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

I rolled my eyes with a grin. The predictable answer of a spoiled cul-de-sac princess.

“I love it,” I answered bitingly. “I wish I could be there all the time.”

She snorted on the other side of the door. I could almost picture her laying her clammy cheek against the cool tiles on the floor. It was a comfort move both of us had done many, many times. It was also the reason we kept the bathroom impeccably clean.

“Was that Deevus that wailed earlier?”

“Yep.” I pulled on my other shoe. “I gotta go—I’m going to be late.”

“Did you get that guy’s phone number last night? He was hot.”

I blew out a long breath.

“Did you mess it up again?” she asked.

“No. Well, kind of. I started talking about how upset I was that Mrs. Johnson had taken such a bad turn. I guess it was too deep for him. But I’m worried about the woman. She’s been my patient for months and we’ve grown quite close. She might not make it to next week. I’m so worried about her.”

“Talking about death isn’t the way to go when you first meet someone.”

I bit my lip hard. “You’re probably right.”

“You’re working in hospice. You know these people are near the end. And it’s great that you give them so much love and support, but you have to be able to let go.”

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“I get so attached to every single one of my patients.”

“I know you do. And that’s why you need an understanding man. I’m going to find you the most understanding and compassionate man in all of Hollywood.”

“No more blind dates.”

“I promise this one will be different. What do you think? There’s Edward. He still lives with his mom, but I swear, he’s really sweet.”

“Late,” I said again. “I’m swinging by the store on my way home—you need anything?”

“Yes. No.” She shuffled against the door. “Wait—yes. Get some more of those caramel things we had last week at Billy’s. The ones that are shaped like a frog?”

I nodded distractedly and typed into my phone. “Frogs. Got it. Okay, I gotta run.” I slapped a hand against the door. “Feel better—I’ll see you tonight.” I was halfway out when she called weakly to me.

“Bex?”

I paused. “Yeah?”

“Put tequila on the list.”

“Already there.”

Chapter 2

I just had to take one subway and one bus to get to the hospice care home where I worked in Westwood. It bordered a nice residential area, separated from the Fortune 500 businesses on the other side by a grove of shaded trees and a million home-brewed coffee shops. Despite Amanda’s rambling, I was able to catch the early bus, which meant I had time to duck into my favorite among these shops before my shift started at ten.

The pavement was littered with a mix of designer dogs and tethered bicycles. I smiled to myself as I skirted around something that I’m sure would have been called a ‘labra-doodle-retriever-pug.’ This was one of the reasons I liked working in Westwood. It wasn’t clearly defined by annual gross income the way places like Santa Monica and Pasadena were; it was neutral ground. A safe haven where the two sides could come together and enjoy a simple cup of joe. No need for class warfare when all anybody wanted was to get caffeinated, right? There was enough room on the sidewalks for both the poodles and the Schwinns.

It was with this uncharacteristically sunny outlook that I walked straight into a fight.

“I don’t care what kind of hurry you’re in, just move the damn car!”

I froze stiffly in place and stared in shock at the two men standing at odds before me. One of them had to be some kind of maintenance worker. He wore a nondescript slate-colored uniform with a smudgy name tag and entirely too much facial hair. He was still fisting his keys, and from the way he was hastily double-parked alongside a town car, I was guessing he had just ditched his truck and leaped out onto the sidewalk.