The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 1 (The Billionaire Saga 1)

“That was Marcus Taylor!”

“The one and only. Trust me. Nobody was more shocked than me.”

“And you danced with him? What’s it like dancing with a billionaire?”

“I didn’t think of him as that way. I mean, dollar signs weren’t flashing over his head or anything. His money was the last thing on my mind. You know I’m not like that.”

“I would’ve loved to dance with that guy! I never even got a chance to meet him because I had to find you!”

“I’m so sorry about that. Marcus is a great dancer. Me, not so much.”

I went on to tell her about those rich snobs, and how I said I was Marcus’s girlfriend, and how it all played out. She listened patiently and didn’t judge me.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” she said.

“Sure. Anything.”

“What’s it like to be a billionaire’s girlfriend? I know it was pretend. But just for that one glorious moment, what was it like to be on his arm?”

“I was so shocked he was going along with it that I’m not sure. But it felt wonderful. It didn’t last too long. But I enjoyed being on his arm. This beautiful music was playing, and it felt like I was living in a real-life fairy tale. I mean, I felt like Cinderella at the ball. He was my handsome prince who swept me off my feet. But instead of the clock striking twelve, he propositioned me, and I kicked him in the nuts and ran. What a twisted fairy tale, huh? I bet Fate is looking down and having a good laugh.”

“So this one fairy tale didn’t work out. Don’t worry. There will be more. Just don’t pretend to be dating the prince of the castle.”

“I’m an idiot!”

I sniffed self-righteously as thick trails of mascara started pouring down my cheeks. With the skill of a veteran, Amanda pulled out a tissue and wiped them clean.

“Th-thanks,” I choked, taking another swig from the bottle. “Well, then, he took me upstairs and—”

All at once, her face got disturbingly grave. “Bex, tell me he didn’t try anything.” Her eyes flashed before I could say a word, and she made this jerking movement like she was about to storm back right then and there and choke him with his necktie. “I should have known the little prick was up to something. I swear, if he even touched—”

I shook my head quickly back and forth. “No, no. We went up to this balcony, and we had some champagne. And it was really nice—” My voice cut off in a fit of sobbing, and she stared at me in a total loss. Finally, she pried the bottle from my sweaty hands and placed it firmly back on the table.

“Okay, Bex, you’ve got to work with me a little here. What happened that was so bad?”

I jutted up my chin. “I was just coming to that. We were toasting champagne, when all of a sudden he set down our glasses, and leaned in really close, and put his hands on my arms—and his hands were really hot, Mandi—and then he said, ‘I have a proposition for you.’”

I finished with a grand relish and picked up the bottle again. Her eyes flickered disapprovingly, but she made no move to stop me. In fact, she was on the edge of her seat.

“So…what was it?”

I realized with a start that I hadn’t for one second paused to consider that question.

“I…I don’t know,” I confessed shakily. “I kneed him in the groin and ran.”

Her mouth fell open as her expression lightened to one of complete amusement and utter exasperation all at the same time. “Bex…” Her eyebrows pulled up in the middle, and I couldn’t tell whether she was going to laugh or sigh.

“What?” I asked, severely unbalanced. “They say, I have a proposition for you,” inflected like the love child of Tony Montana and Jafar, “and that’s when we run, right?”

“Well…typically, yes.” She gave me that look she got when I was testing out a lipstick that I thought made me look “modern,” and she thought it made me look like a fish. “It’s just…you don’t really know what he was going to say—it could have been anything.”

I scoffed drunkenly. “Like what?”

“Like…how about we swear to never tell anyone about the massive lie we perpetuated tonight in front of all my guests and business associates?”

It seems plausible…but at this point, irrelevant.

“I already ran,” I reiterated with intoxicated simplicity. “And kicked him…”