’s love ’em and leave ’em philosophy, she was fine with that.


     “Still, don’t you think a man would be better for the job?”


     “No. But that brings us to point four. You were the one who recommended Daniel Michaud for this advertising campaign. You convinced the client he was the only one who had the right image. If this goes wrong, then it’s your head on the chopping block. That should be motive enough for you to do a good job.”


     “But…I…” There was nothing else to say. She was the best person for the job. It was just that she didn’t want it. Babysitting a spoiled playboy millionaire race driver who went through women like her son went through Cheerios was not her idea of career advancement.


     “He’ll be here soon. Let me speak to him first then I’ll call you in. In the meantime, sort out your childcare. Be ready to leave when he tells you.”


     And with that her world imploded. Yep, definitely a day she’d like to start over.




Daniel ground his teeth. What am I, some kind of errant schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s office? He should never have signed the damn contract. He knew the behavior clause was going to bite him in the ass one day. And the whole thing was just a stupid misunderstanding. Sure, he’d been photographed carrying his ex-girlfriend, now the wife of another man, out of his hotel room while wearing only his boxers. But it was all innocent. Too bad he couldn’t tell anyone that because it would reveal Jacqueline’s secret. And he’d never do that.


     So instead he had to play the penitent playboy and promise not to get in any more “trouble.” A couple of demure smiles, a firm handshake, maybe a few drinks, then he’d be good to go. Back to Paris for a few days, or maybe he’d lay low at his brother’s chateau in the Loire Valley. Then off to Russia for the next race.


     The championship was tight again this year. He needed to win the majority of the last remaining five races to clinch the title. Or for his two closest competitors to not finish a race. He never relied on luck though. He wanted to win by skill, show the world that his first championship hadn’t been a fluke or because his car was better than anyone else’s. Last year he’d missed winning it all by two points. He had to be the best this year. His career was all he had left.


     “Did you fly straight in from Japan, sir?” the driver asked as they stopped at a light.


     “Yes.” Thankfully, he had his brother’s private plane, complete with a double bed, so he’d been able to sleep some of the way. He’d given a lift to four mechanics who had celebrated the team’s one-two placing, so it had been noisy until they’d passed out.


     “Good race,” the driver continued. “Shame about the pit stop. You should’ve come in first.”


     Daniel forced his media relations smile. “Everyone did their best. At least the team got both top spots.” And narrowed the margin between him and his teammate. Robert was catching up—only ten points separated them now, the difference between first and third place. Daniel clenched his hands. The wait between races was the worst. Gave a man too much time to think.


     He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, hoping the chauffeur would take the hint. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his fans. But it had been a tough weekend, followed by an epically long flight. All he wanted was some peace and quiet for a few hours. Was that too much to ask?


     “Sir, we’re here.” The driver’s voice penetrated the light doze into which he’d fallen.


     Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he’d taken the time to shave as well as brush his teeth. He took a deep breath and stepped from the vehicle.




     The receptionist’s eyes ate him up like he was a chocolate eclair at a dieting convention. He flashed her his trademark smile and leaned casually against her desk. “Bonjour, I am Daniel. Mr. Petersen is expecting me.” He could speak English with very little accent, but most women seemed to prefer it when he laid on the French charm.


     A flush crept up the woman’s neck as she nodded then dialed a number on her desk phone, announcing his arrival. He didn’t miss the small sigh that escaped her lips as he left the room with Mr. Petersen.


     The boardroom where he was taken had glass walls on three sides, like being in a fish bowl. The two men already at the table, however, were more like snarling dogs.


     Become the face of Destin Designs, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. All you have to do is get your photo taken with gorgeous women dripping off you, wear their clothes, which he had to admit were rather nice, and rake in the money. Not that he needed the money. He made plenty as a driver, and his brother had invested it wisely so Daniel could live off the interest. But the proceeds from this contract were earmarked for something special. And he wanted it kept entirely secret.


     “Daniel, so good of you to come when we called,” Mr. Petersen said as he took the seat offered.


     Like I had a choice.


     “Gentlemen,” Daniel began, “this whole thing with Jacqueline Lefebre is just a misunderstanding. There was no wrongdoing. You can ask her husband if you don’t believe me.” He shot his famed charming smile around the table, but for once it fell flat.


     “Your contract with our client specifically states that you cannot be caught in an indiscretion with a married woman. It’s one thing to be a playboy, another entirely to be a marriage wrecker,” one of the other men said, the one with the nose hairs almost touching his upper lip.


     If they’d shot a rocket up his ass they couldn’t have riled him more. He had no desire to get married, but he had great respect for those who chose to do so. He’d as soon never drive again as destroy someone’s relationship. But getting angry now wasn’t going to help the situation. He forced the ire down and put ice in his words.


     “Jacqueline is a friend. We’ve known each other for many years, even before her marriage.” His jaw ached trying to keep the smile on his face.


     Mr. Petersen spread his arms wide. He was obviously trying to act as the reconciler in this meeting. “If there was nothing wrong, then issue a statement to the press explaining why you were carrying her out of your room in the middle of the night in a state of undress.”


     “No.” Daniel sat back in his chair, waiting for the explosion. He wasn’t disappointed.


     “No?” Nose hair guy slammed his fist on the table.


     “It’s not my story to tell. And the press have no right to know what goes on in my life once I’m off track.”


     “The contract—”


     He stood, ready to leave. “Screw your contract. Rip it up. Fire me. Go on.” He didn’t need to take this crap from men whose idea of risk was to use a sand wedge to tee off in their weekly golf game.


     “Now, now, Daniel, no need to make any hasty decisions,” Mr. Petersen said. “We’ve come up with a solution to our little situation.” How quickly it had gone from indiscretion to situation.


     Daniel narrowed his eyes and tried to read Mr. Petersen’s body language as he fiddled with his pen and avoided Daniel’s gaze. Didn’t take a genius to work out that Daniel wasn’t going to like their solution. “What is it?”


     “Well, we thought if you had someone to guide you a little more, remind you of our client’s expectations, help you manage the media, that sort of thing, we could avoid any more instances like the one that just occurred. Only until the race season is over, of course.”


     “You’re getting me a …what do you British call them—a nanny? Someone to slap my wrist when I’m naughty and give me an extra biscuit when I’m good?” Daniel was pretty sure steam was about to come out of his ears. They had to be kidding.


     “She’ll be discrete, just hanging around in the background, guiding you when need be. She won’t interfere in your life. Unless you’re about to make another error in judgment.”


     She? Probably some near-pensioner they wanted to give a little holiday to before retirement.


     “And who is this woman who is to be my shadow conscience?”


     Mr. Petersen swiveled in his chair and reached for the phone on the credenza behind him. “Alexandra, please come in now,” he said.


     Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face and closed his eyes. This was so freaking unbelievable. He needed to get some rest, then join his team and go over the modifications for the race in Russia.


     The conference room door clicked open, and he lifted his protesting eyelids. Hot damn. He’d obviously fallen asleep and was dreaming. Because there was no way these three past-their-prime men could think that the minx before him was going to keep him in line. Either that or they’d discovered his kryptonite. The woman standing hesitantly in the doorway had sexy librarian written all over her. Her hair was pulled back severely and huge horn-rimmed glasses framed her molten chocolate eyes. And not even a wine barrel could hide that figure. She had curves that would require shifting into second gear to negotiate successfully.


     When his eyes eventually returned to her face, the adoration he normally saw from women was decidedly absent. He walked around the table and held his hand out to her. Up close she was even more beautiful.


     Reluctantly she put her hand in his. But rather than shake it, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back. “Enchanté, Alexandra.”


     He expected a little sigh, maybe a feminine giggle. Instead he got, “Oh for God’s sake,” as she snatched her hand back.


     He leveled his most charming smile at her. And crashed. What, were his lips broken today? He was seriously off his game. If this form carried over to his career, he could kiss the championship goodbye. Her eyes spat fire at him. She clearly wasn’t happy with her new assignment.


     He, on the other hand, was intrigued by this enigma. The next two months were going to be very interesting indeed.



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