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

“This could be a step in the right direction.” He looked it up and down. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you a reference.”

I kept my eyes straight forward, struggling to control my rage. I didn’t have it in me to deal with this man right now. But of course, Hamberg couldn’t leave it alone.

“And as much as I’d like to help with first and last, I’m afraid I won’t be able to return your security deposit either. That mangy cat of yours is sure to have done some damage—”

“Listen up, you little, slimy worm!”

His eyes bugged out, and he fell back a step as my voice echoed through the lot.

“I have neither the time nor patience to deal with you and your pathetic little ‘my entire vocabulary is rooted in housing terminology’ threats! I got your eviction notice already, and I have the money to pay you. So either accept it and back the fuck off, or don’t, and I’ll write you up for sexual harassment as well as being a pain in my ass before I go!”

My voice echoed off into silence and a warm flush hummed through my chest.

That felt…great! I should have done it months ago! Talk about a cathartic experience—maybe now I didn’t have to throw away my clothes…

For a second, I thought he was going to be sick. But he eventually pulled himself together enough to stammer, “E-eviction notice? You’re not being evicted. I mean, not anymore.”

I jutted out my chin. “Damn right I’m not, wait—what do you mean, not anymore?”

He looked at me like maybe I was stupid. “Your back rent has all been paid.”

My face went blank. “What?”

“By that man who climbed up the fire escape to your apartment. He paid everything the first day he came here.”

With sudden clarity, I pieced together several things at once. The day the papers had spilled from my car and Marcus had helped me pick them up. The casual way he’d stuffed his hands deep in his pockets before saying goodbye. The way I’d been distractedly surprised that Hamberg wasn’t bothering me about leaving.

At first I was just shocked. Why wouldn’t Marcus tell me? What was the point of a gesture like that if I didn’t even know it was from him?

Of course, Marcus had paid. Because paying for things was so very easy for him. Because it required no human emotion, only a checkbook.

This acting gig was supposed to be emotionless! This wasn’t supposed to include back rent! This wasn’t supposed to end with a proposal on a grand stage!

I walked over to the nearby Goodwill bin. I finally decided that I would donate the clothing to charity rather than throw it away. With an exasperated shriek, I lifted the lid and tossed the garment bag carelessly into the bin. Then I went back upstairs, leaving a bewildered Hamberg Teller behind.

That was it—everything out!

I stomped through the entire apartment, black Sharpie-ing Marcus-related events off the calendar, throwing out old mocha cups and two Ferris wheel tickets I’d kept from that night at the beach. I got rid of anything and everything I could…until I got to the bracelet.

It was hanging up on my nightstand, dangling from my lamp so that when the sun rose every morning, it sparkled light all over my walls.

The rampage stopped with the bracelet. I plucked it from the lamp and stuffed it deep in my purse, but I kept it. I simply couldn’t bear to throw it away.

That fact alone made me want to slap myself.

Here I was placing all the blame on Marcus, but I had been the idiot to go along with his crazy plan. I was the one who lied at the party to begin with and planted the notion in his head. I was the one who’d placed the money behind the popsicles, and I was the one who had kissed him back on the beach that day. I was the one who let my feelings get involved.

Yes, the blame was at least partially on me.

…but at least I didn’t propose.

Amanda called me. And I told her everything.

“What did you think was going to happen, Bex?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you think the billionaire was going to kiss you, then get on his knees and really propose to you? C’mon! Get out of dreamland.”