The Decoy Girlfriend Read Online Lillie Vale

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
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A laugh-out-loud funny and whip-smart romantic comedy from the author of The Shaadi Set-Up, about a young woman who takes the place of her celebrity doppelgänger, and must fake-date the actress’s sexy costar boyfriend.

Writer Freya Lal has a huge secret: she’s a dead ringer for It-girl actress Mandi Roy. Her second novel is due in a month, but inspiration is nowhere to be found. Desperate to shake off her writer’s block, Freya leans into her look-alike abilities and indulges in some mistaken identity for simple perks, like scoring a free mimosa or getting into a trendy nightclub.
Actor Taft Bamber appears to have it all: gorgeous, talented, and Mandi’s love interest both on- and off-screen. But what nobody knows is that their relationship is a PR stunt, and after years of playing make-believe, he’s yearning for something real.
When Freya’s latest impersonation of Mandi goes viral thanks to Taft’s accidental interference, rumors of a breakup threaten Hollywood’s golden couple. To make amends, Freya is forced to give Mandi a little time off: she’ll pretend to be the actress for a month, move in with Taft, and squash the rumors by acting completely in love. But as Freya and Taft play house, it becomes impossible to ignore that their instant chemistry isn’t just for the cameras. While faking it, they might have just found the real thing.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

CHAPTER ONE

With two huge secrets, Freya Lal is the exact opposite of the open book she always considered herself to be.

She stares at the laptop on the counter of her aunt’s bookshop, Books & Brambles. The blinking cursor at the end of the page mocks her. Grimly, she rereads her words until she has no choice but to come to the conclusion that she is, in fact, a one-hit wonder who will never be published again.

She holds down the Delete key until every single awful word is obliterated. The pinching band of tightness around her chest eases the moment the Word doc is blank again. Yesterday’s words are gone, and she already can’t remember what they said. It feels like Freya’s chased away a bogeyman, one that’s been Frankensteined together with ugly words stitched into unflattering sentences.

The more she thinks about it, not only does her imposter syndrome become more plausible, it becomes more obvious: her first book deal—when she was a teenage wunderkind—was obviously a fluke. How the hell is she supposed to turn in a first draft of her second book to her publisher when she can’t even write two paragraphs before self-doubt creeps in? She’s been keeping her lack of progress a secret from everyone for so long that the only thing that will help her now is to—

No. That’s secret number two, and she swore that she was cutting back.

After throwing her long brown hair into a high ponytail, she shoves her oversize electric-blue plastic-framed glasses up her nose and holds back a groan. The only thing she has going for her right now is the fact that absolutely no one in Books & Brambles knows that the twenty-three-year-old girl slumped next to the register is in the throes of an existential crisis.

The indie bookshop is a few minutes away from its 9:00 a.m. opening, and two other employees are putting the finishing touches on the themed window display. Freya can catch snippets of conversation regaling all the gory details of her coworkers’ terrible Tinder dates drifting down the aisle, too quiet and far away for her to take part in, even if she were dating right now (which she isn’t) and even if she wanted to (which she doesn’t).

“Are we sure these should be here?” Cliff’s voice is strained, like he’s lifting a tall stack of books.

With a confidence far greater than her few weeks of working here, Emma authoritatively replies, “If Stori left them up here, then yeah. Left window is for summer swoons, and right window is for summer slashers.”

“I know that.” Cliff’s words are punctuated with a solid thump that Freya can only imagine is him setting down the books until the confusion is cleared up. “I meant are we sure because it’s an old title.”

“That can’t be right. Let me see that— Oh. Just put them there.”

“Should we double-check with Stori?”

“You mean Freya’s aunt? Of course not,” Emma snorts. “Didn’t the name on the cover ring a bell?”

“Oh shit.” Cliff’s voice drops. “This is actually her? I thought she was a writer in the same way that you’re a model.”

Like Freya, Emma was another East Coast transplant who came to Los Angeles with big dreams. She had yet to book a modeling gig but had added influencer to her Instagram bio after her third DM from a brand that didn’t care she hadn’t cracked a thousand followers.

“I am a model.” Emma’s indignant and forgets to whisper. “She hasn’t published a new book in years.”


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