The Billionaire's Proposal

> Under normal circumstances, I would have refused. But no matter how hard we were pretending, these were hardly normal circumstances. And since it was his fault that I didn’t have any clothes in the first place, well...his treat.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never done this,” I muttered, adding a full length trench coat to my bag. At first, I’d tried to be thrifty. He’d deleted the entire bag and forced me to start over. “I think I could literally do it in my sleep.”

He bristled defensively.

“I could do it if I want.” The cool confidence was gone, replaced again with that same little kid. The one who was eyeing the laptop with a strangely covetous expression. “I’m sure I could do it a hell of a lot faster than you.”

“Oh yeah?” I turned to him expectantly. “What’s your email password?”

He hesitated, probably wishing he hadn’t made it the name of whatever girlfriend he’d had at the time. There was no way to track it now.

“It’s...uh, it’s...”

“What’s your cell phone provider? The name of those Belgian chocolates you like so much? What’s the PIN to your ATM card? I noticed the other night, that the teller just checked your ID and handed you money.”

Outgunned at every turn, he decided to ignore the problem entirely—turning up his head with a sneer. “Abby, haven’t you ever read Thoreau? That stuff isn’t what’s important. It’s people. It’s the connections we—”

“Really?” I cut him off with a sarcastic grin. “You’re going to try to get out of this by faking an existential awakening? Will I find you reading down by the pond?”

“Point is,” he countered defiantly, “all you need to buy those things is money. I have money. Case closed.”

“I have your bank passwords.”

The two of us shared a long look. Then he lowered his eyes with a shudder.

“That’s a chilling thought...”

I laughed and got back to my shopping, as he folded his hands petulantly in his lap, and tried ever-so-casually to insert what he thought to be vital input.

“You should get it in the blue...” he muttered, casting a sideways glance at the screen.

The mouse hovered uncertainly over two different designer slips. I had been going for the black. He was obviously leaning the other way. After another moment’s pause, I went with my original instinct. He leaned back his head with a long-suffering sigh.

“Really?” I exclaimed, turning to face him. “Who’s going to be the one wearing the slip, Nicholas? Who should be the one to pick it?”

He sat up—thrilled to finally be included, and just as indignant as me.

“Who do you buy a slip to impress, Abby? Who’s the one who takes it off?”

Who the fuck decided it was a good idea to give this man skills in debate? As if he needed another weapon in his arsenal.

“...my boyfriend.”

“Exactly,” Nick declared triumphantly. “And as your boyfriend, I’m saying that you should definitely go with the blue!”

He reached again for the mouse, but I twisted it away.

“Well given that you’re my fake boyfriend, I’m not entirely sure your opinion matters.”

“Oh really?” His face lit up with a grin, as he shifted closer to me on the cushion. I bit my lip, but the giggles still leaked through. “Is that the way you want to play it? Give it here!”

“No!” I squealed, doing my very best to keep the computer out of reach.

It was no use.

In an act of desperation, I made a wild leap to freedom—only to get instantly captured by his arms. Then he lunged. Then came the tickling.

“Nick—don’t! You’ll break it!”