His Fake Fiancee: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me)

I’m wondering if I’m a freak or something because when he practically yelled at me and ordered me to sit down, it kicked over a hive of angry bees I had no idea were in my tummy and my nipples went tight to the point of pain. Even now there are bubbles fizzing throughout my blood, floating through my body, making my skin sensitive and my fingertips tingle.

Then there was a flicker of amusement in those endless eyes of his, and the world stopped spinning. Everything around us faded away. For the first time I wasn’t afraid of the way he made me feel. I wasn’t afraid of him. Now he has me sharing things I never have, not even with Anna. The judgement I expected isn’t there from him.

“He is lucky to have you,”

“No, it’s the other way around entirely. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I have to do the same for him.”

“Up to and including working for an asshole like me?”

Crap, I blush. I can’t believe I said it out loud. “I’m sorry but if you’re going to be an asshole, I’m going to call you on it.”

An honest-to-god chuckle comes out of him and those bees are swarming again, turning my blood into hot, sticky honey. He is so damn beautiful. It really isn’t fair. “In that case I want it out now. Ditch the makeup. You do not need it and I do not like it. Also ditch the frumpy clothes two sizes too big. I would prefer smarter clothes. At the very least, purchase new ones that fit you.”

And now I hate him again. How does he do that? Channel pure asshole in a few sentences. “Excuse me?”

An eyebrow goes up. “While you are at it, make an appointment to get your hearing checked. I do not like repeating myself.”

He might not fire me for calling him an asshole but I’m pretty sure if I slapped him, he would make me regret it. “Maybe it’s because you keep saying crap that is so unfucking believable I assume I’m hearing you wrong.”

“You believe I am saying it. Just because you do not like what I have to say does not mean it did not need to be said. When you are at my side you represent me. Your clothing denotes a lack of sense and style. I do not lack either, so while you are at my side neither do you.

“That is all for this evening. Be up and ready to go at nine tomorrow. We meet here for a quick confirmation, then leave for the farm to be there by ten. Good night.”

He’s dismissing me; his attention is already on his computer screen. I hate him. Before I unleash the anger surging inside me, I get out while I still can.

7

Christina

Stepping back from the mirror, I’m at last satisfied I no longer look like the walking dead. I didn’t get any sleep last night, again. I was going to wear makeup anyway today to piss off Ivan, but now it’s necessary.

Yesterday, I had gone for more of a natural look to simply cover up the restless night. Today I go full-on glam, close to a look one of the sisters from Hungry Harvest had shared on her Instagram a few weeks ago.

Now it’s time for my hair. I want to put it back in a bun but it doesn’t go with the makeup. I do not wash my hair every day to minimize stress on it, so it’s still wavy from being up all day yesterday. It takes a while with my flat iron to get rid of the waves and slight curls. Just as my wrist is beginning to hurt, I’m done.

In front of my meager selection of clothes, Ivan’s words of disdain haunt me. Were they really that bad? Hadn’t I said basically the same thing to Abuelo? It’s stupid to get my feelings hurt over the truth.

Growing up my grandparents, especially Abuelo, declared form-fitting clothes off limits. I wasn’t really bothered. I hated the way men stared at my breasts. The catcalls I received about my breasts and ass. The bigger clothes helped me hide them. Even Brandon preferred me in the larger clothes, never even hinting that I should change what I wore.

The only thing I have that Ivan will like is the dress I wore yesterday.

But even if I weren’t trying to hit back at Ivan, I don’t want to wear the dress. I’m too embarrassed Tim will realize I don’t have a large selection of clothes. The dress was if push came to shove for an evening or dinner.

When I get back to Chicago, I’ll go shopping. But because I want to, not because Ivan said so. For today, I pull on the black pencil skirt and black button-down shirt.

When I go into Ivan’s room, he takes one look at me and I know he’s pissed. I don’t care. I try not to, but I’m so fucked because I do care.

I might as well not even be there for all the attention he pays me over the next few hours. By one o’clock we’re back at the hotel packing to leave with a contract signed to Ivan’s benefit in every way he wanted. We’re in the air by two and we land in Chicago only forty-five minutes later.

Once we’re in the building things go from fast to turbo. Tim is throwing me in the deep end, he tells me without apology. There is no choice. He hands me a thick binder which details the workload and step-by-step instructions Rebecca put together when she was hired and frustrated by the lack of clear procedures.

The first thing in the binder is Ivan’s general schedule. In bold letters the words, do not bother while he is working out, scream at me. I’m stunned at what his day looks like. He wakes up at five in the morning, works out for an hour, ends with a swim for twenty minutes then showers and has breakfast. By seven he is in the office where he stays until seven in the evening.

Tim and I will switch off coming in early and staying late, until six. Ivan doesn’t demand we work the same hours he does, but we will be here or with him for ten hours a day with an hour lunch break during those ten hours. He works out again at ten for another hour and is in bed by midnight. Now I understand why his body bulges with muscle. I don’t make it past the first page before I’m being handed a company to research their financials, and Ivan wants it before the end of day.

I’m coming up for air when Tim lets me know he’s going home. He’ll see me in the office at eight tomorrow. I nod as I do a quick check on the financials I put together. It’s almost done. I check the clock, five thirty. Damn it. I grab the phone and call Emily letting her know I’m running late. She assures me it’s fine. Hitting print, I grab a thin binder and hole punch to put everything together.

As I approach Ivan’s office, someone has tipped over that damn hive of bees again. I swear I can hear them buzzing in my ears as I cross the threshold to his always open door. “Sir?”