Mister Cubic Zirconia: A Single Dad Fake Fiance Secret Baby Bad Boy Trillionaire Ghostmance Read online

  Mister Cubic Zirconia

  Chassandria Warbanks

  Chassandria Warbanks

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Art actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.

  Copyright 2018 by Chassandria Warbanks

  Contents

  Copyright

  Mister Cubic Zirconia:

  Note From the Author:

  Theme Song

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Mister Cubic Zirconia:

  A Single Dad Fake Fiancé Secret Baby Bad Boy Trillionaire Ghostmance

  Chassandria Warbanks

  Note From the Author:

  To my cult, erm, I mean fan club,

  Ohhh, my sweet cubic zirconias. I pay someone to write these books for you and only for you. It’s all that matters. The fact I profit immensely from them doesn’t matter at all. YOU are what matters to me. I will always cherish our memories and chats and all the rapey vibes I put out. You know the real me. It doesn’t matter what rules they make. I will always find a way around them. And I do it all for you.

  Lance

  Theme Song

  Every book should have an anthem. The words should beat to a rhythm. Here is the song for this book:

  Stuffin’

  Lance Larter

  When I start stuffin’ books

  I damn sure don’t stuff ‘em short

  I be stuffin’

  That’s what I be doin’, ermmm

  I be stuffin’

  Ermmm, I stuff it in the front

  And I stuff it in the back

  And I stuff it in the book that’s short as hellllll

  I be stuffin’

  Let me ask you somethin’

  What time of the day do you be stuffin’?

  I like to stuff books just before breakfast

  You ever stuffed a book while you watched the late, late show?

  Erm, let me ask you this

  Have you ever stuffed a book on the couch?

  Erm, let me ask you this

  Have you ever stuffed a book in the back seat of a car?

  I remember one time I stuffed in the back seat of a car

  Woulda thought that shit was a novel I stuffed it so good

  And James came and shined his light on me, and I said:

  “I be stuffin’, that’s what I’m doin’, I be stuffin’”

  Ermmm, I stuff it in the front

  And I stuff it in the back

  And I stuff it in the book that’s short as hellll

  I be stuffin’

  Erm, let me ask you somethin’

  How long has it been since you stuffed a book, huh?

  Did you stuff yesterday?

  Did you stuff last week?

  Did you stuff last year?

  Or maybe it might be that you plannin’ on stuffin’ one tonight

  But just remember when you stuff

  You do it long, hard, in the backs of alllllll the books

  And be stuffin’

  I be stuffin’

  Ermmm, I stuff it in the front

  And I stuff it in the back

  And I stuff it in the book that’s short as hellllll

  I be stuffin’

  Now when I start stuffin’ a book

  I don’t stop until I know it’s stuff-ified

  And I can always tell when it’s stuff-ified

  Because when it’s stuff-ified the book be pushin’ three thousand pages and callin’ my name,

  It says: “Lance Larter, Lance Larter, Lance Larter

  Lance Larter, ooh shit, Lance Larter

  The other night I was stuffin a book, you know what it told me?

  Let me tell you what it told me, it said:

  ‘Stuff it Lance Larter, but don’t you stuff so fast

  If you don’t like the TOS, Ramazon gonna stuff it up yo asssss!’

  I be stuffin’ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  I be stuffin’

  Erm, I stuff it in the front

  And I stuff it in the back

  And I stuff it in the book that’s short as hellllll

  I be stuffin’

  I be stuffin’ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

  I be stuffin’ Yeah!

  I be stuffin’

  I stuff it in the front

  And I stuff it in the back

  And I stuff it in the book that’s short as fuckkkkk

  I be stuffin’

  I be stuffin’

  I be stuffin’

  I be stuffin’

  Dedication

  This book is for my Zirconia Girls.

  If you’re in the Lance Larter Zirconia Group, you already know what I’m talking about.

  If you aren’t yet, then you’re too late. Ramazon cancelled me!

  Chapter One

  I’m a trillionaire.

  That’s right. My bank account is stuffed full of money. I don’t give a shit about feelings.

  Ethics?

  Please.

  I live by the dollar and fuck women alpha male style. It’s all about being alpha. At least, that’s what I tell the women in my Facebook group. I tell them whatever will sell books for me. They’re my sweet zirconias and I’d do anything for them.

  Anything!

  I write romance books for a living.

  Well, I don’t write them. I get rich off them. You get the picture.

  “I’m having some trouble with the plot on this one,” James, my ghostwriter, tells me from across the table.

  We’re at the local coffee shop while he works and I play on my phone.

  I stare up at him, pissed that he’s interrupted my game of Candy Crush. “I don’t give a shit about the plot. Just put whatever in there. I have ads to set up and stock photos to gawk at.”

  “Whatever,” James grumbles grumbily. “I’ll have it ready tomorrow.”

  “Goooooood.” I slow nod at him with a devilish grin.

  I can practically hear my bank account growing with that gigantic all-star bonus that’s coming my way soon.

  Then, the notification from hell comes in.

  This can’t be.

  No. No. Nooooooo!

  “Ramazon has limited bonus content to 10%?” It’s a rhetorical question. Didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

  I’d never allow James to know the details of publishing a book. He might go out and do it on his own. Then what would I do? Write my own books? I nearly laugh out loud at the thought.

  My eyes drift back down to my phone.

  Fuck my life, this can’t be real. I have an image to maintain. I’m the king of ghostmance bargains and extremely wordy books I don’t know how to write.

  I log into Facebook to take my mind off this travesty and sweet talk the zirconias. They’re my fans who would do anything for me. I’m almost back to normal, but then I click on my newsfeed.

  Everyone is attacking me.

  What in the…?

  They’re all taking shots and calling me things like
Ghosty Smallpecker and Cock McStuffins. Why would they do this? Why would anyone hate extra ghostmances in the back of their book? Bonus content is how I pay my bills.

  Fuck a doodle doo.

  It’s crazy out there. All of my schemes are being called out. Screenshots everywhere about that time I told my readers how to properly rimjob a man’s asshole with props in a live feed. I was quite proud of that one. Why would these people have a problem with that? It’s edgy and fun, and the zirconias loved it like fruit punch Kool-Aid. I was just helping them out. They all thanked me for it.

  This is what happens when you try and provide a good bargain and a public service for people.

  Always, coming at you with the hate.

  Why can’t they just let me and my zirconias be?

  We don’t harm anyone. Just a little harmless worship of their king.

  It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.

  I never asked the zircs to go through and click all the pages on my hundred-thousand page masterpieces. I mean, I sent a message to my personal assistant, the queen zirc, with line by line instructions on how to do it so I get paid a hundred dollars a book, but how was I supposed to know she’d pin it in the group as an instruction manual for everyone?

  I shrug at what a fortunate coincidence that was.

  Or when I sent her ten-thousand dollars worth of gift cards to buy things for my lovelies. I didn’t realize she’d buy my books with them and skyrocket my latest ghostmance up the rankings. I just suggested it to her as a possible prize and said not to buy anything but my books.

  I look down. It gets worse.

  “Oh suck fucking cunt butter.”

  I keep scrolling, but I’m everywhere.

  James keeps striking away on the keyboard like a man on a mission. That’s a good little ghostwriter. I don’t pay him peanuts for him to look up from the computer.

  Ohhh shit!

  The jealous authors, aka my competition, found out about my contest. All I wanted to do was buy some beautiful zirconias for my zirconias. I mean, it makes sense, right? Fun little contest. Zircs for zircs. Why shouldn’t I reward them? I’m doing a good deed, redistributing a fraction of a percent of their page-clicking tithes back to them.

  I may have let it slip that they should buy my book and leave a review, if they wanted to be chosen as winner, but how was I supposed to know it was against the rules? I could’ve easily found a loophole had I known. But, I can’t be bothered with such trivial matters. Fucking Ramazon keeps trying to demolish my faux career.

  I had to do something. I’m used to a certain lifestyle. I’m an alpha male trillionaire for fuck’s sake.

  Everything is going wrong.

  My phone rings. It’s my lawyer. Thank God, I can tell him how the world is out to ruin me and see who I can sue. Maybe he knows of some new loopholes.

  “Hey, Lance. How’s it going?” he asks askily. (sorry, need the adverb for the word count)

  “Horrible.” I say with despair in my voice. “I’m going to have to make a Facebook live video and try to do damage control on this one. Even some of the zirconias are joining the opposition. It’s humiliating.”

  “Wanted to let you know I put in the trademark application for cockamuffin.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, was I supposed to do something else?”

  I blow out an exasperatedly long sigh and use an adverb that doesn’t exist so I can inflate the page count on this book. “It’s wayyyy too narrow. We discussed this, you idiot. We need trademarks for ‘cock’, ‘a’, and ‘muffin’ along with ‘cockamuffin’. Get a hyphenated one as well.”

  “We’ll have to pay for each application separately.”

  “Erm, I don’t give a shit. I have trillions of dollars. I am Lance Larter!” I can’t believe people keep forgetting who they’re speaking to.

  “All right. I’m on it.”

  “See if I can sue these fuck blankets for defamation while you’re at it. They’re injuring me.”

  “Well, some of your publishing practices are a bit sketchy.”

  “Hippopotamus dick and erroneous as fuck. I have ALWAYS been within the terms of service.”

  He lets out another endless sigh that’s longer than the world’s longest run-on sentence in a ghostmance that’s been stuffed to the gills. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Hurry. It’s getting ugly out there.”

  I can’t believe this is happening to me. ME!

  Lance Larter, king of the cubic zirconias.

  I didn’t think my day could get any worse. And then she walked through the door and rammed right into me.

  Chapter Two

  She hauled ass through the door of the coffee shop and blasted into my chest. I wrapped her up in my arms and everything else faded away.

  She was beautiful. The kind of beautiful James could spend ten pages describing in excruciating detail. I wanted to stuff her immediately. My need to stuff was impossible to refrain from. I couldn’t help it. My nether regions swelled and my trillionaire balls lifted with delight.

  “What are you running from, darlin’?” I always make James make the heroes say ‘darlin’’. My zirconias eat that shit up.

  She bats her eyelashes and chews her bottom lip so hard I think she might draw blood. “It’s—it’s my psycho ex.”

  I shove a fist in the air and wave it around wildly to give that son of a cock musket a non-verbal warning that he is to steer clear. It’s incredibly alpha and a tingle runs up my spine. This woman will be mine.

  James looks up for a second and meets my glare, then turns back to the keyboard and starts pecking away once more.

  That’s a good little ghost bitch.

  I cup the woman’s cheeks in my palms. “You’re safe now. Here, with me.”

  I can’t believe how bad I want to stuff this woman. We just had our meet cute in the first chapter and I’m all about instalove drawn out over twenty-five hundred pages. It’s like I’m living a book I didn’t write. This is the un-stuffed version, though, so I decide to speed things along.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Y-y-you’ll do what?” she asks with a smile that could be described with a simile I definitely would never write, but James would.

  “I’ll marry you.”

  “Y-you will?”

  I snatch my jacket from the chair and pull out a blue box. It’s the ten-carat zirconia I was going to give away to one of my readers for reading and reviewing my book. The contest has been cancelled, though. So, it seems my luck is turning around.

  I take at least thirty seconds to drop down on one knee, dragging out the moment as long as possible as if time is slowing down and people are clicking the balls off the pages to find out what I’m about to ask.

  A look of confusion wafts over my face because it’s totally plausible for confusion to waft and the zirconias call me artsy and sophisticated and a genius for paying James to write things of that sort. “I, I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Zirconia.”

  I smile up at the heavens, knowing that fate has shown favor on an alpha male trillionaire like myself. I’d planned on being a fake fiancé to get her ex to leave us alone, but it all feels too real suddenly. I do want to marry this woman. I went from lowest point to highest point in a matter of seconds. From the lowest valley to the highest peak or some other metaphor James writes that makes my readers swoon.

  I shake my head in amazement at God once more because shaking my head at God eats up word count. I just simply can’t believe how this is all working out.

  “You don’t like my name?” She turns away.

  I grab her by the wrists hard enough to leave marks on what is mine.

  Our eyes lock.

  It’s intense.

  I’m brooding.

  She’s breathing heavily.

  All these line breaks give me more pages even though Ramazon said they fixed the loophole. In fact, I should triple space between paragraphs from now on.r />
  I don’t think so.

  The moment couldn’t be more perfect.

  “Zirconia…” A tear rolls down my hardened, square, incredibly chiseled jawline. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fucking bullshit,” James grumbles without looking up.

  I pull my very own Zirconia into my arms and dip her in the middle of the coffee shop. Then I stare at her long and hard. Ohh, long and hard do I stare at her.

  I reach with a free hand that really shouldn’t be free because I’m holding a woman with both hands, but these unsophisticated readers don’t care about continuity and blocking, nor do they bother with author names. It’s how I fool them so easily.

  “I need you to sign this four-hundred page legal document.” I pull it out and hold it in front of her while holding a pen in my other free hand that shouldn’t be free.

  Just to be clear, either I’m an octopus or she’s practically levitating because I’m holding her up and holding a contract and a pen all at the same time, but don’t worry your heart about that. You’re invested in this love story chocked with fourth wall breaks.

  “What? What is this document?” she asks, as I add a dialogue tag here even though it’s clear who is speaking because I want all the words.

  “It states that you belong to me now. You’re mine and only mine.”

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  I smile a smile that could only be smiled by me. “Why, Zirconia. Don’t you see? I’m claiming you. It’s what alpha male trillionaire bad boys like myself do.”