Fake Wife (Taming The Bad Boy Billionaire 8)
“Yeah, and you can keep dreaming, mister,” I said as I ran my fingers quickly through my hair. I reached for the door and opened it a crack, using my leg to keep the dogs back. “I’m so happy you stopped by...but I was sleeping. Maybe we can catch lunch a little later. My treat. But please don’t expect anything fancy. How about the lunch special at the diner?”
“But I’m here for something else.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s moving day, baby!” he said, with far more excitement in his voice than I felt. “I’ve got a van and three guys here, ready to get you, your gear, and your pups outta this place. Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” he announced brightly.
“Wait. Movers? Why? I mean—”
He laughed. “You didn’t expect me to haul all your shit to my place myself, did you? Did you think we were going to strap Oreo up like a pack mule or something?”
“I never said I was going to marry you, dumbass,” I said, too tired and confused to really understand what was going on. “Please go away, Charlie. I’m not in the mood for the flirting...or your schemes.”
“Jaime, wait,” he said and put his hand in the door just as I tried to close it. “Ow! Damn it, woman!” He yelped and jumped back, shaking his hand. “You almost broke my fingers...you won’t give me the time of day and I’m gonna need that hand!”
“That’s just not right, Charlie,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“No, what’s not right is slamming a guy’s hand in the door at the crack of dawn when he’s just trying to help you out.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but maybe that will teach you not to stick your hands where they don’t belong!” I opened the door again, just enough for me to slip out, then shut it quickly behind me to keep the dogs from escaping. “But seriously, are you okay?”
“Never been better.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your hand,” I said. I heard men talking and the slamming of a heavy door and glanced up. “Um, Charlie...” I said, pointing to the three men with work gloves on their hands.
“Yeah?” he said with a huge smirk.
I bit my lip and gazed into his eyes. “What’s going on here?”
“You always thought you could hide shit from me,” he said. “You’re a damn bad liar. You know that, right? You may as well be made of Saran Wrap, because I can see right through you.”
“Oh, you’d love to see me in Saran Wrap,” I teased.
“That’s beside the point. Last night, I saw through you again. I know what you need, Jaime, even if you refuse to admit it.”
I peered at him, crossed my arms firmly over my chest, and tapped my fingers on my elbow. “And?”
“And...maybe I kinda-sorta caught sight of those papers on your counter last night,” he admitted on a breath.
“Papers?” I thought for a moment, trying to remember what documents he might have spied on. When it hit me, my face reddened, and my hands balled into fists. “You asshole!” I yelled and punched him in the arm. “You arrogant, stupid, nosy asshole! What were you doing going through my stuff? What gives you the right to—”
He held up his hands to catch my wrists and held them just as did the day he kissed me in the fencing club. “Hey, just hang on a second,” he said. “The eviction notice was lying right on top, with that big red rubber stamp on it. I couldn’t help seeing it, and so I’m doing what any good friend would.”
“And what’s that?”
“Rescuing you.”
“I’m not some damsel in distress, you know. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why didn’t you just tell me you need a damn place to stay?”
I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go, so I puffed out my cheeks on a breath and continued to glare at him. “You’re one to talk when you’ve got your own problems to deal with. Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you need a wife, right? Like...pronto?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, me and four dogs being in your house isn’t gonna exactly help with that.”
“It will if you are my wife,” he insisted.