The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 3 (The Billionaire Saga 3)
“It’s Miss White, actually,” I corrected with an icy stare. “Now let’s get on with the rest of the run-through.”
Marcus reached for me tentatively. “Honey, it’s just for a few weeks. I don’t—”
“Stop.” My voice and eyes were flat, robotic. “You don’t want me to be pregnant because it’s bad for business. Fine. I’m not pregnant. Moving on.”
“Becca—”
“Moving on, Marcus.”
Again, Billings stared thoughtfully between us for a moment before pulling out a clipboard with a cursory nod. “Good. Okay, next question. Are you ever troubled by Marcus’s rather infamous past?”
My mind was still reeling, and it took me a moment to recover myself. “I’m sorry—what? What does that mean?”
“You know, his last girlfriend, Eve, was a virtual doppelgänger for you.”
“Excuse me?”
Marcus stood up. “Billings—that’s enough!”
Billings blinked in surprise. Clearly the notion of sensitivity was completely foreign to him. “Everyone’s saying it, Marcus. There are comparison shots all over the news.”
A small, semi-hysterical grin crept up the side of my face as I got once more to my feet.
“Rebecca, wait—” Marcus tried to pre-empt me leaving.
“Clearly this is going well,” I mused, more to myself than anyone else. “I’m taking a little break, alright? I’m going to get out of the house for a while…pick up a mocha.”
Marcus glanced outside nervously, as if seeing dangers that I could not. “You know, sweetie, I can just have them make that for you here.”
My eyes flashed, and I turned around halfway to the front door. “I don’t want that, Marcus. I don’t want to resign myself to live as a perpetual shut-in. Any more than I want my whole life’s narrative to be determined by some bossy, uptight guy in an overly fitted suit! No offense, Billings.”
He held up a hand. “None taken.”
“I want to be myself and have that be okay, all right? Now I’m going to go out, get a taxi, and pick up my mocha.” I stomped toward the foyer. “Decaf,” I shouted over my shoulder, “not that I’m pregnant!”
The second I was by myself on the front stoop I gave a muffled little scream, actually stamping my foot in frustration. Four days ago, my life had been perfect. I was living in a sexed-out haze with the first man I’d ever loved in a virtual palace in the Hollywood Hills.
Now…?
My house had been effectively invaded, everyone inside was blatantly encouraging me to become a shut-in lest the media trip me up, and what should have been the two happiest things in my life—my upcoming wedding and my pregnancy—had been depressingly intertwined. And while one of them was literally the talk of the town, the other had to be actively hidden from an ever-inquisitive world.
“Do you think she knows we can hear her through the open window,” I heard Billings ask from inside.
I stamped my foot again, cursed like a sailor, and took off marching toward the gate at the base of the hill. Never mind the fact that some freakish zombie peacock was prowling the grounds, or that the walk down to the gate was a good half mile; I was in such a state, I felt like I could handle just about anything.
Anything except an utter betrayal from my only recently not-fake fiancé.
About ten minutes later, I finally made it to the other side of the property. I probably would have gotten there a lot sooner, but I was still unfortunately wearing the ludicrous heels that Billings’ people were having me practice in before the interview tomorrow morning. The second I was outside, I dialed for a taxi, then promptly called Amanda, asking her to meet me for an incredibly late lunch.
“Definitely,” she instantly agreed. I could hear her grabbing her car keys. “Ooh—let’s go to the Chateau Marmont!”
Unlike me, Amanda was taking full advantage of our newfound group entry into places that were previously out of our reach due to either price or prestige.
“I think I got an unofficial ban after I basically gave Marcus a lap dance the last time,” I confessed. “What about…sushi?”
“Raw fish, Bex. Honestly, don’t go killing my godchild.”
“Shit, of course. Um…Chinese?”