The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga 2)

“Can I go home?” I asked.

He looked like I’d stabbed him in the gut. His mouth opened and closed, but for possibly the first time since I’d met him, the great Marcus Taylor could think of nothing to say. There was a knock on the door, but neither one of us acknowledged it.

“Mr. Taylor?” It was Niles again. “Mr. Taylor, we need you to come back to the party.”

Marcus’ eyes flickered to mine, but I just shook my head with indifference, feeling suddenly apathetic and numb. Moving almost robotically, I reached up and yanked the priceless diamonds off my neck and dropped them on the desk next to me. They fell with a disapproving clatter, lying like shards of broken glass between us. Our eyes rested on them for a moment, and when we looked back up, my face was hard and sure.

“You were paid to be an actress,” he said. “That was an added bonus.”

“And I delivered, didn’t I? I thought I looked pretty damn happy.”

“You did a wonderful job. And I can’t thank you enough. We’ll go home tomorrow and you can go back to your life. You’ll never have to see me again.”

“So that’s all I get? A handshake and a pat on the back?”

“You’re being paid very well.”

I blew out a long breath. “Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

“You took this acting job and did a great job. I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

“We kissed.”

“That wasn’t expected at all. But it was an added bonus. A very nice one. It really made everyone buy it.”

“Then let’s cut the charade while we’re ahead. You got what you wanted, and I got what I wanted.” I touched the bracelet one last time. “You can keep the bracelet. Turns out, I don’t want anything to remember you by.”

I slid the ring off my finger and slowly handed it to him as he frowned. I left without another word. Left the whole mess behind me. Left it for him to clean it up.

I have no idea what he ended up saying to everyone, or to Takahari and his aides, or to the ballroom of people for that matter. I didn’t care. This wasn’t my world anymore, and it certainly wasn’t my problem. It was time for me to go home.

The good thing about a crowd of people is that they all seem to swarm in the same direction. I was able to slip out a side entrance and get on the path back to the bungalow without anyone being the wiser. Once inside, I took a quick glance around to take stock. Marcus would be here soon—as soon as he battled his way through the people in the ballroom—and I certainly didn’t want to be here when he did.

I grabbed my oversize purse from the coffee table and flitted quickly around the little cottage, stuffing it to the brim. Aside from raiding the minibar for my flight home, I took only what I came with. The treasure trove of little dresses and bikinis Marcus had purchased for me stayed right where they hung in the closet. I even left my new bottle of sunblock behind because he had paid for it at the gift shop. In the end, all I had were two shirts, a skirt, a pair of sandals, and my passport. The rest would be left behind.

Without stopping to think, I called a cab and headed to the private airstrip. By now, it looked like a futuristic stable. A dozen or more jets and planes were parked in neat little rows as far as the eye could see. I hadn’t noticed them all before, because Marcus and I had flown in a day early, but walking through them now gave me the creepiest vibe. There was something fundamentally unsettling about being at a “quiet” airstrip. Like getting stuck in the mall after closing. No matter your reason, it felt like you shouldn’t be there.

And my reason now was less than legit. I was here to commandeer a plane.

Marcus’ plane was easy to spot. It was easily the largest and most luxurious of the bunch. I clutched my purse tighter around my shoulder and headed toward the only source of noise in the entire hangar. It was coming from what looked like a lounge of some kind, lit up and lively as flight crews drifted in and out. They were always supposed to be on standby, Marcus had told me when we arrived. I considered this as I made my way through the hangar. Must be a pretty shitty way to spend a tropical vacation. I had childhood flashbacks of my mom running into a store or dropping some baked goods off at some meeting she’d nearly forgotten to attend. “That’s right, dear, just stay with the van.” I wondered if it wasn’t uncommon for pilots to develop abandonment issues.

I didn’t know whether to knock or just go inside, so I did a mixture of both, gently pushing the door open as I knocked. It was like flipping a switch. The second I stepped inside, all noise in the tiny room stopped. Someone even snapped off the television, leaving us in sudden, awkward silence.

“Um…hi.” I tucked my hair nervously behind my ear, silently hoping that the pilot would remember me. I certainly didn’t remember him. “My name’s Rebecca White. I came in the other day with Marcus Taylor.”

“Miss White.” A man in a stiffly starched uniform sprang to his feet and crossed through the crowd. His facial hair had been cut as severely as his clothing and I noticed he was the only one here still in uniform. “Captain Jim Helmsman. What can I do for you this evening?”

Upon some unseen signal, the rest of them silently dispersed—gone to mill about the planes and pretend to be working on something official. I chewed my lip guiltily. I hadn’t meant to break up the party. And it made me uncomfortable to be around people who were on the clock when I was wearing this ridiculous dress.

“Miss White?” the captain prompted again. He was standing at a casual angle that blocked most of the messy room from my sight. I couldn’t tell if this was intentional or not, but I got the impression he was embarrassed to have me see such behind-the-scenes frivolity.

“Yes, sorry, um…”

How did I phrase this? From the startled-deer faces of the scattered flight crews, there was a definite protocol in place to which I was completely oblivious.

“I’d like to go home. If that’s all right.”

The captain blinked. “Right now?”