The Billionaire's Assistant

I came up suddenly short, glancing up in surprise. My tablet—which I’d pulled out the second we started ‘talking shop’ paused on a list of Nick’s ex-girlfriends, freezing them in place.

“I’m sorry?” I had to clarify. It was absolutely not what I expected him to say. “You said you wanted to go with a stranger? Did you not hear what I just—”

“You just said that a stranger would be awkward, but professional,” he summarized briskly. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. One with no real emotion, everything would be staged. Am I understanding that correctly?”

I cringed a bit at the curt way he was talking—already feeling sorry to help facilitate putting him in such a position—but I nodded as well. Yes, that was entirely correct.

“Good.” He pushed to his feet without another word, dusting off his pants. “In that case, why don’t you come up with a list of names, and we’ll go through them tomorrow. Or better yet,” he suddenly reconsidered, “why don’t you just pick someone for me. You’re better at that sort of thing...”

He fell suddenly silent, waiting expectantly, and I hurried to push to my feet as well.

“Uh—yes, of course. I can have someone ready by the end of the day.”

He nodded once, then started walking away.

“Excellent. Thank you, Abigail.”

My jaw fell open as I watched him leave. Watched until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. He’d left the Dior bag behind. As well as an untouched cup of coffee.

...Abigail?

Chapter 12

I spent the rest of that evening going over lists of names in my apartment back in Brooklyn. My own little agrarian society come to life. The Dior bag sat untouched on the bed beside me, the only thing I’d removed was the purse. The dress itself had been dumped to the bottom of the bag. In a strange act of contrition, I’d refused to even look.

“A girl for Nick, a girl for Nick...”

I chanted it under my breath as I scrolled through a list of possible names. I’d cast a wide net and there were a lot to choose from. Actresses. Models. Aristocracy. I’d even thrown in one or two ‘every day trust fund daughters’ just for balance. It was an impressive list.

More importantly, it was a long list. One that was enough to sufficiently distract me from whatever it was that had happened that day.

As a woman trained to examine a situation from every possible angle, under every possible lens, I was failing at a spectacular level to understand. No matter how many times I played it back in my head. No matter how many times I reviewed his exact words, I couldn’t get them to make sense.

The disconnect was in three places.

One: I had no idea in the world why Nick had suddenly decided to buy me all those things in the first place. Close as we’d become—that couldn’t be farther from our usual dynamic.

Two: I had no idea what had made him suddenly cave to his father’s pressure, then get so business-like and cold. If there were two things that Nick was not, it was business-like and cold.

Three: I had NO idea at ALL what had made him go with the ‘stranger’ option.

Nick hated being scrutinized in this way. It was one thing when he was calling the shots himself. When he was the one parading around and making a spectacle. But when he wasn’t? When he was an openly acknowledged pawn in someone else’s game? He quite simply didn’t allow it to happen.

And now her

e he was, agreeing to fake smile, fake kiss, fake date, and fake selfie with some random stranger all to appease dear ‘ole dad? It didn’t make any sense.

At least, if he had paired up with one of his more tolerable exes, there would have been a genuine spark. Some history, and old feelings to fall back on. He would have felt like he was part of the game as well—fooling the paparazzi, misleading the press—instead of a puppet on parade.

No, nothing about today made any kind of sense. But for the moment, I didn’t have the luxury to dwell. For one of the first times in history, Nick had given me an ‘assignment.’ I would find a girl for him—and she would be absolutely perfect for the part.

...but maybe not perfect for him.

The idea seized me like a drug. Crushing and empowering at the same time. Knocking down all sense and reason. Sweeping me away before I had the slightest clue that I was even in danger of falling.

I don’t know what made me do it. I don’t know what made me lean forward with a smile, read the profile in front of me, and pick up the phone to call.

I have NO IDEA what I was thinking, creating a match like this.