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

nbsp; “The pier?” he repeated, nodding to his driver as the limo changed course.

“You showed me a little of your world; it’s time I show you a little of mine.”

We spent the rest of the evening walking hand in hand along the beach (in case someone was watching, of course), talking about anything and everything as the sun first painted the sky gold, and then slipped beneath the sparkling waves. No subject was off-limits, no question was too invasive, no story was too ridiculous to tell. We rode on the giant Ferris wheel at the end of the dock seven times. By the end of the night, I had laughed more than I had in the last month combined, snacking on corn dogs and cotton candy as we collapsed on a blanket under the stars.

“So that’s when I found out my roommate was gay,” Marcus concluded. “And coincidentally, when I discovered I was allergic to bees.”

I snorted into my hot chocolate, setting it quickly in the sand as it dripped down my hand.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you think that’s funny? That sort of trauma to a child?”

I couldn’t speak, I was literally laughing too hard.

Grinning in spite of himself, he pulled off a handful of cotton candy and stuffed it into my mouth. “There. I hope you choke.”

When I finally came up for air, he was staring peacefully out at the waves, lost in thought. I shivered slightly and pulled the jacket he’d lent me tighter around my shoulders, inadvertently leaning against him as we gazed out toward the moonlit horizon.

“Why is Takahari such an important client to you?” I finally asked. “I mean, it’s not like you need the money—why go after him so hard?”

Marcus stiffened beside me, and for a second I was worried I’d crossed some invisible line, but in the end, he just dropped his head—letting his hair spill over his face as he traced absentminded designs into the sand.

“He was my father’s client,” he said quietly. “The first one he ever had. And the first one to jump ship after he died, and it was decided the company would go to me.”

My lips parted in surprise, but I could think of nothing to say. I wished I hadn’t brought it up and spoiled his mood—but Marcus didn’t look particularly upset. More like…resigned.

“It’s my own fault,” he said in that same, soft monotone. “My father was the only person I had left. When he died, I went into a sort of tailspin. Became the stereotype.”

His eyes focused on each wave, holding it in his gaze until the moment it crashed.

“Takahari isn’t wrong to doubt me. I’d doubt me too, if I were in his position. It wasn’t until just a few months ago when I found out he was pulling his investment, that I…I don’t know…snapped back into things. I sold the sports cars, hired a PR firm, came back to the States.”

We were quiet for a while until I peeked up at him through my lashes. “You sold the sports cars?”

His pensive mood broke with a grin. “I sold most of the sports cars.”

“Ah, I see.” I buried my toes into the sand and stared out at the ocean, but he was looking at me now. Staring as if he’d never quite seen me before.

After a moment’s pause, his brow suddenly furrowed and he reached for my bracelet.

“Can I see that for a minute?” He frowned as I slipped it off and handed it to him. “It looks like there’s something etched into it, just there…”

“Oh, no. You won’t be able to take it back.”

My eyes widened.

“There’s something etched into it.”

“What does it say?”

“‘We belong together’.”

I smiled. “Did you do this?”

He grinned. “Yes. To keep the farce up.”

“Did you choose the engraving?”

“Yes.”