Si vous me suivez, vous savez que je suis une grande fan de cette fine plume. Quoi qu’elle écrive, elle arrive toujours à me faire passer un pur moment de détente. Alors quand j’ai appris qu’elle allait revisiter une fake romance à la Cendrillon des temps modernes, je n’ai pas hésité bien longtemps pour la découvrir. Et vous savez quoi ? La magie Kylie Scott a une nouvelle fois divinement opéré…

« Fake » suit l’histoire de Norah & Patrick. Un magnifique duo qui va vous surprendre à bien des égards et vous séduire de la meilleure façon qui soit…

Elle est une serveuse qui s’est toujours mêlée de ses affaires. Mais voilà qu’en entendant une conversation elle se retrouve impliquer malgré elle dans une situation qui va changer sa vie à jamais. Lui est un acteur ultra sexy qui doit faire face à un scandale qui risque de ruiner définitivement sa carrière. Sa seule solution ? Cette adorable serveuse qui sera parfaite pour ce rôle. Un deal où chacun était sensé en sortir gagnant. Cependant ce qu’aucun d’eux n’avait prévu c’est que tout soit à ce point naturel entre et d’être de plus en plus troublé par la présence de l’autre…

Que dire à part que j’ai adoré chaque moment passé auprès de ces deux forces de caractère. Aux premiers abords l’un comme l’autre semblent n’avoir rien en commun. Norah est si attachante et authentique. Une vraie bouffée d’air frais ce petit bout de femme qui ne se laisse pas facilement faire. Alors que Patrick est une énigme à lui-seul difficile à cerner et torride à souhait. Mais vous vous rendrez vite compte que c’est tout le contraire et qu’ils sont fusionnels en tout point.

Parlons un peu des autres personnages. Eux aussi sont intéressants. Certains vont agréablement vous surprendre. Comme la grand-mère de Norah et la famille de Patrick. Tandis que d’autres vont vous faire perdre patience. Comme ces personnes haineuses qui s’attaquent aux autres pour rien.

En bref… Une fois n’est pas coutume, j’ai littéralement succombé à la plume si séduisante de Kylie Scott. Il faut qu’elle a réuni tous les ingrédients nécessaires pour que l’on passe un savoureux moment. Si vous cherchez une pétillante et délicieuse comédie feeling good qui happe dès les premières pages pour ne plus vous lâcher, qui vous réconforte de la meilleure façon qui soit, qui fasse un bien fou au moral et qui en plus vous fasse vibrer dans tous les sens du terme. Alors « Fake » est exactement ce qu’il vous faut.

Voici un extrait VO

CHAPTER ONE

He slunk into the restaurant mid-afternoon wearing his usual scowl. Ignoring the CLOSED sign, he took a booth near the back. No one else was allowed to do this. Just him. Today’s wardrobe consisted of black jeans, Converse, and a button-down shirt. Doubtless designer. And the way those sleeves hugged his biceps . . . why, they should have been ashamed of themselves. I was this close to yelling “get a room.”
Instead, I asked, “The usual?”
Slumped down in the corner of the booth, he tipped his chin in reply. For such a tall guy, he sure went out of his way to try to hide.
I said no more. Words were neither welcomed nor wanted. Which was fine since (A) I was tired and (B) he tipped well for the peace and quiet.
Out back, Vinnie the cook was busy prepping for tonight, his knife making quick work of an onion.
“He’s here,” I said.
A smile split Vinnie’s face. He was a huge fan of the man’s action films. The ones he’d made before hitting it big time and taking on more serious dramatic roles. Him choosing to visit the restaurant every month or so made Vinnie’s life complete. Especially since the restaurant, Little Italy, was the very definition of a hole in the wall. Not somewhere generally frequented by the Hollywood elite. Meanwhile, I was less of a fan, but still a fan. You know.
“Get him his beer,” Vinnie ordered.
Like I didn’t know my job. Sheesh.
He was busy with his cell by the time I placed the Peroni in front of him. No glass. He drank straight from the bottle like an animal. Just then, a woman in a red sweater dress and tan five-inch-heel booties strode in through the front door.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I said.
“I’m with him.” She headed straight for his booth and slid into the other side, giving the man a dour look. “You can’t just walk out, Patrick. You’re going to have to choose one of them.”
“Nope.” He took a pull from his beer. “They all sucked.”
“There had to be at least one that would do.”
“Not even a little.”
She sighed. “Keep this up and you’ll be obsolete by next week. Beyond help. Forgotten.”
“Go away, Angie.”
“Just another talented but trash male in Hollywood. That’s what they’re saying on social media.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Liar,” she drawled.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Obviously they knew each other, but he did not seem to want her here. And she really wasn’t supposed to be here. Vinnie had okayed after-hours entry to only one person. On the other hand, if I asked her to leave, she’d probably sic her lawyers on me. She looked the type.
The woman spied me hovering. “Get me a glass of red.”
“She’s not staying,” countermanded Patrick.
Angie didn’t move an inch. “They were all viable options. Pliant. Young. Pretty. Discreet. Nothing weird or kinky in their backgrounds.”
“That might have made them more interesting.”
“Interesting women is what got you into this mess.” The woman frowned, taking me in. Still hovering. One perfectly shaped brow rose in question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to sigh and give me a nod. He was so dreamy with his jaw and cheekbones and his everything. Real classic Hollywood handsome. Especially with his short light brown hair in artful disarray and a hint of stubble. Sometimes it was hard not to stare. Which is probably why his personality tended to scream “leave me alone.”
I headed for the small bar area at the back of the restaurant to fetch the wine like a good little waitress.
“We shouldn’t be discussing this here,” said Angie, giving the room a disdainful sniff. Talk about judgy. I thought the raw brick walls and chunky wood tables were cool. Give or take Vinnie’s collection of old black-and-white photos of Los Angeles freeways. Who knew what that was about?
Patrick slumped down even further. “I’m not going back there. I’m done with it.”
“This isn’t safe.” Angie looked around nervously. “Let’s—”
“We’re fine. I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You just got dropped from a big-budget film, Patrick,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “The industry may not find you bankable right now, but I’m sure gossip about you is still selling just fine. This week at least.”

About Kylie Scott
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014 & 2018, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.

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