Boardroom Bride: A Fake Fiance Secret Pregnancy Romance

by Alexis Angel

And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want her all the more. Then I see it.

  Poor Girl.

  I smirk, shaking my head. This girl. She’s totally fucking with me. She’s a mess. In a completely perfect way. The need to see her is even stronger now.

  My finger hovers over the number, and I feel a sudden flush go through my body, a tightness in my stomach. What the fuck is that? My throat goes dry and my palms are damp.

  Setting the phone gingerly on my desk, I rub my hands on my pants. Is this what it feels like to be nervous about a girl? What the fuck is that about? I shouldn’t be nervous about calling a girl from the club. I can honestly say I’ve never experienced something like this before. Maybe that makes me an anomaly, but I’m Liam fucking Donovan. I’ve got a hundred girls waiting in the wings, and none of them would tell me no.

  But right now, I don’t give a fuck about any of them. The only one I can think about is Cara. And I’m fucking worried that she’s going to tell me no.

  Jesus.

  Rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness happening in my head, I snatch my phone back up and tap the number before I can think about it any further. Because fuck that. I want to see this girl.

  Okay, it’s ringing. I take a breath, trying to wrap my head around this new nervous feeling.

  Just when I think it’s about to go to voicemail, that sweet voice comes through my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Cara.”

  “That’s me.”

  I smile. Cute. “It’s Liam.”

  A pause. Then: “Well, hello, Liam.”

  Did I say cute? I take it back. Fucking sexy as hell is what she is. That voice drips with flirtation and tease, and my dick grows even harder. I want her so badly.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Donovan?”

  Get your sexy little ass in my bed. Stat.

  “I wondered if I might interest you in an evening with me,” I say, my nerves ratcheting up again. I grit my teeth, hoping I sound cool and confident right now, not like a fucking adolescent pussy who’s never asked a girl out before.

  “Hmm,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. Thank fuck. “When are you thinking this evening together might be?” She mimics my formal question, and I can’t help laughing.

  “Tomorrow,” I say, more at ease now. I really want to say tonight, but that seems a bit overeager. And she might already have plans. Though the idea of her possibly having a date with another man makes me want to beat my chest like a fucking caveman and demand she see no one but me. But I keep that insanity in check. “Eight o’clock.”

  She waits for a moment before responding, and I feel a rush of nerves all over again.

  And again: What. The. Fuck.

  “I think I can manage that. Where should I meet you?”

  I smile. Yeah right. Like I’ll have her meet me somewhere like a fucking plebeian. Liam Donovan does things in style. “Tell me your address. I’ll send my limo driver for you.”

  Cara

  Smack!

  I smack my lips together, looking at the mirror as I finish putting on my lipstick. Rehearsing my smile, I straighten the front of my dress and take a spin, my high-heels clicking against my bedroom floor.

  I got my hair done, spent half-an-hour getting the make-up done just right, and I’m wearing a Versace dress that cost more than what was reasonable for me to spend. Why am I putting all this effort? It’s simple: I can’t go half-assed into this. If I’m going to seduce Liam, I have to bring my A-game; afterall, he’s the kind of guy that’s used to the presence of actresses, Victoria Secret models, and what have you.

  “Where are you…?” I whisper to myself as I hear my phone vibrate somewhere in the room. I look at the bed and start pushing the pillows to the side. I finally manage to find it wrapped in the sheets, and I feel my heart skipping a beat as I see the text message icon blinking in the screen.

  I’m downstairs, the message Liam just sent me reads. He told me he’d pick me up at 8 pm and, lo and behold, it’s 8 pm sharp. Punctuality - I like that.

  You know what? I wasn’t supposed to like that many things about Liam, but he’s been surprising me ever since we met. Instead of a raging asshole, I found a guy that could be articulate and charming. And that’s what makes him dangerous. Raging assholes can be heartbreakers too, of course, but the ones that can really mess up a girl are the ones that just seem too perfect to be true.

  Grabbing my purse and throwing the phone inside, I take one last look at the mirror and then leave the apartment, anxiety slowly creeping in as I wait for the elevator. I can’t believe that I’m actually looking forward to this date. I usually just see these outings as a job, a necessary evil so to speak, but this time… I don’t know, I’m intrigued by Liam.

  Don’t worry, though - I’m experienced enough to avoid any kind of pitfalls. I’ve chewed up and spat out guys just like him before. Sure, he’s in a level of his own, but that doesn’t mean I’ll switch off the rational side of my brain.

  Finally stepping inside the elevator, I take deep breathes as it makes its way down to the ground floor; when the doors finally slide open, I have a confident smile plastered on my face.

  It’s show time - let’s do this.

  “And there she is,” Liam tells me the moment I step one foot outside my apartment building. He’s leaning back against the hood of an black executive limo, a tailored suit making his figure even more irresistible. Right now, he wouldn’t look out of place in the Oscars; in fact, he’d own the whole thing and steal all the attention for himself.

  “So, you can pull off a suit,” I tell him, trying to act like I’m not impressed at all. It sounds easier than it is because, really, I’m impressed. Looking that good should be illegal.

  “And you can pull off a dress,” he responds, chuckling softly. “Although, I have to say, you looked even better in a bikini.”

  “Watch it,” I tell him with a laugh, feeling warm blood rushing to my cheeks. Am I blushing? No, it can’t be. I’m used to guys giving me compliments like that, and Liam’s wasn’t as bold of a compliment as some I’ve received in the past. And still, the way he said it, his deep voice carrying his words so confidently... Oh, Liam’s a very dangerous man.

  “Shall we?” He asks me, offering me his arm. I lace my arm through his and let him lead the way toward the back of the limo. Opening the door for me, he then walks around the car and enters from the other side.

  “Who knew? Liam Donovan can be chivalrous,” I tease him, looking into his eyes as I hear the limo’s engine start to purr. One second later and the driver pulls the car into the road, merging with New York’s evening traffic.

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Cara,” he shoots back fast and, even though he’s merely teasing me, I can tell that he’s also being serious. Apparently, Liam doesn’t really enjoy being seen as the King of the New York Bros. I can’t say I’m surprised - after all, how many people like to be seen as major douchebags? Sure, there’s a special breed of men and women that enjoy the fame that being an asshole carries, but it seems that Liam doesn’t really belong to that special class of human beings.

  “I don’t read the tabloids,” I lie. Right now, there’s a giant pile of tabloid newspapers on my desk, and Liam’s gracing the cover of each and every one of them. I got to throw all that in the garbage once I’m back - it’s just mindless bullshit, and there was absolutely nothing in there that could help me solve the walking mystery that Liam is. “But you’re a known name. I’ve heard about you.”

  “Good things, I hope,” he smiles, his eyes still locked on me.

  “Depends on what you think is a ‘good thing’, Liam.”

  “Ah, well, it’s always a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” He laughs, the sound of his voice making a shiver shoot up my spine. I turn my gaze away from him and, remaining silent, I look out the window of the limo, watching the city streets passes us by.

  “Where are we going anyway? You’re
not going to take me to a back alley and harvest my organs, are you?” I ask him, teasing him again. He told me he’d take me out on a date, but he kept a shroud of secrecy about what kind of date he had in mind. It’s a surprise, he told me over the phone, and now here I am - alone with him in his limo, no idea about where we’re going.

  Locking his eyes on mine, he offers me an enigmatic smile.

  “We’re going back to my place.”

  Uh-oh.

  Cara

  Okay, it’s official: I’m impressed.

  I was a bit hesitant when he told me he was taking me to his place, but this beats whatever a five-star restaurant could offer us.

  We’re standing in the rooftop garden of his penthouse, a gentle warm breeze whipping at my hair. There’s a cozy table set in the middle of the huge garden, a red tablecloth draped over it; the table’s already set, and everything from the plates to the silverware adds a certain classiness to the whole thing.

  “Here we are,” he tells me, leading me toward the table and pulling one chair back for me. Thanking him with a nod, I sit at the table and wait for him to do the same. “Red or white?” He asks me, pointing at the selection of bottles resting on a side table.

  “Red,” I reply, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. Look, I’m not exactly someone that’s easily stunned by riches, but Liam seems to be the kind of wealthy guy that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t help but be impressed. I mean, a rooftop garden in Tribeca, the most expensive neighborhood in Manhattan? And, really, his apartment is so luxurious that I’d be impressed even without this garden. Seriously, how much money does Liam even have?

  I thought that he was just a boy in a grown man’s body, someone living it up on his parent’s dime, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He’s so poised and commanding of his surroundings that there’s no doubt in my mind - wherever his money is coming from, he isn’t living at someone else’s expense. No, this is a man in charge of his own life.

  “Oh, here he comes,” Liam suddenly says, looking over my shoulder and smiling. I turn around on my chair and see a man walking into the garden from a door that I presume leads to the kitchen - he’s wearing dress pants, a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a chef’s apron. And the weird thing is… I think I recognize him from somewhere.

  “Ah, Liam, my good boy!” The man cries out in a thick French accent, gripping Liam’s right hand and shaking it heartily. Then he turns to me and, bowing exaggeratedly, takes one of my hands and kisses its back. “Enchanté!” He says merrily, a giant smile on his face. I look back at him, slightly surprised, and I notice the sleeve tattoos covering his forearms, an intricate black pattern that seems to continue under his shirt.

  “Léo Moreau, I’ll take it you’ve already heard of him,” Liam tells me, and my brain suddenly lights up. Holy shit - Léo Moreau? The celebrity chef from “The Cook from Hell”? How the hell did Liam manage to convince a top notch chef like Léo to cook for him in his kitchen?! “I see you recognize him,” he laughs, seeing the stunned expression on my face. Yeah, this time there was no hiding my true emotions.

  “It’s… It’s an honor!” I tell Léo, and he just bows down again, one hand over his chest. I’m stunned - on TV he’s such a hardass but, in real life, he seems to be a genuinely nice guy.

  “The honor is all mine,” he tells me, standing up straight and placing one hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam’s a good friend of my family and, more importantly, he knows how to appreciate good food and good wine! I’m always happy to cook for someone like that!”

  “Thank you, Léo,” Liam replies humbly, looking at the chef and smiling. By the way they’re treating each other, I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say they know each other pretty well. Jesus, I knew Liam moved in circles where celebrities were a dime a dozen, but this is almost too much.

  “Well, let me bring the food!” Léo continues joyfully, turning around and snapping his heels together. He waltzes into the kitchen and, two seconds later, he appears again, this time pushing a food cart, the smell coming from it making my stomach rumble. “And here it is!” He continues, waving his hand at the variety of plates covering the huge cart.

  “You really went all out, Léo,” Liam laughs, his eyes going over the food.

  “The best food for the best man! And for the best lady, of course,” he adds, bowing again in my direction. “Brown bread with the best French olive oil,” he announces, setting one plate on the table, right between me and Liam. “And then tartare of lamb, kelp, oysters and -- ah, Liam knows all about what I’ve prepared! You’re in good hands, Miss Cara. Enjoy your dinner,” he finally concludes, taking his apron off and bowing one last time. How did he know my name? I don’t remember Liam introducing me, which means… He has been talking about me.

  Is that a good or bad thing? I can’t really tell.

  “Thank you!” I say with Liam in a single voice, and Léo just smiles and struts back to the kitchen. A few seconds later we hear the door of Liam’s apartment being slammed shut as Léo leaves.

  “I had no idea you wanted to impress me this bad,” I tell Liam with a slight chuckle, my stomach roiling as I soak the brown bread with olive oil. Léo wasn’t kidding - this is the best olive oil I’ve ever tasted.

  “Well, I actually thought of cooking for you… But Léo just offered his help when I told him I’d have someone over.”

  “I never thought he’d be such a nice guy,” I confess, still trying to blend Léo’s true personality with whom I expected him to be.

  “Yeah… What you see on TV is just for show. He’s one of the nicest people you’ll ever know.”

  “Seems like it,” I muse, realizing that it really takes a genuine nice guy to come and cook for a friend, even though he’s a world renowned chef with restaurants all over the world.

  We spend the next hour trying each of Léo’s delicacies, each one unleashing a world of pleasure inside my mouth. I’ve never been one of these bon vivants that enjoy gourmet food, but this is something else entirely. Of course, it also helps that the wine is as good as the food; and, more than that, the company is also enjoyable.

  Our conversation is superficial and lighthearted, but it’s enough for me to realize that I had a completely wrong impression of Liam. Sure, he has that bad boy gravitas, but he’s so much more than that. He seems to be a real man, one that knows how to balance his aggressiveness with some unexpected chivalry.

  And all of this has made me very confused. Why is he a constant in the tabloids when he seems to be the exact opposite of what the media tries to portray him as?

  “I don’t understand, Liam. Why do you seek out the spotlight?” I finally ask him, pushing all small-talk aside and going straight for the chase. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that chases after fame.”

  “That’s because I’m not. I don’t want the spotlight, Cara… But everyone insists on making me the center of attention. It’s kinda tiresome, actually.”

  “Oh, come on. You’d keep a low profile if you really wanted to shrug off all that attention. I mean, how hard can it be to lead a normal life? Just act like a boring man, and soon enough the paparazzi will go away.”

  “Alright, I’ll admit it. I don’t really like the fame, but it has its uses.”

  “Oh?”

  “If I’m in the spotlight, that means the spotlight isn’t shining over my family.”

  “Your family?” I ask him, having no idea where the conversation is heading. Is he being genuine? Or is he trying to play me with false niceness? Maybe that’s how all these women fall for him - they come in expecting an asshole, and then he unleashes his gallant charm upon them.

  “Yeah, my family. My father used to be an infamous playboy back in the seventies, and the press was relentless. They made him look like a real bastard, you know?” He laughs, but then he looks to the side and falls silent; swirling the wine inside his glass, he lets his gaze roams over the New York brightly lit skyline. “I just think my pare
nts deserve to rest now. They don’t need to deal with the media sniffing after a story or bullshit like that. So I keep the focus on me. At all times.”

  Well, that’s surprising. Does New York’s most notorious playboy have a golden heart? Seems like it. The jury’s still out on Liam, though - I’m not going to buy into his knight in shining armor narrative just because he sounds convincing. Most sociopaths sound convincing as well, and they aren’t exactly what I’d call eligible bachelors.

  But still… I wasn’t expecting any of this from Liam. For the first time in my life, a man has finally managed to surprise me.

  “Come here,” he tells me suddenly, placing his glass on the table and standing up. He offers me his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me up to my feet. We walk to the glass railing of the balcony and stare at the city underneath us, its bright lights like glowing stars on the firmament.

  “I know I’m not exactly a role model,” he whispers, turning to me with a faint smile on his lips. “But I truly don’t care about being seen as this or as that. I am what I am, and that’s it.”

  “That’s not a bad way to live,” I admit, seeing myself reflected in his words. More than understanding what he’s telling me, I feel it deep in my bones.

  In a way, he’s just like me.

  Before I know it, I’ve turned to him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt; I go on tiptoes, lock my eyes on his and hold my breath.

  And then I kiss him.

  Cara

  One kiss - that’s all it takes. The moment our lips touch, I know I’m doomed. All self-control, all thoughts of right and wrong… It all goes out the window with one simple kiss.

  Liam presses his body against mine, pushing me back against the table on the balcony. His hands go to my waist, his long fingers exploring every curve of my body. There’s no fighting this. How could I? After trying so hard to seduce, my sentence is set in stone.

  I let out a small sigh as his lips go to my neck, desire rippling through me as his full lips explore my skin. My nipples are already hardening, straining against the fabric of my bra and pleading for his touch.