Fake It For Daddy (Sugar Daddy 1)

“Wonderful!” Maxime says, nearly shouting. “Oh, wonderful! I was so worried you’d be unable to make the trip, my friend!”

“This deal is important to me, Maxime. I’m not playing games.”

“No, no, neither are we. Come to Monaco, let us show you the city, give you a trip of a lifetime, and then we become rich. Yes?”

“I’m already rich,” I say to him. “Let’s just build a hotel.”

He laughs, clearly delighted. “Very well. We build! I will see you soon then, my friend. Forward me your details and I will take care of the rest.”

He hangs up the phone and I sit back with a sigh, closing my eyes.

Fucking Maxime. And of course I didn’t hear from Cerise at all.

This is more complicated than he’s letting on. I suspect he thought he could make the monarchy approve this plan easily, but he’s running into roadblocks. He needs my help to get it done.

This was supposed to be the easy part. He said he could make this fucking happen.

Goddamn it.

I open my eyes and Paige is sitting there, back straight, hands in front of her, worry in her eyes.

“Should I book a flight?” she asks.

“Private,” I say. “Find a plane for today. And pack your bags.”

Her eyes go slightly wide. “Excuse me?”

“You’re coming.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Forget about the fake relationship for a second. I wouldn’t go there without my personal assistant anyway.”

She nods slowly and lets out a breath. “So we’re going to Monaco.”

“That’s right. Make the arrangements. I’m going home to pack and I suggest you do the same when you’re finished.”

She nods and we both stand. I give her a long look and feel that thrill run up my chest.

The simmering desire that’s always there…

Starting to boil over again.

Monaco with Paige, with this woman I want. And the deal of a lifetime on top of that.

I don’t know if I could ask for more.11PaigeThe next twenty-four hours are a total blur.

I charter a private jet that’ll fly us to Heathrow, refuel, and then finish the trip down to Monaco. The flight will take a long time, the longest flight of my life, but the private plane is gorgeous. I hurry home, pack, and am in the process of trying to figure out how I’m going to get to the airport when Leon’s car arrives outside of my apartment.

From there, it’s just autopilot. We board, get seated, get served drinks, and are up in the air within the hour.

It’s impossible to describe what it’s like being alone in a plane with Leon. The plane itself is amazing, the seats are basically beds, and there are two flight attendants tasked with doing nothing but making us happy and comfortable.

But that’s not the best part. I mean, it is, but it’s more about Leon. The way he looks at me, the way his eyes flash over my body. I know he’s thinking about that day in the hotel, just like I am.

I’ve been waiting for him to take me again all week, but he hasn’t. He’s kept his distance and although I don’t know why, I haven’t tried to broach the subject.

I’ve just been waiting. I can feel it building inside of me, like a volcano that’s been dormant for a long time suddenly building up pressure. I don’t know how much longer I can take being so close to him without having his hands on my body, but he seems intent on not giving me what I want.

The whole flight I just keep waiting for him to touch me. But instead, we barely even speak a word. He’s so engrossed in getting finished with all the work he’s leaving behind that I’m almost an afterthought.

I should be angry or annoyed but mostly I’m just hurt.

I thought we had more. I thought there was something happening for real, beyond whatever fake arrangement we have.

But maybe not. Maybe this private flight is about as real as it gets. Fancy and gorgeous and almost absurd but still just temporary. Still just a means of getting from one place to the next.

Maybe that’s how he sees me. Just a means to an end. I don’t know why I’d ever think he’d see something different.

The flight passes and I keep feeling it, deep down in my chest, deep down between my legs.

The yearning. The fire. Every glance, stoking it.

I don’t know how much more I can take.“Welcome to Monaco!”

Leon steps off the plane first, walking down the steps and onto the tarmac. It’s a nice day, sunny but not hot. I follow him and we’re greeted by a thin man wearing a fancy black suit. Three women stand behind him, each one more beautiful than the next, each of them looking down at the ground.

“Leon, I presume?” the man asks, speaking English with a British lilt overtop his French accent.