Fake Love Rich Boss Series

by Peterson , Sloane

  There it is. The admission of guilt that Alan was looking for.

  This means a hell of a lot more work for me. This means I’m screwed. How in the hell am I going to spin this affair? There’s a plus side to all of this, as crazy as that sounds...Alan is reacting like a man who just found out about his wife’s affair. If that were his motive to kill Matthew, he would have already known this, this wouldn’t be so painful to him, right?

  Allison is hiding her face in Oliver’s shoulder, clearly upset by all of this. Oliver, on the other hand, is emotionless. His face is a blank slate like I’ve never seen it before, distant and far off. He’s comforting Allison, but that’s it.

  Alan looks at Camille once more, shaking his head.

  “Get the hell out of my house. Expect divorce papers by noon. Thanks to the prenup you signed, your greedy ass won’t be getting a penny. Go back to the streets where you belong, Camille.”

  And then he walks away, surprisingly calm for the man who woke me up yelling and throwing things.

  Allison moves away from Oliver and stands up. She takes a look at Camille and scoffs.

  “I can’t believe you,” she said, her own tears falling down now. And then she runs back up the stairs, disappearing down the hallway past Oliver’s room.

  That leaves Oliver, Camille, and me, the interloper. Oliver uses the railing to pull himself to his feet. He looks at Camille, his face still cold and emotionless.

  “Looks like you got what you deserve,” he said. “You should probably get going. You’re not welcome here anymore. Thinking back, you never really were.”

  It’s such a difference from how Oliver was last night. Last night he was light and fun, he was relatable, human. Watching him now, I realize that despite how close I want to think I’m getting to him...I’m still incredibly far from knowing this man.

  I go back to my room, realizing now that I’m late for work and now I have so much more to do. How am I going to issue a statement about something I previously denied? I put my foot in my mouth at the earlier press conference and I don’t know how to take it back.

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I open it to see Oliver, dressed and ready for the day. He looks nothing like the cold man who stood at the bottom of the staircase moments ago.

  “Good morning, Cassidy,” he said. “I’m sorry that you had to wake up to that.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I shake it off, retreating back to the bed. I sit at the foot, looking up at him. “But I’m late for work.”

  “I think that’ll be okay for now. Perhaps you don’t need to work from the office today. I don’t plan on going in and I’m sure you’ll need to ask father some questions. We need to plan our next move and the press release about the separation. In fact, maybe it’s better that you’re here today. If that’s okay with you?” he said, stepping into the room. He keeps some distance between us, whether because he doesn’t want to be near me or whether he doesn’t want to come off as pressuring me, I don’t know.

  “Do I really get a choice on whether I go to the office today or not?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “Would you like me to get Edward to take you, or would you like to stay here and make your life easier?”

  “You are going to let me go home tonight, aren’t you?” I asked. It’s beginning to feel a bit like a kidnapping situation. I mean, I’m sure there are worse places to be than an elaborate mansion with a gorgeous man and servants...but I was kind of roped into staying here. And after the show this morning, I’m not sure I want to be here.

  “Yes, Cassidy,” Oliver said, and he sounds exasperated. “I am not forcing you to be here, despite whatever opinion you want to form. You agreed to stay here last night, I admit, I overstepped, which is why I asked if it was okay if you stayed here for work today.”

  “Fine. Okay.”

  I run a hand through my hair, wishing I had a fresh outfit to change into for the day.

  “In that case, we need to get started. Was there actually a video of Camille and Matthew released this morning?” I asked.

  “Do you want to see it?” he asked.

  I wince. “No, no. I’m good. Just making sure I know all the facts this time.”

  I spend most of the day with Alan and Oliver, trying to figure out what statement to release to the press. It has to be something that conveys the heartbreak and pain that Alan feels, while also not painting Camille to be the villain. If we were to make Camille look as bad as she is, it would be a bad look on the Windsors. It would come off as slut-shaming or like Alan is a bitter man. We have to spin it, so it looks like he’s pained, but he still cares for Camille.

  The thing is...Alan and Oliver are both very cold towards Camille at this moment. Understandably so, but it makes work a bit hard when I ask them for ideas and Alan says, “She can go die as far as I care.”

  I finally give up asking for their opinion. I find solace on the back deck of Windsor Mansion, which looks out over the vast forest that surrounded their property. It is eerie to think that not that long ago, a body was discovered there, and the accused murderer is inside the house. I had drunk a cup of coffee with him. I want to believe that Alan is innocent. His reaction this morning certainly made it look that way, but the press hasn’t seen that. All they know is that Camille was sleeping with the man that Alan is accused of killing.

  Edward drives me back to my apartment that night. Oliver and Alan had shut themselves in the study, talking in hushed voices. A part of me is upset I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. God, how stupid am I sounding now?

  The drive with Edward is mostly silence. I don’t think either of us really know what to discuss. Halfway back to the city, he breaks the silence.

  “It seems like Camille has made it harder for Alan to prove his innocence, doesn’t it?” he said. “I told him from the beginning that she wasn’t right for him. They rushed into things.”

  “I guess you can’t control love?” I offered from the backseat, looking out over the trees as they zoom by us.

  “Love?” Edward scoffed. There’s a tone to his voice that I’ve never heard from him before. It’s bitter. “There was no love between the two of them. It was lust, greed. Alan wanted someone by his side after he split with his last wife, Camille wanted the money. We all knew it, but he’s bullheaded. Oliver’s the same way.”

  That’s when I tell Edward all about last night, about how Oliver drove me to the mansion and told me I was staying there for the night. I told him how it was practically attempted kidnapping. He gave no sign I was supposed to stay the night. Edward chuckles, shakes his head.

  “Oliver...has never had to ask for things. He’s never had to work for much. I don’t think he understands that not everyone will do what he wants, especially women. Women are usually throwing themselves at his feet. I’ve seen it since he was in middle school,” Edward said. “So, he doesn’t know how to impress someone that isn’t like the others.”

  The last part confuses me. Someone that isn’t like the others? Impress me? I feel like I’ve been acting like any other girl would around Oliver Windsor. I sometimes stumble over my words; he gives me butterflies whether I’d like to admit it or not. I fawn over him like a ridiculous teenage girl.

  I go through the rest of the day without hearing from Oliver – and I debate with myself whether I should text him or not. I don’t want to come off clingy or needy, or just weird. We’re still just co-workers, boss and employee, tentative friends. Nothing more. Why would I text him to check in on him? I can wait to see him at the office.

  So that’s what I do. I get to work the next morning and go straight to my office. I turn on my computer, boot up the statement I plan on releasing later today to the news outlets, and review it a few more times. I wish I had a coworker, or a co-PR rep. Someone that I could ask to look over it, to make sure all my words came out the way I want them to. I’ve never issued a statement like this before.

  ‘Alan and Camille Windsor have split after th
e release of the videotape yesterday. Alan is heartbroken, believing that he would spend the rest of his life with Camille. He was completely blindsided by her actions. He wants the world to know that he wishes her nothing but the best for her future and wishes for everyone to give the two of them time to grieve the loss of their relationship. It’s been a rough month for Alan, and he would like nothing more than his privacy. Thank you all very much.’

  Does it put too much of the blame on Camille? Well, she is the one who cheated, right? I can’t paint it as a mutual decision when she caused the end of their relationship. Although... I can’t imagine Alan is an easy man to deal with. The few interactions I’ve had with him have been a roller-coaster of emotions. I imagine being married to him would be much worse.

  I look up from my computer when there’s a knock on my open door. I look up to see Oliver.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” I said. I take the chance to look at him. He’s back to being purely business, put together and perfect. He looks like the CEO of a company.

  “What are you working on?” he paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you back home yesterday. Father and I were discussing what our next plan of action should be.”

  Plan of action? Isn’t that something I should be in on? If they plan on going public with anything, I feel like I should be involved. It’s the ‘public’ part of my job.

  “I’m working on Alan’s statement about his split with Camille,” I said and at the mention of her name Oliver seems to tense up.

  “Let me see,” he said tersely.

  I don’t get a chance to answer before Oliver comes around the desk, right behind my chair. Putting one hand on my desk, he leans in to read it. Once again, we’re so close that I smell his cologne, a scent that’s becoming familiar...almost calming. I can’t look at the computer screen, all I can do is look up at him. I look up and see the stubble on his face, the way his eyes scan over the words.

  “Remove the ‘thank you’ at the end,” he said after a minute. “Father would never thank the press. It sounds like a work email or something.”

  “It did feel off,” I said, deleting that part. “Anything else?”

  “No. It’s perfect.”

  Maybe I’m going crazy, but Oliver lingers in his position over my desk for a minute. The entire time, my pulse is racing. I want to reach out and touch him, finally feel his skin against mine. The tension between us is becoming far too much for me to bear.

  He finally moves away, and I’m left feeling...wronged. I’m tired of this tension. He has to feel it too, right? I can’t be going crazy.

  “Good work, Cassidy,” he said, walking away from my desk. “I’ll see you later, keep it up.”

  And then he’s gone, leaving me wanting. That’s becoming far too common.

  Around lunch, I get an email forwarded to me, a national news station is asking for an interview with a Windsor family member, preferably Alan or Oliver. It would probably be good press for the family if one of them were to do an interview, so I accept it. I begin to write talking points, things to avoid, etcetera for both Oliver and Alan, not knowing which one I will convince to do the interview.

  I get lost in my work so easily. I get focused on the perfectionism of it and I lose time. With this job, it’s worse. I’m being tested on such a public platform, handling some of the biggest scandals that the Windsor family has faced in years...it has to be perfect.

  I don’t know what time it is when I hear, “Joan told me you hadn’t left yet but I didn’t believe her.”

  I look up to see Oliver in my doorway once more, blazer off and tossed over his shoulder carelessly. I glance down to the clock on my computer. I’d only stayed an hour overtime.

  “Don’t worry about the overtime,” I said with a sigh, saving what I’d been working on.

  “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you overworking yourself. I told you the statement was fine,” he said.

  “It’s not the statement. NNC wants an interview with either you or Alan. It would be a good move after all of the bad press, a good chance to save some face, so I was writing some talking points for both of you. Just to make sure things go as perfectly as possible.”

  “Do you think an interview is for the best right now?” he asked and I nodded.

  “I wouldn’t push you to do it if I didn’t think so.”

  “I trust you, Cassidy,” he said as he walked further into the room.

  “I’m glad,” I said, planning to leave it at that. I turn off my computer and stand from my desk. My muscles are sore from staying seated for so long. I stretch, getting used to moving again. When I look back, Oliver is still looking at me.

  The way he’s looking at me is different. His eyes are darker, there’s a glint in them that I’m not familiar with. I chalk it up to just him zoning out. That happens, right? I gather my purse and walk out from behind the desk.

  “I’ll talk to you and Alan about the interview tomorrow. I’ll see you then,” I said. When I go to walk past him, Oliver catches my arm.

  It’s not a rough grip. It’s gentle and I could break out of it if I wanted to...but I don’t want to.

  “Cassidy,” he growls. “Tell me you feel what I’ve been feeling. Tell me I’m not just assuming things. Tell me I’m not losing my damn mind.”

  My mind goes blank. I am speechless. This...can’t be real.

  “I don’t know...”

  I start to brush it off, not wanting to step over any lines. This is a business relationship only...or it should be. But we’ve broken that so many times now. We both know whatever we have is far from a business relationship. I change my mind and answer him.

  “You’re not assuming things,” I tell him, my breath catching in my throat. I don’t know what I’m doing; I don’t know what we’re doing.

  Oliver tugs at my arm, pulling me from his side to in front of him. He looks down at me and I realize what the glint in his eye is. It’s lust. It’s dangerous and overpowering, but I’ve been wanting him to look at me like that since the first time he made my heart pound.

  “Good, because I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do for a while now,” he said.

  No more words are exchanged between the two of us as he leans in, cupping my cheek in his hand. I close the distance between us, but Oliver is the one who finally presses his lips to mine.

  He kisses me. The kind of kiss that sends electric sparks down your nerve fibers, that makes your knees feel weak and shaky. I think that if Oliver hadn’t wrapped his arm around my waist, I would have collapsed right then and there.

  Oliver tastes like peppermint. He deepens the kiss between us without hesitation and I am eager to follow his lead. I kiss him with every piece of me, giving him everything within seconds. It sounds stupid, childish even. This is a man that I’ve lusted after since before I knew what lust was. Those feelings only grew once I got to know him.

  Oliver pushes me backwards, our lips never parting. He guides me until the back of my thighs hit my desk. He finally breaks the kiss, moving just far enough away that he can speak, but when he does, his lips still brush against mine.

  “Tell me to stop before I cross a line,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” I murmured.

  He takes me up on that, his lips crashing into mine again. A man on a mission. He kisses me like he’s a man drowning, and I am oxygen, gulping me down, desperate and needy. He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before and I doubt anyone will ever kiss me this way again.

  Oliver pushes me back onto the desk, my back pressing against my computer monitor. His hands move from my waist, settling on the tops of my thighs that are peeking out from underneath my skirt. His hands are rougher than I expect them to be, calloused and warm. I am desperate for more of his touch. I’m desperate for him.

  “Watch out for the computer,” I mumbled as he pushes me further back against the desk, his lips kissing a t
rail down my neck.

  “I’ll buy you another damned computer,” Oliver growled against my skin, sending shivers up my spine. He doesn’t wait a second before he takes one hand and sweeps the computer off the desk, sending it crashing onto the floor below. With it out of the way, Oliver lays me down.

  His hands are eager to explore my body, sliding under my skirt and up to the waistband. The entire time, my stomach is doing backflips and I am more excited than I’ve ever been before in my life. His warmth floods through me, I just want more.

  He slides my skirt off, letting it fall to the ground. I’m excited to get my hands on his body, reaching up to the buttons of his dress shirt. I unbutton them slowly, revealing to me the god of a man that hovers above me. With his shirt completely unbuttoned, I see every rippling muscle of his stomach. I run my hands over his chest, slowly down his stomach to his belt. I undo it with ease, then I get to his pants, unbuttoning them. Oliver works his way out of them, grinning down at me.

  “Someone’s eager,” he murmured.

  I think we both are. Seconds after his pants are down, the rest of our clothing has been discarded on the floor of my office. Eagerness and need have taken over the two of us, leaving no time to explore one enough like we both wish to.

  When Oliver finally pushes inside of me, it’s a feeling of completeness like I’ve never experienced. I feel like I’m on fire, I feel so alive. My fingers dig into his skin, pulling him to me. I am no longer in control of myself, not that I believe I’ve been for a while now. I just need him. Desperation floods through me.

  There should be so many things crossing my mind right now, but I push them aside. I focus solely on him. I can worry about all of this later. Right now, I’m drunk on Oliver Windsor.

  He thrusts into me with all the skill of an experienced lover. His hands travel my body, changing between soft caresses and grabbing my hips so hard I think there will be bruises when he’s done.

  When we’re both close to reaching the point of no return, Oliver drives himself into me with a reckless abandon, angling himself upwards. He slips his hand between our bodies, rubbing me, whispering the dirtiest words into my ear, trying to push me over the edge. And he does.