The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 1 (The Billionaire Saga 1)
“S’what I thought.” The driver smirked and slid back into the car, gunning the engine as I rolled down my window triumphantly and gestured at Marcus’ pants.
“You should really ice that, by the way.”
We roared away from the curb in a cloud of dust, high on success. But by the time we rounded the wide lawn and proceeded down the hill, the high was already wearing off, and we stared at each other curiously through the open partition.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking…where’s your actual ride?” he asked.
I looped the straps of my heels around my wrist and tugged off my earrings as the night officially came to a close. “I left it for my roommate. And she has the keys in her purse. I can’t leave her here stranded with no way home. And I don’t want to come back later to pick her up. Because I don’t want to run into Marcus Taylor. Believe it or not, I was sent by a talent agency with my friend to ‘make a good impression.’ Whatever that means.”
He glanced back at Marcus’ vanishing form in the rear view mirror. “Well, he’s the host, isn’t he? You’ve definitely left a lasting impression.”
I snorted at his pragmatism. “Yeah, probably.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence until he pulled into a corner of the fast food parking lot to let me out. “You gonna be okay here?” He glanced up the quiet street.
“Yeah, I’ll call a cab.”
He nodded. “Wait inside, okay?”
“Will do.” I smiled gratefully, then handed him all the money in my purse. “Thanks again. Seriously, thank you.”
He turned up a hand at the cash and slid back inside the car. “Naw, girl, you’re good. Just stay away from all them unsavory characters. You feel me?” He drove off with a wink and left me standing in the parking lot feeling rather deflated.
“Yeah, I feel you.”
With a tired sigh, I hung my head and trudged into Taco Bell to call a taxi.
Thirty minutes and four tacos later, I was back in my dingy apartment cuddled up next to Deevus and waiting for Amanda to get home. I didn’t have to wait very long. My departure must have caused a little bit of a commotion, and when she couldn’t find me at the party, she came straight back.
“Rebecca?” she called as soon as she yanked open the door.
She must have been truly worried. Rebecca only made an appearance when she was really angry, really concerned, or really drunk.
“I’m in here,” I called quickly, watching as Deevus bolted for the door.
Amanda appeared a second later, disheveled and flushed. “What the hell happened?”
I prepared for the grand wind-up to launch into my story—the one I’d been rehearsing since the second taco. But before I knew what was happening, my eyes welled up in sudden tears. “I had the most amazing…and most terrible time.”
Just like that, I collapsed in a fit of child-weeping. Amanda’s jaw fell open as she watched, then rushed to comfort me on the floor.
“We’re…we’re crying about this?” she asked incredulously. My hand flailed toward a bottle on the table, and she ducked in time to save herself a black eye. “Oh—yep—we’re going for the tequila. Okay.” She tried to smooth down my hair but found herself as stymied by the pounds of hairspray as I had. In the end, she just patted my back sympathetically. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“That guy, M-Marcus,” I was blubber
ing, barely able to get the words out, “he took me to the middle of the floor, and uh, we started d-dancing!”
“Oh,” she soothed, steadying the bottle before it could slop down my dress. “I know you hate dancing.”
“I loved it!” I cried viciously.
Her eyes dilated slightly in the dim light as she tried to follow along. “I…okay. Well, honey, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“He’s the rich guy from the coffee shop.”
“The one you’ve been talking about? The one with the most beautiful eyes in the entire world?”
“Yeah. It was him.”