His Fake Fiancee: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me)

Entering the cabin, I barely contain my gasp. It’s massive. At the front of the plane there are four oversized leather seats that appear to recline. A long leather couch on one side of the plane sits in front of a large flat-screen television. There are six more leather chairs facing each other with a table between them. Tim and Ivan are already at the table. Through an open door there is a bedroom in the rear of the plane. Holy crap, this is on an entirely different level.

“Any refreshment this morning?” a blond, chipper man with thick, horned-rimmed glasses asks.

A wave of fire washes over me, and I turn toward the source. I’m trapped in the darkness of Ivan’s eyes. He’s angry, for the first time his emotions are clearly stamped on his face. Mouth instantly dry, I force a deep breath. Calm, cool, collected, get it together, Christina. “Water, please.”

“Pellegrino okay?”

“Yes.” I nod as I wonder if it’s safe to get close to Ivan.

“Coming up, my name is Julian. Anything else, let me know, we are fully stocked.”

“Ms. Connolly, sit.” Ivan nods to the chair in front of him.

Sit? Asshole. I’m not a fucking dog.

“We push off once you are seated.” He flicks gravel at me.

Great, right in front of him. All the better to make an idiot of myself. There is a thick report waiting on the table for me. I open it. It’s a background file on all the members of the Harris family, the owners of Hungry Harvest, as well as their single investor.

“Your proposal had gaps. The report fills them. Based on inquiries, the family are not interested in further investors. They are working on the ridiculous assumption they can pull out of this without assistance. One thing I have been wondering is how you found them in the first place.”

Thank god my bra is boring, thick cotton because the sound of his voice is turning my nipples into painfully tight points of need.

Refusing to look up from the report, I shrug. “The same way I find most of my companies. I searched for companies that had the most mentions week after week on social media. Hungry Harvest caught my eye almost eight months ago, but they were already catching fire. At the time I didn’t dig deeper. They seemed as slick as any of the top subscription services at the time, I figured we were too late.

“Two weeks ago the mentions changed from glowing to negative, complaints about items being out of stock, of late shipments, the fresh vegetables not up to previous quality. I knew now was the time to dig deeper. They might not want us, but they need us.”

Seriously? My lips are tingling again. I look up; Ivan’s eyes are on my lips. Instantly, my mouth waters. Don’t drool, don’t embarrass yourself. Jagged onyx flicks up, hungry, angry. It isn’t on purpose, I don’t know what drives my tongue to slip out of my mouth and wet my lips.

What would it be like to taste his hunger? To trace his lips with my tongue? Heat builds and twists low inside me until I ache with it. His jaw tightens as he looks away, cutting the connection. A different kind of pain hits me; stunned, lost, I blindly look down. Stupid, stupid, knock it off.

“Seat belts, folks, we are wheels up in two minutes,” the chipper attendant announces.

As I fumble with the seat belt, it takes way longer than it should to secure it. Ivan responds to a question Tim asks, and his voice sends a shiver up my spine. Okay, what the fuck happened to him for his voice to sound the way it does?

I had spent hours in bed last night searching for everything I could find on Ivan, hoping to find the answer, but I never did.

The flight passes quickly, thank god. I’m pretty sure Ivan is annoyed with me, at the very least, but angry is probably more like it. He barely looked at me even when he was talking to me, and there was an edge to his voice when he spoke to me that hadn’t been there before. The few times I asked a question, he acted as if I was a moron, until I had stopped asking altogether. Maybe the report was worse than I thought it was.

God, he’s regretting bringing me. I’m going to get fired, he’s not going to give me Simon’s job. Was it the stupid way I acted around him? Was he worried he would be stuck with some moony-eyed woman he was afraid would be some stalker chick?

Humiliation is a painful emotion I haven’t felt in years; all I want to do is crawl away and hide. This is my own fault. Calm, cool, collected my ass.

We are bypassing the hotel to go straight to the farm. In the quiet of the limousine there are indicators for emails and texts going off every few minutes. Tim and Ivan’s focus is on their cell phones as they respond. I feel superfluous as both men work while I sit twiddling my thumbs.

A ringing phone is abruptly cut off. It’s Ivan’s, he’s frowning at the display as he sends it to voice mail. Only a minute later a text comes through. He sighs. “Gemma is calling, send her to voice mail. I’ll call her back later.”

Tim nods as he continues working. During my search on Ivan last night I found he has two sisters. How rude to ignore family, what a dick.

Checking the time as the limo pulls up to the farm, I see it’s only a few minutes after nine.

Over the next few hours I’m enthralled completely and utterly with every single word Ivan speaks. I understand now how he became a billionaire so young. The man is deviously, ruthlessly manipulative on a level I could never comprehend without seeing it close up.

On our way to the hotel, my head is still spinning, still trying to take it all in. A reprieve was given; of course they would need time to think it over, discuss among themselves. We would be back tomorrow, Ivan silkily promised—or threatened, I’m not sure which.

“How is the hotel? A good restaurant? I am starving,” Ivan asks Tim.

I check my watch; it’s barely noon. I would have sworn it was far later.