Billionaire's Fake Fiancee

by Eva Luxe

  “Rosa!” I chide her, half seriously. “Now the mail’s going to get misdelivered for a week because she’s too shy to come back. Besides, you have a boyfriend!”

  “Yeah - but my boyfriend’s got a boyfriend too! I can totally snag a side-piece if I’m feeling it!”

  “I admire your ability to wrangle all that, I really do. I couldn’t even handle one guy.”

  “No!” Rosa’s voice is sharp. “Don’t you dare keep blaming yourself for what happened! We’ve talked about this. What’s the rule?”

  “Whenever I put myself down outside work hours I have to do another shot.” I recite, not quite as upset as I pretend to be.

  “That’s right!” Rosa proffers a shot glass, seemingly from out of nowhere.

  I ignore her for the time being, opening Cindy’s note with the message written on it instead. I immediately wish I hadn’t.

  “Jake @ Crystal Plaza called - confirming tour reservation for tomorrow @ 2PM”

  I look up at Rosa. “I’ll take those shots now, I think.”

  Chapter 4 – Amelia

  What’s so bad about the Crystal Plaza? Besides the fact that the whole place isn’t actually made out of crystal like I first thought (false advertising, much?), it’s one of the places that Jason and I considered for our wedding.

  And apparently, it’s the only one I hadn’t remembered to cancel our tour appointment with. Because having to call every member of my extended family to break the news wasn’t enough, Jason also left me to cancel all our wedding planning plans.

  I think over all this while staring into my martini glass for so long that it feels like my eyes are actual lasers that could cut through it.

  “Amelia! Come back to me now, okay?” Rosa’s voice is a bit gentler. “You can’t let one little phone message sink you.”

  “It’s not just the message…but the stupid thing certainly didn’t help. I just…it makes me feel so lonely.” I crumple the note and toss it at the trash can. It misses by at least two feet. I’ve never claimed to be any good at sports.

  “It’s okay to be sad, you know that. And I’m not going anywhere. But it’s also okay to have some fun! Those tours always have tons of free stuff to try and entice you to choose them… you should go by yourself and cash in on some of that goodness!”

  “A bride with no groom? Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

  “Say he’s got the stomach flu! Oooh! Or that he’s home in bed because he broke his dick banging you too hard.”

  “I don’t…”

  Her laugh is loud and long. “Relax! I’m kidding. Ish. Listen, I know it’s hard - ”

  “Sweetie, I haven’t had anything hard since Jason dumped me.” My smile is wan. Rosa’s, incredibly, widens.

  “Okay, I’m proud of you on a few levels right now. An off color joke and some honesty? Very nice. So, that’s what’s really got you down, huh?”

  I shrink in my chair a bit. “I dunno. I just feel stuck, I guess.”

  “Well, I’ve got a cure in mind for that!” Rosa’s already on her feet. “Go home and change into something slinky, my darling. We’re going out tonight!” She proceeds to sing the chorus of Out Tonight, from RENT. It’s her favorite musical, so I don’t know why I’m even a little surprised.

  “Ouuuuut to-NIIIIGHTTTTT. Bam!” The serenade ends with Rosa pointing at me, martini glass (somehow unspilled) in her other hand.

  “Rosa! Off the desk!” She climbs down, and I try to figure a way out of this. “But I was planning another of my raucous wine and ice cream evenings in my sweatpants!”

  “Come on. You just said you haven’t had any ‘fun’ for months! Time to change that up.”

  My protests are half-hearted even to my own ears. “But Rosa. Ice cream. Sweatpants… wine!”

  “All those things will still be in your apartment tomorrow night, Amelia! You know what’ll make enjoying them even sweeter? If a man is your main course!”

  I’m blushing, but still. Maybe Rosa’s right. And I do have that new, black dress. It’s not quite slinky, but it’s as close as I ever get to slinky. “Okay. All right, I’m in. At least for some drinks!”

  “That’s my girl!”

  I don’t know it yet, but I’m about to get “in” to a lot more than just one semi-raucous night out.

  Chapter 5 – Amelia

  By the time the Lyft pulls up to the bar Rosa’s chosen, I’m feeling better. The extra shot from the bottle of high end whisky that Jason left in our - my - place didn’t hurt. Usually I drink from that bottle if I’m sad. That’s why it’s almost empty.

  But tonight, my drink was the equivalent of the bird I’d given my door earlier in the day. Screw you and screw your new playtoy, Jason. I’m going out tonight. With my best friend. To the bar. To -

  “The LeGrande? Really?!”

  It’s the fanciest bar in Manhattan and I highly doubt I’ll fit in.

  “What?! I get free drinks here all the time. All you gotta do is look sideways at the right person and away you go!” Rosa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She’s wearing something that’s actually sheer - a gorgeous, silvery-white dress that shimmers when the streetlight glow hits it. Me? I’m in my simple black dress, with a slit up the side so high I feel like I need to constantly ensure that neither my ass or anything else is showing. In the moments when I can successfully manage to put that thought out of my mind, I’m feeling pretty sexy.

  “Rosa, this place is jammed! Everybody’s grinding up on each other all the time.”

  “Exactly! Sweetheart, were you even listening before? The whole point of this night is to get you back - ”

  “ - in the saddle, a backdoor man, thunderstruck, some sugar poured on me? I get it.”

  “First of all - ” Rosa’s attempt to look angry is only about 34% successful. “I know you’re just naming 80’s rock songs right now. And I have to admit I’m a little impressed. But seriously, just open yourself up to what the night has to offer! Take a deep breath and relax. I promise it’ll be okay. Also, I feel like I have to note that it’s okay for you to get back behind someone if you feel like it.”

  “Rosa!”

  “Why are you surprised? Lots of guys like it like that!”

  With that, we go inside. The lights are bright, the music is loud, and…I’m happy. The slight tipsiness helps, but more than that, I think I’m finally ready to let myself go, at least a little bit. Every day since the breakup, part of me has felt wound so tight, even if it’s been due to different reasons. Some days it’s a lump in my throat, some days it’s an ache in my stomach… some days it’s Violet knocking on my office door. Tonight, I resolve to keep letting go instead of letting myself be wound up.

  Rosa’s right. I’m allowed to be okay. Or at least, to try.

  We drink. We dance. Rosa flirts with everyone, including me. Out on the floor, underneath the strobing multicolored lights, everything else is driven out of my brain.

  Rosa swings her hips in time with mine, then leans close and whispers in my ear. “Him. Get it. No lines, no waiting.” She spins me around and plants her hands in my back, keeping me from getting away -

  - and I find myself face to face with a slightly bemused guy who looks about my age, and exactly my type. Good old Rosa always knows how to pick them for me. He has sandy hair that’s a mix of both brown and blonde. He’s lean but muscled, a slight smile quirking his lips. And he even has a sense of rhythm, which I find out when he slides an arm around me and we start to dance.

  His hands are just present enough on my body, walking that fine line between too shy and too aggressive with ease. He’s close, and I let him draw me closer. I feel sweat on my brow, but I see it on his too, so I’m less self-conscious.

  Next to us, two men have shifted from dancing to dry-humping, and they’re not the only ones. The beats of the music are thunderous, and I loop my arms around this guy’s neck.

  That familiar feeling of unease starts to creep on me—the
same one that’s always there whenever I’ve even thought about anyone but Jason. I know I have every right to, since he’s certainly been doing more than thinking about someone other than me and we’ve been broken up for some time.

  Usually, though, I can’t shake the feeling of guilt or of something being not quite right. This time I’m surprised at how easily I bat those thoughts away. Dancing with this guy feels good, and not much has recently.

  I don’t want to stop. So, I don’t. I move forward instead. I dance. I touch. I forget about Jason. And that’s when I decide I want to do more than just forget. I want something of my own. Just for tonight.

  I press myself against the mystery man, feeling his excitement (cliché, I know - but clichés are there for a reason, and so is his dick) and whisper in his ear.

  “Your place or mine?”

  Chapter 6 – Brent

  The apartment is quiet this morning…and that’s how I like it. At first, I thought that once Kelly left the quiet might be too much, but it really isn’t. Now, I don’t have to hear her thrashing around in the semi darkness every morning. She’d always refused to turn on any lights, no matter how early in the morning it was and how dark it was outside, because she didn’t want to wake me up, even though I’d told her many times that the noise bothered me more than the lights. Instead, I only hear the sounds of the bustling metropolis known as New York City outside, cycling back around to start up again with full force.

  I glance at my phone. It’s ten o’clock in the morning. About time for the workday to begin. Kelly never grasped how my days worked. Being an illustrator, I set my own hours and work my own schedule— I’ve never been a morning person so I’m glad to start and end my day a bit later. She, on the other hand, was used to the business world. Nine to five, thank you very much. We never saw eye to eye on that. Among other things.

  I don’t really want to be thinking about Kelly first thing in the morning - or anytime, really. So, I figure I’ve got time to cleanse my palate before work. I lean over the bed and grab my laptop from the floor, power it up, and toss the sheets aside. I sleep naked, so there’s not much in the way of preparation needed there.

  I click on the first video that’s recommended to me, and my cock responds quickly. The woman on the screen, moaning furiously before the guy is even inside her, looks nothing like Kelly. That fact, as well as the noises she emits, make me happy, and I slowly start stroking. One hand on my cock, which, if I have to admit, is quite large, and the other roaming around my body, feeling my thighs, my chest, my nipples…

  When I was younger, it was all about getting off as fast as possible. Granted, that had a lot to do with trying to avoid the incursion of a family member or college roommate. These days, I’m letting myself actually enjoy what I’m doing. Since I don’t have a girlfriend around to do it for me, I figure I might as well figure out the best way to pleasure myself. Playboy did a feature on how touching yourself and enjoying your whole body can actually up the power of your orgasms, so I figured what the hell.

  Onscreen, they’re out next to a pool now, and the guy (Italian, lots of hair and wearing nothing but a gold chain around his neck), has the brunette woman on her knees, sucking him. If nothing else, she’s still making those awesome noises. I’ve always liked that. Then they’re inside, suddenly, and she’s bent over the arm of a couch, taking it from behind. She looks into the camera, somehow moaning and smiling at the same time, and I feel myself headed for the edge. I tease it out, just a few more strokes -

  “YO! Forester! Where’s your coffee at?!”

  Shit. I’d forgotten to lock the front door again, and this is the price I pay -

  “Just a sec, Nikki!” I hear footsteps coming toward the open door, and then Nikki pokes her head in. “Seriously, dude, where did you hide - oh! Huh.”

  Nikki’s a punk. Purple hair, leather jacket (no matter the weather), boots that could crush your skull, the whole nine yards. And right now, she’s staring at me as I try to clumsily hide my very erect penis. “Well. You take care of that, and I’ll find the coffee myself.”

  “This is why you knock!” I shout at her, exasperated.

  But she’s already back down the hallway, tossing her final words over her shoulder: “Just wash your hands!”

  Chapter 7 – Brent

  “You are literally the worst, you know that?”

  “Sure. But you have a thing for chicks in leather. I can get away with anything.”

  “Fair point. Still.” I’m sitting on the couch (shamed into being fully dressed now), and Nikki’s perched on the edge of my kitchen counter, holding her precious cup of coffee. “Now Gustav is sad and unfulfilled.”

  “Gustav?”

  “Yeah.” I gesture vaguely down between my legs.

  “I still can’t believe you named your penis Gustav.”

  “Why not? I mean, everybody names theirs - but it’s always just ‘Little This’ or ‘Mini That,’ right? Doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in a partner. Now, Gustav? That’s both humorous and vaguely fancy.”

  “You know what bothers me the most about this?” Nikki sips from her mug. “That when you put it like that, it actually makes some bizarre kind of sense.”

  “Does this mean you’ll knock next time you decide to use my apartment as your discount Starbucks?”

  “Probably not. But good effort.”

  I’ve been in New York City for four years. Nikki’s been my best friend for three. She’s a street artist, and oddly, the calmest and most well-balanced person I’ve ever met.

  “So, what’re you vandalizing today?” I ask her, with a grin.

  “If I wanted to vandalize something, I would’ve repainted your apartment by now.” Nikki grins. “I’ve got a mural on 8th that I’m about to start. Now please tell me you’re doing something other than sketching sad birds on the roof again.”

  “Hey! It’s not my fault pigeons are inherently miserable birds. But no, I’m past my “Sad Birds” phase, I promise. Some rich idiot who thinks he’s written the next Star Wars commissioned me to do concept art for him. Bad idea. Good money.”

  “Ohh, nice. Rich people with terrible ideas are the best money.”

  Her joke is funny, because I am one. A rich idot. I made some successful funding into venture capitalist projects and then retired young so I could do what I truly love— draw.

  “Yeah. Just once, though, I wish one of them had a decent idea. Half the time it doesn’t feel like I’m even doing art anymore.”

  “Leave it to you to find the negative in a perfectly decent situation.” Nikki downs the last of her coffee and reapplies her neon pink lipstick.

  “Hey! It’s my life, and I’ll be slightly negative about it if I want to.”

  “If you say so. Look, a bunch of us are going to the LeGrande tonight. You should ditch your rich guy and meet us there.”

  “The LeGrange? I don’t think so. That was Kelly’s favorite - ”

  “So what? You’re afraid she’s gonna magically show up and step on your toes? It’s a huge place, so even if she’s there you won’t see her. It’s been five months, Brent. She made her choice, now you make yours. Also, I hate you for making me sound like some lame TV self-help guru. So now we’re even. See you tonight!”

  Nikki breezes out of my place as fast as she came in. It’s quiet again. I still have time before I have to start work, so I look down.

  “Well, Gustav? Shall we finish what we started?”

  Chapter 8 – Brent

  Later on, I grab my sketchbook and take the subway down towards Central Park. I don’t actually go to the park, though. The place is always filled with tourists, druggies, or both. Nah, I have a better spot.

  A few blocks away from the Park, I duck off the street down an alleyway. A slight tug, and the building’s fire escape ladder comes down - and I go up. My buddy Jonathan used to rent in this building, and we’d spend days just camped out on the roof, drinking and smoking and talking. Jonathan’s gone now �
�� he moved away to Maryland to help take care of his sick mom –

  but the fire escape still works.

  Up on the roof, I’ve got a great view of the city. A lot of trees and the park off to one side, and skyscrapers on the other. I sit, legs dangling off into nothing, and touch pen to paper. The concept sketch is simple: alien ships descending from the sky to wreak havoc all over New York City. Because no one has ever had that idea before. But hey, like I told Nikki, the rich dude is the one paying me. So, I draw it.

  Once I’ve sat still and sketched long enough that my legs are cramping, I get up and wander across the rooftop. On the street below, there’s a young woman pushing a baby stroller. I sketch her. It seems impossible for me to see something and not sketch it, which is why I’m glad I have the time to do it.

  She’s too far away for me to actually see most things about her clearly, so on the paper I imagine the careworn lines on her face, the way she smiles when the baby coos at her, the exhaustion she keeps below the surface. I don’t know why she caught my attention the way she did, but as I sketch her, I felt connected to her, even from fourteen stories away. That’s the feeling I look for in my art, when I can. Most days, I can’t, because life can be ugly instead of beautiful, and sometimes, I forget what it feels like in the first place.

  Things on the roof are starting to feel a little too melodramatic - after all, I’m supposed to be getting over my Sad Birds phase - so I climb down and head to the gym. That’s the other place I’ve always felt free and relaxed. I run, I lift, I condition, and I don’t have to think about any of it. My mind and my body just know what to do, without question.

  So, I run. For a long time. And for some reason, today is the day that I can’t seem to just get out of my own head. What Nikki said won’t leave me alone. Am I really letting just the thought of Kelly keep me from going out, seeing my friends…picking up a girl? I think I might be. And that, more than anything, is what makes me pick up my phone and text Nikki.