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

I had left a full thirty minutes early just so I could be the first one in the door, but maybe I’d undershot it by an hour or so.

Without giving him a chance to reply, I pointed authoritatively to the right. “Avoid Lexington at all costs! Take FDR Drive—it’ll shave fifteen minutes off our trip.”

Precisely ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the endless chrome skyscraper I was hoping to make my home. Despite my frantic rush, I paused inside the cab for a second, staring up toward the clouds. Suddenly, my prestigious education and impressive resume didn’t mean a thing. This was Larchwood. I’d be lucky if they let me work in the mail room…

“You going in? Or are you just going to sit here looking?”

I passed my credit card across the divide and straightened my blouse with trembling hands. It would be fine. They’d hire me. They had to hire me.

He handed back my card and gave me a comedic thumbs up. “Go get’em, tiger.”

“Thanks.”

This time, keeping my legs carefully concealed beneath my long coat, I climbed out onto the curb. There was a crispness to the air. An electric sort of energy that had nothing to do with the storm clouds piling overhead. It was the people. The collective buzzing vibrations of a group of people just like me—chomping on the bit to get inside and climb all the way to the top of those stairs. A nervous little smile crept up the side of my face, but I was quick to hide it. Only thoughtful scowls and busy frowns over here.

Then, without a backward glance, I straightened my blouse again, squared my shoulders, and filed inside with the rest of them.

After navigating my way through a tricky lobby, I signed in and took the elevator to the thirtieth floor. It seemed my cabbie had filled me with a false sense of dread. There wasn’t a single person in the waiting room. I exhaled with quiet relief and made my way to the counter. Flashing an uncharacteristically warm smile at the receptionist, I signed her list as well.

“Hi, I’m Jenna Harks. I have an appointment to meet with Patti Macer at nine.”

The receptionist eyed me up and down but gave me a returning smile before glancing at the clock. “You’re sure early, aren’t you?”

I nodded curtly. “Yes ma’am.” Best to indulge her a little. It was often times no exaggeration when people said that the keys to the castle lay behind the front desk.

“Good,” her eyes sparkled over her glasses, “that’s how we do things here. Well, take a seat.” She nodded at a few suede chairs hidden below copies of Forbes and Time. “Ms. Macer got called into an emergency meeting upstairs, so she’s going to be at least twenty minutes.”

“That’s fine,” I glanced at the chairs, before glancing at the clock. “Actually, could you point m

e toward the restroom?”

“Down the hall, fourth door on your right.”

“Thank you.”

The office was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more. Everything my friends at business school and I used to speculate about during all-nighters at the library. Behind heavily frosted glass, I could see the makings of an empire. The financial foundations—grunt work, and coffee runs—that held up the weighty structure above. This was where I would have to pay my dues. It was on these ground floors—the floors below fifty—where I’d have to claw my way up the ladder. I’d done it at Goldman and Sachs, and I’d do it here as well. The trick was to do it in the shortest possible amount of time.

I’d gotten into the game early. No gap years. Straight into my internship. Last week, I’d celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday. I was young. I was hungry. I was here.

I pushed open the door to the bathroom, pleased to see that I was the only one. After a few meditative breaths, eyeing down my reflection like some kind of ‘tough love hawk,’ I pulled out my new professional-colored lipstick and began to carefully apply. I’d just finished a cursory sweep when a heard a muffled sob from inside one of the stalls. My hand froze in front of my face as my eyes swept the closed doors. I was about to make a discreet exit when the door pushed open, and a woefully disheveled looking girl stumbled up to the mirror.

She was too obvious to ignore. Too distressed not to warrant some sort of action. While averting my eyes in what I took to be a sympathetic gesture, I pulled a tissue out of my bag and offered it silently her way.

“Th-thanks,” she choked, taking it and wiping her smeared mascara. We accidently locked eyes in the mirror and she gave me a wry smile. “I must really look like a mess, huh?”

I dropped my gaze quickly to the counter, gathering up my purse. “No, you’re fine.”

“I didn’t used to be like this,” she continued hastily as if needing to prove herself, “I was top of my class—Stanford Law.”

She glanced my way again, and I offered her a weak smile. “Harvard. Business.”

She nodded approvingly, sniffing as silent tears continued to pour down her face. “I was groomed for this job, out in California. Just moved here last week. The CEO put in a request for outside help with this new merger, and I was their top pick.”

I had to admit, I looked at her a little differently now. Was this weeping little waif actually my new boss? Should I have offered a second tissue?

“But I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I can’t be here.”

“Why not?” I asked before I could stop myself. I couldn’t help it—I was curious. I would have done anything to be in this girl’s shoes. You didn’t get transferred in at the request of the CEO without having a background even more daunting than mine. And now to be falling apart in the thirtieth story bathroom? It didn’t add up…