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

I was getting mixed signals. He told me he didn’t want a girlfriend, that this was just an act. Yet, we kissed. I mean, really passionately kissed. We had chemistry and were madly attracted to each other. Was he trying to hint in his own way that we belonged together? He didn’t want a girlfriend…and I didn’t want to date a player.

“Does it have a hidden meaning?” I asked, hoping for a hint.

He shrugged innocently and slipped it back on my wrist with a smile. “We can’t take it back now…it’s engraved.”

My mouth fell open in shock as I stared down at the priceless jewels—now permanently mine.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re not mad.”

“How can I be? It was such a beautiful gesture. I love it.”

He tilted toward me in the sand and stared down into my face, one arm wrapping casually around my back. He was close enough that I could count every hair, every fleck of gray in his ocean-green eyes. My lips parted again as my mind started racing. There weren’t any people around. We were shielded completely from view by a little inlet in the sand. There was no public reason for him to be doing this, except…

The wind blew a strand of hair across my face, and he brushed it aside with delicate fingers, his knuckles grazing my cheek as he leaned ever so slightly forward. His mouth opened as he gazed down at my lips, shallow breaths making his chest rise and fall. A warm flush hummed through my skin, and I closed my eyes.

I can’t believe this is happening…

A rush of cool air poured between us and I looked up with a start to see him straightening out, eyes locked on the sand.

“I should get you home,” he said softly.

I blinked in surprise, shivering in the abruptly chilly night.

“Yeah…I should get home.”

Chapter 18

Takahari’s golf day was the last big event Marcus and I had until the gala in the Caribbean, so he and I didn’t see each other for the next week and a half. We texted back and forth a few times. Mostly just a cursory, did you see the latest copy of Forbes? (no) and do you have your passport ready? But after the night on the beach, we gave each other a wide berth.

I did, however, see quite a lot of his minions.

Fancy-looking people in fancy-looking suits buzzed in and out of the apartment like locusts, humming with increased activity in the days leading up to take-off. One woman took all my measurements while another delivered a pair of empty suitcases and offered me a spray tan. Some carted in boxes of shoes and asked me some questions about my capacity to scuba dive, while still others offered to sit me down and take me through a synopsis of Takahari’s merger on the off-chance he’d ask my opinion of the finer points of the consolidation. This, I politely declined. I figured Takahari knew I didn’t give a shit about the legalese, and that blatant disregard was part of my charm. Marcus’ robots didn’t seem to find it as endearing as I would have liked, but they held their collective tongue.

They all seemed to be named some variation of Charles—even the women. I handled them as courteously as I could. But by the time the last one swept out of the living room the night before we were to depart, I sank into the sofa with the sinking feeling like I’d maybe gotten in a little bit over my head.

“Are automatons four through nine gone yet?” Amanda called from the next room. She had been about as impressed with Marcus’ entourage as I was.

“They’re gone,” I called back. A second later, she joined me on the couch. “You know, I understand the importance of this weekend for Marcus’ company, I really do. And I’d never claim to fully comprehend the logistics involved in joining two international conglomerates…”

“But?” she prompted.

“…but I do not understand what that has to do with the state of my cuticles.”

She nodded wisely. “I lost focus about the time one of them started lecturing me on the merits of kale.”

“Was that Chuck with the mustache?”

“Charleigh with the…well, also with the mustache.”

I pressed my fists into my eyes and stifled an exasperated shriek. “Amanda, what the fuck am I doing here? I don’t want to be responsible for all this!”

She looked at me solemnly. “With great power, comes great—”

“Don’t quote Spiderman at me, I’m being serious.” I stared around the crowded apartment at a loss. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

She scooted closer to me on the couch and patted my knee sympathetically. “Bex, you’re going to be fine. Everything going on here—the merger, the company—you’re not responsible for any of it. Marcus asked you to come along for the ride and pretend to be his girlfriend. Drink some cocktails, make the old man laugh with your unsophisticated wiles.” She winked. “And it’s all done in forty-eight hours. It’s going to be a breeze.”