The Skipper & the Billionaire Playboy

He shrugged. “How hard can it be to pretend like we’re in love?” He asked the question in a syrupy sweet voice before rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know why my grandfather cares that much anyway about who I’m dating.”

She could have probably enlightened him, assuming his grandfather had a similar opinion to hers, which was most twenty-nine-year-old men had some sort of responsibility by this point in life, and they’d at least had a few stable relationships if they weren’t ready to settle down permanently.

She agreed with Sawyer that it wasn’t his family’s business with whom he spent his time, but she was happy to use their manipulations to her advantage. That sounded cold and scheming, but she couldn’t regret the deal they had struck that would allow her to pursue her own dream years sooner.

Deciding to immerse herself in the role early, in hopes it would help her be in the right frame of mind by the time they met with his family tomorrow afternoon, she took the flute of champagne he extended and clicked it lightly against his own glass. “To a rewarding relationship.”

For her, the reward would be her own catamaran, and for him, he envisioned it would be a cessation of nagging, at least for a while. She really thought he had picked the wrong woman for the position, but reminded herself again that was his problem, not hers. All she had to do was deal with snobbery for a week, or less if he got tired of it all and cut short the visit. As long as she endured and made it through the week of misery, it would certainly be worth it in the end.

The limousine ferried them to an unremarkable string of shops, and she arched a brow as she imagined finding classy fashions in this place. It seemed so unlikely, but she knew very little about the latest styles. With a quick gulp, she finished the rest of her champagne before surrendering the flute to Sawyer.

He set them both aside before stepping out, where the driver waited with the door open. When he leaned in to offer a hand, she took it, reminding herself it was part of the role.

However, sparks of electricity racing up her palm weren’t part of the role, and she pulled away as soon as politely possible. That was a disconcerting reaction to a man she didn’t even really like. Surely she wasn’t foolish enough to be attracted to Sawyer Sinclair? No, of course not. She had better common sense than that. Nadia was a practical woman, and Sawyer was the most impractical man available.

They entered a small shop, which appeared as nondescript as the others in the row, aside from the heavy drapes blocking the windows. As soon as the door closed behind them, she knew they had entered a different place entirely than what she had expected. Inside, there were bolts of gorgeous fabric, along with mannequins dressed in a variety of casual and fine wear, all of it clearly expensive and exquisitely made.

The blonde receptionist stood up from the desk behind which she had sat, and she could have been a perfect fashion plate herself. With her hair wound into an elegant chignon, perfectly done makeup that was understated but sexy, and a crème sheath dress that hugged her curves, but not in a trashy way, she made Nadia feel inadequate.

With the extravagant red heels the woman wore, she was almost Nadia’s height, which was a surprise. Few women stood as tall as Nadia, who was an inch shy of six-feet, and it only added to her sense of inadequacy. For just a moment, she was intimidated by the wealth around her. She firmed her mouth, determined to stamp out that ridiculous reaction. Straightening her shoulders, she held out her hand when the blonde offered hers.

“Welcome

to Menaul’s. I’m Bridget, and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”

Her manner changed when she turned to take Sawyer’s hand, not even waiting to hear Nadia’s reply. “Welcome, sir.”

Nadia barely held back the urge to roll her eyes at the way the woman’s body position shifted, her posture turning slinky and inviting with just a slight adjustment of her hip, knee, and shoulder. She might as well have put a “screw me” sign across her chest. It was a reaction common to women, at least as far she had observed in the times when she’d been unable to avoid seeing Sawyer interact with his conquests, and she supposed she would have to get used to it for at least the next week.

“Thank you, Bridget, but could you please get Onja for us? Tell her Sawyer requests her.”

Bridget’s full lips took on a pouty look, but she didn’t argue as she turned on her high heels and marched into the back room. Nadia couldn’t help a small smile at the other woman’s hint of irritation at being replaced by request.

A few moments later, Bridget emerged once more, sending a cool nod in their direction before returning to the desk. She’d never seen a desk in a retail shop before, but it was elegant and antique, and just one more way the shop set itself apart from others.

Less than a minute later, a petite Asian woman stepped out from the back room. She was just as put together as Bridget, though not as understated. Her red sheath dress was made from raw silk and screamed sex, though still in a tasteful way. Surprisingly, she didn’t wear towering heels. Instead, simple gold ballet flats covered her feet. She seemed self-possessed and confident as she strode toward them.

Half a foot away from them, she stopped in front of Sawyer, who grinned lazily at her. He opened his mouth to greet her, but before he could get in a word, her hand pulled back and smacked into his cheek with the thudding sound of flesh against flesh.

He clapped a hand to his face, whistling through his teeth. “Damn, Onja, you’ve got quite a right hook on you.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “It was my left hand, you idiot, and you certainly had that coming.”

Nadia couldn’t help it. She liked Onja already, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit who wouldn’t put up with his bullshit. Not that she had any option of doing so, at least when he had been her employer. Now that he was her pretend-boyfriend, and she wouldn’t be working for him any longer after this week, she would be more free to express her opinion of his womanizing ways, should the opportunity arise.

The other woman turned to her and extended a hand, smiling sweetly. “Hello, and welcome to Menaul’s. How may I help you today, miss?”

“Call me Nadia, and I guess I need a wardrobe suitable for mingling with Sawyer’s people.”

The Asian woman’s darted brow drew up barely noticeably. “I see. Come with me please, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“I’ll just stay here and have some coffee,” called Sawyer behind them as he settled himself into a comfortable-looking wingback chair on the other side of the room from Bridget’s desk.

Onja waved a careless hand at him, and Nadia nodded in his direction, but neither woman spoke. She had to bite back a laugh at his surprised expression. Clearly, he was unused to women not doting on him.

As soon as they were completely in the back room, Onja turned to her with a small smile. “I do apologize for slapping him, and I hope you don’t think I treat all my clients that way.”

Nadia smiled too. “No, I’m not offended at all. Knowing Sawyer, I’m sure he’s done something to deserve it.”