by Lucy Lambert
Never Yours: A Billionaire Romance
Lucy Lambert
Copyright 2017 Lucy Lambert
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
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Chapter 1 | RACHEL
Chapter 2 | NEIL
Chapter 3 | RACHEL
Chapter 4 | NEIL
Chapter 5 | RACHEL
Chapter 6 | NEIL
Chapter 7 | RACHEL
Chapter 8 | NEIL
Chapter 9 | RACHEL
Chapter 10 | NEIL
Chapter 11 | RACHEL
Chapter 12 | NEIL
Chapter 13 | RACHEL
Chapter 14 | NEIL
Chapter 15 | RACHEL
Chapter 16 | NEIL
Chapter 17 | RACHEL
Chapter 18 | NEIL
Chapter 19 | RACHEL
Chapter 20 | NEIL
Chapter 21 | RACHEL
Chapter 22 | NEIL
Chapter 23 | RACHEL
EPILOGUE
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Plea from the Author
About the Author
The Pretend Girlfriend: A Billionaire Romance
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Chapter 1
RACHEL
“This is a terrible idea,” I said. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time.
“Well, there’s no backing out now! You’ve already got your name tag and everything,” Suzy said.
I reached up and smoothed the HELLO, MY NAME IS Rachel S sticker stuck to my blouse, just below my left collarbone.
“Why did I let you guys talk me into this?” I said.
Suzy frowned, reached up, undid the top couple button of my blouse. I tried to do the buttons back up, but she swatted my hands out of the way.
I saw the bit of exposed skin and started to blush. I knew it was only a couple buttons, but at that moment it felt like I’d just torn the blouse open at the front like a pro wrestler tearing his shirt open before a match started.
Not so bad an analogy, I thought. I glanced over my shoulder at the big plate glass window and what lay beyond it.
Pairs of people sat talking at small, circular tables with numbers on little cards over them.
A bell dinged and the men remained at each table while the women stood and moved onto the next table, everyone scratching at small cue cards with stubs of pencils.
I can’t believe I agreed to this, I thought.
“There!” Suzy said, “That’s good, show some skin. And you let us talk you into it because this dry spell of yours has turned into a drought and it has us all concerned.”
I shuffled nervously at that. It had been almost two years since I’d been steady with a guy. Nothing seemed to last more than two dates.
And I hadn’t even made it to date #2 with a guy in a while. Or had many #1 dates, for that matter.
I actually didn’t mind that much. I’d just finished school and I sort of wanted to just concentrate on doing well at work. Get myself established.
Still, a part of me missed all the good stuff that came with a relationship.
But do I miss it enough to do this?
“If you're so concerned why don’t you come in with me?”
“Because I have a boyfriend and you don’t, silly. Don’t you remember?” Suzy said with a wink, “Now quit stalling and get in there! I see, like, a bunch of super cute guys already. This isn’t weird at all!”
I started protesting, but Suzy pulled me over to the door. I was of average height, Suzy several inches below that, but she still manhandled me despite her small stature.
“No! Wait!” I said when she yanked open the door.
Right away, the muffled conversations became slightly less muffled. Cold air breathed out at us, making the fine hair on my arms stand on end.
“This is a terrible idea,” I said again, right before Suzy gave me a shove.
I almost stumbled, but I caught myself against the standing desk normally used by the hostess for the Olive Garden where this evening’s event took place.
I turned, glaring at Suzy, she gave me a wicked smile and waved from the other side of the door.
I hate you, I mouthed at her.
She blew a kiss at me, then mouthed, Good luck, back, making a ring with her thumb and forefinger and holding that up as well. Then she walked away.
I thought about following her, but then someone touched me on the shoulder.
I nearly jumped out of my skirt.
“Oh! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You’re here for the speed dating, right?”
I turned and saw an older woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun that showed the threads of grey in her black hair. She reminded me of a librarian. The nice kind, not the kind that shushed you for pulling a book off the shelf a little too loudly.
“...Yes?” I hazarded.
She smiled while reaching behind the hostess desk. From there, she grabbed a stub of pencil and a cue card and handed them to me.
I accepted reluctantly. The cue card was blank. I looked a question at her.
“First time?” she asked.
I nodded. How many times do most people come?
“Okay, it’s pretty simple. Everyone gets two minutes, timed. The women move table to table every time you hear the bell to speak to a different man. Write his table number down on the card.
“If you feel a connection, want to speak to him again, whatever, put a check mark next to his table number. If you don’t, put an X next to it. No one sees except you. At the end, hand your card in with your own name and email printed clearly on it. We’ll then see if there are any matches and if there are, we’ll send you a list with their contact information on it and you can go from there.”
“Oh, okay. Well, umm...” I started.
The bell dinged. Everyone at the tables, about 50 people in all I guessed, started shifting, pulling out their cue cards.
“Don’t worry, it’s easy. Just get in there,” the librarian hostess said with a smile.
She took me by the elbow and led me over to the first table. I sat down, the little placard with the bolded number 1 staring me in the face.
The man across from me wore a beige dinner jacket and a smile that widened when his eyes strayed down to the bared flesh below the open collar of my blouse.
Eww, I thought.
There was the stare, and also the fact he looked about 50.
“Hi,” he said. His name tag said his name was Stanley.
“Hi, I’m Rachel,” I said.
“I know,” he replie
d, looking pointedly at my name tag. His eyes strayed back the rest of the way across my chest. My stomach clenched.
“You’re pretty,” he said.
“Thanks... How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s just... I thought this was for singles 35 and under.”
His smile faltered a little before he saved it, “I’m 32, you?”
“22,” I said. I tried not to frown. Suzy and Sharon and the others said I wore my thoughts on my face way too often.
But if he was 32 then I was from Mars. He had to be 45, at least.
Creepy.
“That’s a good age,” Stanley said.
“Thanks,” I said. I put my cue card below the level of the table, scratched a 1 onto it and then an X next to that.
I was polite, but when that bell went I stood quickly and went onto the next table with a man seated at it. I glanced around the room as I went, saw so many more to go.
When will the torture end?
I traded words with a lanky guy whose hair was longer than mine was, then with a guy who reeked of pizza who said he’d come over right away after a shift doing pizza delivery.
At the following table the prematurely bald man squinted at my name tag, looked me in the eye, and asked suspiciously if my name meant I was Jewish. I replied saying my last name was “Goldfarbsteinbergfeld” (it isn’t) and he practically recoiled in his seat. We spent the next minute and 45 seconds or so in silence, staring politely over one-another’s shoulders. Another X marked the spot.
Next there was a cute guy in a business suit.
“Never thought I’d find myself here,” he said.
“Same,” I said, wondering if maybe this guy would be the first non-weirdo I talked to that night. And he is pretty cute. And he doesn’t smell like pepperoni.
“Rachel is a nice name,” he said, glancing down at my name tag. His eyes didn’t linger on the exposed skin inches from that tag. I liked him a little more.
“Thanks... Dave,” I said, looking at his tag.
“It’s so hard to find someone these days,” Dave said.
“I know, right!”
“I mean, I’m so busy, I’m just not sure I have the time for a real relationship,” he continued.
“It’s like you’re reading my thoughts,” I replied, feeling the first genuine smile of the evening tug at my cheeks.
Could Dave be my first check mark? Maybe this night isn’t a total write-off.
I found myself leaning in towards him. He did the same. He said another couple jokes, and they were actually funny.
“Hey, you’re not secretly 40 or anything, are you?” I said.
“Not unless I’ve completely forgotten how to do math,” he replied. I giggled at that.
“So, what do you do?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He hand waved that away, “Look, Rachel, I just want to cut through all the crap.”
“Okay...” I said, my Spidey-sense tingling.
“Like I said, I’m not in this for a relationship. Too much work. You’re a pretty thing. I know I’m easy on the eyes. Let’s hook up.”
I sat back. “What?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, “You said it yourself. I mean, you agreed when I said relationships take too much time. So let’s skip all that crap and get to the good stuff. And trust me, with me, it’s always good.”
He put his hands together, then slowly moved them apart an unbelievable distance. He caught my eye, then winked at me.
My mouth opened but no words came out. I hadn’t been propositioned like that since freshman year of college. It was one of the reasons I didn’t go out clubbing or to bars very often.
“Umm... I’m not that kind of girl,” I said, “But thanks, I think?”
“Every girl’s that kind of girl. Just let it out,” Dave said. His formerly cute smile turned creepy.
Under the table, I wrote the table number down and nearly pushed the pencil through the cue card while I scratched an X next to that number.
I am going to kill them for putting me through this, I thought. Them being all my friends who’d somehow managed to convince me that this wasn’t going to be a complete and utter train wreck, dumpster fire of a night.
Starting with Suzy.
I stood up before the bell went off and turned away from the table, waiting.
“Oh yeah, I like that view, too,” Dave said behind me.
I didn’t answer. All the muscles in my back went stiff.
The bell went. Then it went again, and again.
When will it end?
I could see only a few tables left where men sat waiting. I went to the first of the last.
“Hi,” I said. 50 first impressions in one night had become exhausting.
Aside from getting out of there so that I could strangle myself, I thought about getting back home and maybe popping an Advil for the soreness starting at the back of my throat.
I hadn’t done this much talking in a while.
In fact, it was because of this that I didn’t really look at my speed date partner at first.
“You’d think at an Olive Garden they’d offer some breadsticks or something. This is hungry work,” he said.
“It sure is,” I said, “Though I wish you hadn’t said that. You reminded my stomach when the last time I gave it some food was.”
As if on cue, my stomach gurgled.
Right away, heat rushed up into my cheeks. “This night’s going just perfect!”
“It’s different, that’s for certain,” he said, “Don’t worry, my stomach started doing that about 20 minutes ago. No one’s said a thing!”
“You just did,” I said.
“Got me there.”
We both laughed, and I looked at him. Really looked at him.
Before, I’d seen him in the out-of-focus corner of my eye while my attention lingered on the shuttered and dark kitchen.
If the guy earlier in the suit had been cute, this man was handsome. Gorgeous, even. Dark hair, tousled a little at the bangs, dark yet warm eyes watching me over a set of statuesque cheekbones. A chin dimple of just the right size. No butt chin here, no sir.
There was the barest shadow of stubble on his cheeks. Inviting and sexy rather than itchy and homeless-looking.
I also got the impression that I’d seen him somewhere before, but I couldn’t place his face.
And his chest and shoulders filled out the dress shirt he wore nicely. No tie, he kept the top button of his collar undone.
I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my mouth.
He’s saying something, I realized. In my schoolgirl fawning my ears had apparently closed themselves off.
“Sorry, what was that last bit? I was... I was checking out the kitchen,” I said.
Good job, Rach! First decent guy and you go googly eyed.
“I was saying that it’s actually been pretty fun, meeting all these strangers. Wondering if any of them will become more than strangers. There’s a lot of possibility in this room.”
“What sort of possibility are you hoping for?” I said.
I leaned forward in my seat. I kept my hands clasped in my lap, resting on top of the cue card and its pencil nub.
“The same as everyone else here, I suppose. A fresh connection, a new start with a new person.”
“Do I know you from somewhere?” I blurted. I wished I could pull the words back down my throat.
“I don’t think so,” he said, “I think I’d remember you.”
I laughed nervously, hoping the low restaurant lighting hid most of my blush, “I could just swear I’d seen you before.”
“It’s a big city,” he said, “Maybe we’ve passed on the street. Tell me about you.”
Then he leaned forward as well, hands resting easily on the white cotton tablecloth.
“Oh? Me? I graduated NYU last year. Marketing. I just started this great position downtown, six months ago, at... at this marketing firm...” I realized I’d been about to tell him t
he name of the company where I worked.
Some small, nagging voice inside managed to steer me away at the last second, reminding me of the other cute guy I’d met that night and how that one went.
You never could tell what was behind a pretty face.
I continued, “I’m 22, originally from Buffalo. I came to NYC for school and never looked back. And I’m here tonight because my friends made me come. I sort of had a bad break up with my last boyfriend and haven’t really bothered with the whole dating or relationship thing since.”
“Recent?” he asked.
“A couple of years, actually,” I said, “I know, it’s stupid. Why take so long...”
He broke in, “But you wanted to concentrate on yourself. On school, then on work. Building a better you.”
I felt a lock of hair brush loose across my forehead, I reached up and stroked it back behind my ear. “Yes! None of my friends seem to understand.”
He shrugged, “Fresh face, fresh perspective. Trust me, I’m familiar with the whole success and better-you routine.”
“Really?” I realized then that I in all the excitement I still hadn’t looked at his name tag.
HELLO, MY NAME IS Neil T.
“Really, Neil? Oh, I also love reading. Especially before bed. Sometimes I get so lost in a book that I look at the clock and realize I only have a few hours of sleep before work starts,” I said, trying out the name. I never knew a Neil before. I thought it was a nice name.
He smiled when I said it. It was a nice smile, really lighting up his face. I couldn’t help smiling back.
I hope I don’t look like an idiot, smiling so much.
I hadn’t really shared anything with anyone yet but my barebones bio. But I wanted to share more with him for whatever reason, so I did.
“Tell me about you,” I said, leaning forward even more. I really wanted to hear.
The smile stayed on his lips. He combed his fingers through his dark hair, then put his hand back on the tabletop.
“Well,” he said, “I’m 27. Never went to college. I also work with a business downtown. We do a lot of financials and securities. And once, about a year back, I stayed up all night and read the entirety of Stephen King’s Insomnia. Couldn’t put it down. Couldn’t go to sleep, either.”