The exception, p.1
The Exception, page 1
Copyright © 2025 by Vi Keeland
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
THE EXCEPTION
Edited by: Jessica Royer Ocken
Proofreading by: Elaine York, Julia Griffis
Formatting by: Elaine York, Allusion Publishing
Cover Model: Shaun Collins
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster @lanefotograf
Cover designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Other Novels by Vi Keeland
About The Exception
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Bossman
Bossman - Chapter 1
Bossman - Chapter 2
Dear Readers
Acknowledgements
Other Novels by Vi Keeland
About the Author
OTHER ROMANCE NOVELS BY VI KEELAND
Indiscretion
What Happens at the Lake
Something Unexpected
The Game
The Boss Project
The Summer Proposal
The Spark
The Invitation
The Rivals
Inappropriate
All Grown Up
We Shouldn’t
The Naked Truth
Something Borrowed, Something You
Beautiful Mistake
Egomaniac
Bossman
The Baller
Left Behind
Beat
Throb
Worth the Fight
Worth the Chance
Worth Forgiving
Belong to You
Made for You
Jilted
THRILLER NOVELS BY VI KEELAND
The Unraveling
Someone Knows
ROMANCE NOVELS CO-WRITTEN BY VI KEELAND AND PENELOPE WARD
Denim & Diamonds
The Rules of Dating
The Rules of Dating My Best Friend’s Sister
The Rules of Dating My One Night Stand
The Rules of Dating a Younger Man
Well Played
Not Pretending Anymore
Happily Letter After
My Favorite Souvenir
Dirty Letters
Hate Notes
Rebel Heir
Rebel Heart
Cocky Bastard
Stuck-Up Suit
Playboy Pilot
Mister Moneybags
British Bedmate
Park Avenue Player
ABOUT THE EXCEPTION
He lives by a set of rules. She might be his one exception.
I just wanted a distraction—something to take the edge off before facing a wedding I was dreading. So on the flight back to New York, I signed up for a dating app. Harmless enough, right?
Wrong.
Turns out, it wasn’t just any app—it catered to people with very specific tastes. By the time I realized it, I was already on my date.
Tall, confident, and sinfully handsome, Jagger Langston seemed like the full package. The chemistry between us was instant—electric enough to burn the whole city down. Though things took a turn when we figured out I’d misunderstood who should join the app. We laughed it off, said goodbye, and went our separate ways.
Or so I thought.
Until I walked into my new internship Monday morning, ready to put the weekend behind me, and there he was—my boss.
Now I’m caught between the rules he lives by—and the temptation to make him break every single one of them.
Sutton
“Please tell me you didn’t bring that hideous brown dress to wear to the wedding.”
No hello, no how are you—just straight to the point when I answered. It was one of the things I loved about Miles Hartley, except when his point was a critique of me.
I took a step forward in line. “It’s a beautiful dress.”
“It is. You should wear it to bingo when you go down to visit your grandmother in Florida.”
I rolled my eyes, but chuckled. “I hate you.”
“No, you love me. You hate when I’m right. Which is often, when it comes to your life. And because you love me so much, I’m currently in your room digging through boxes looking for the red dress you should’ve brought. I’ll bring it in my bag tomorrow. Also, why did you answer the phone? I thought I was going to leave you a message. Shouldn’t you be in the air by now?”
“Hang on a second.” I took another step and handed the gate agent my boarding pass.
She scanned it. “Have a good flight.”
“Thank you.” Once I entered the jet bridge, I lifted my phone and returned my attention to Miles on FaceTime. “Weren’t you just wearing blue glasses a minute ago?”
He shrugged. “These match your panties.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. My best friend had a collection of more than a hundred pairs of glasses, each more colorful than the last. He had a penchant for matching them to his outfits, but pairing them with my panties was a new one.
“I thought your flight took off at eight?” he said.
“It’s delayed an hour. And you better pack everything back up and seal the boxes when you’re done rummaging through my life. The moving company is coming tomorrow morning to bring me those.”
“Ooh. When did you get this red mesh bra? Does it have matching panties?”
“Can you please stop going through my underwear?”
“Seriously, this thing is hot as fuck. It might even make my gay ass a little hard if you put it on.”
“Wonderful. I can finally achieve my life’s goal.”
“If there aren’t matching panties, I’m going shopping and finding you some. Because this is what you’re wearing under the red dress at the wedding.”
“I’m not wearing the red dress.”
“Then how are you going to bang the best man?”
“I am not banging Brendan’s brother.”
Though I was definitely overdue for a good banging. Way, way overdue. And I hadn’t mentioned to Miles that I planned to remedy that problem sooner rather than later.
“Why not? His underbite doesn’t make him look as much like a bulldog as it did before the braces.”
I boarded the plane and found my row. “I have to go. I just got to my seat, and I need to put my luggage in the overhead bin and get situated.”
“All right. But promise me one thing.”
I sighed. “What?”
“You won’t have a couple of glasses of wine and respond to the jackrabbit’s text. You get emotional when you drink.”
“I am definitely not responding to Brendan.” I was stopped in the aisle with my luggage, and the woman behind me didn’t look happy. “Gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After I hung up and stowed my bags, I settled into my seat. The flight from LA to New York was five and a half hours. I’d been annoyed when my mother had called the airline pretending to be me and upgraded my ticket to first class, but the big, comfy seat that reclined to a bed now made this section seem more and more like a little slice of heaven. Especially when the flight attendant walked over carrying a tray.
“Would you like orange juice or champagne before we take off?”
“Oooh. I love mimosas. I’ll take both.”
She nodded. “Good choice.”
It had been a year since I’d flown home to New York, and I’d forgotten how big these planes were. Boarding went on for a full half hour. So when the flight attendant returned with the bottle of champagne and offered a refill, I happily nodded.
“Yes, please. It’ll help take the edge off.”
She smiled. “Nervous flier?”
“No. But I’m going home for a wedding I’m not looking forward to.”
“Is there someone you don’t want to see attending?”
I nodded. “The groom. He’s my ex.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. You must be a bigger person than me. Not sure I’d go to my ex’s wedding, if I was invited.”
“I don’t hav e too much of a choice. He’s marrying my stepsister.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh my.”
I sighed. “Tell me about it.”
She refilled my champagne flute to the brim and set the half-full bottle on my tray table. “It’s going to be a bit before we get to pull away from the gate. The runway is backed up since we missed our time slot. I’ll just leave this here. My name is Aileen. Buzz if you need anything else.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She leaned down to me. “My ex-boyfriend is a pilot. I got stuck on a flight with him last month, and I accidentally spilled the soda he ordered on his shirt when I was bringing him his dinner. It didn’t make it any less awkward, but it made me happy to look at the stain every time I had to see him after that. Maybe you should have a little accident at the wedding.”
“Who should I bump into, the bride or the groom?”
She smiled. “Both. And maybe order a Bloody Mary instead of a soda before you do.”
“I might just do that.”
We wound up sitting at the gate for another forty-five minutes, during which time I polished off my second glass of champagne and the remainder of what was left in the bottle. I was feeling no pain by the time we started to taxi toward the runway. Unfortunately, I was also feeling—damn Miles for always being right—emotional. So after I switched my cell to airplane mode, I pulled up Brendan’s text. It had come in a week ago, and I’d read it at least twenty times since then.
Brendan: Hey. Could we get together to talk when you get to town? Your mom said you’re coming in Thursday. Maybe we could meet for a drink at Buvette?
A few minutes later, a second text had come in.
Brendan: I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to Colette.
The latter had made my blood boil. I’d kicked around taking a screenshot of the text and sending it directly to my stepsister, but I wasn’t up for the drama that would inevitably ensue. I also didn’t want Colette to think I was jealous or petty. Even though petty was exactly what you should be when your boyfriend of three years marries your freaking stepsister. I shook my head and swiped the text closed, deciding to watch a movie to keep me distracted. At some point I must’ve dozed off, because when I woke up, the movie was no longer playing and there was only a little over an hour left in the flight. My new friend, Aileen, appeared at my side.
She smiled. “Good nap?”
“Definitely. Exactly what I needed.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m about to wheel around the ice cream cart, so you woke up at the perfect time. The only thing better than champagne and a nap is having a hot fudge sundae when you wake up. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Ice cream sounds great. And just some water, please.”
While I waited for the flight attendant to come back, I dug out my phone and connected to the free Wi-Fi so I could check email. As soon as the three little bars illuminated, a text popped up in preview.
Miles: Who’s better than me?
There was a paperclip at the bottom corner of the message, so I clicked to see the attachment. A photo of my best friend appeared on the screen—he was beaming, holding a pair of red mesh underwear that seemed to match my bra perfectly. I snorted. Only Miles.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I should’ve brought the red dress—though not to lure Brendan’s little brother. What I needed was a stranger, a quick fling with someone who was good in bed. Great in bed, even. My mind leaned into the idea. No-strings-attached, anonymous sex. No names, no numbers—hell, no faces would work at this point. It could be hot if he wore a mask. I just needed to have sex with six inches that didn’t require batteries. Tonight, I was planning to go to a bar and not come home alone. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t shared that tidbit with Miles. He’d been my best friend since elementary school and knew everything else about my life.
Aileen wheeled over the ice cream cart, interrupting my thoughts. I ordered vanilla with peanut butter sauce and chocolate chips, and it was freaking delicious. Devouring it, I decided maybe I shouldn’t object so much in the future when my mother wanted to throw her husband’s money around and spoil me.
There wasn’t enough time left on the flight for a second movie, so I opened the internet browser. Spooning the delicious sundae into my mouth, I checked my email, did the daily Wordle, and finally googled best bar in Manhattan to meet a man for a one-night stand. I was pretty surprised how many hits came back, and not just your typical Reddit chats either. There were articles in legit magazines and entire websites dedicated to the subject. Yelp had a Top 10 Best Hookup Bars in NYC list. Too bad they didn’t have Yelp ratings for the men who frequented them. I clicked into one website that had a map of all the different neighborhoods of Manhattan, and each of those had a clickable list of bars. I double tapped into Gramercy Park and scanned the six places listed. Bullets underneath outlined the reasons each place was good to meet someone. While I was reading the write-up of the last bar, an animated ad popped up showing a bird inside a cage. The door opened, and a bright red finch fluttered its wings and flew out. It was cute and colorful. Underneath read: NY Loves DARE—dating freedom.
Though I’d decided tonight was the night I was finally going to find a man, it had never crossed my mind to use a dating app. I’d joined a few after Brendan and I broke up, but something about the constant cut-and-paste introductions I’d received turned me off. Yet this one had me curious. So I clicked and read. DARE wasn’t your typical swipe-right-and-swipe-left-type deal where you judged people in two seconds based on their looks and a few sentences. Instead, you had to answer a ton of questions before your supposed matches were presented to you. Users didn’t even see photos until the matches had been selected. The site claimed to be ultra exclusive and charged a whopping $599 a year. Considering I was no longer employed, that price was too rich for my blood. So I clicked the X to close out of the site. But rather than shutting down, a banner flashed on the screen: Try free for five days.
Hmmm… What the heck? Why not? I had another hour to kill. It might be fun to see who a computer would pick as my perfect match. Lord knows I hadn’t had luck finding the guy on my own. So I clicked to redeem the offer and started entering some basic data. The first few questions were simple—age preference, type of looks and physique I was generally attracted to, religious beliefs, languages spoken, hobbies, rating the importance of salary and different values.
I was moving right along until the question about what I was looking for in a relationship gave me pause. There were three choices to select from—a long-term partner, an occasional companion, or no strings attached. I knew the answer, yet it took me a full five minutes to find the courage to check the last box. I’d never had a fling. As I continued, the questions became more personal—did I like a dominant lover in the bedroom, was I open to multiple partners at once, and did pain turn me on. Let’s be real, I had no idea what I truly liked after wasting all those years with Brendan. Yet I chewed my lip, considering my answers anyway. Multiple partners at once? Definitely not. I wanted someone with more experience than I had, so a lover who took control sounded good—yes to dominant partner. And who knows, a little spanking might be fun. The rest of the questionnaire took another fifteen minutes, and by the time I was done and hit submit, I had to admit, I was a little excited. An hourglass appeared on the screen with sand falling from one globe to another. Eventually a message flashed. We’ve found your match.
Match? Just one? Not matches? Why did I think I was going to be given a smorgasbord of men to choose from? I’d wasted almost half an hour for one measly guy who was probably going to be creepy? I sighed, but clicked anyway since curiosity had already gotten the best of me. I was certain I was about to be shown some troll based on a dumb computer algorithm deciding who was my Mr. Right.
But the man whose photo appeared was most definitely not a troll.
Wow…just wow. This had to be an AI photo, right? Real men weren’t this beautiful, certainly not any of the ones I’d run into lately. I lifted my cell to my nose for a closer inspection. Pictures generated with AI, or ones that were heavily retouched, tended to be too smooth or overly blurry. They were also usually missing shadows, or the background lighting was unnaturally even. But this guy wasn’t like that at all. I could see the texture of his skin, the sexy stubble of his five o’clock shadow. The ocean was also in the background, and the water reflected the sun. Not to mention, different shades of blue and turquoise revealed the changes in depths beneath. I was almost certain the photo wasn’t generated by AI.
