Billionaire's Fake Wife: A Single Mom BWWM Romance

by Tyla Walker

  "Alright, we can do that," I tell him.

  "Great! I'll pick you up at your desk after work hours, around 5:30 pm. See you later!" Grant says, and then he ends the call.

  I grab my purse and go out of the building to finally have my lunch.

  "Is there anything that we might have missed?" Grant asks me as he drinks water from his glass.

  We're having dinner at one of the bistros near the office. Half of our food's already gone, and we've covered most of the basic stuff that we need to establish regarding our relationship.

  I look at the checklist that we've written down as a result of our discussion and skim through the details.

  "I think we've covered enough to get us through. Unless there's something else that your mother might ask us about? You know her better," I answer.

  "She might want to know what our favorite sex position is," he chimes.

  My eyes grow wider at his statement, and I playfully slap him in his arm.

  "Grant! Please be serious," I admonish him. "This is important. Remember what's at stake!

  "I know, I know. You don't need to remind me. I just wanted to see how you will react," he says.

  "So, do you want to add any additional information?" I inquire.

  "Nah, that's already enough. Mother's not the chatty type, so that will tide us for now. If she asks anything that we haven't talked about, let's just play it by ear tomorrow, okay?"

  "Okay," I answer, tentatively.

  We finish our food as we try and quiz each other about facts. It's getting a bit late, and I ask Grant if it's alright that we call it a night.

  "Oh, wait a minute. Before I forget, have this," Grant says as he pushes a box across the table towards me.

  I know what's inside that small box. I'm almost afraid to touch it.

  "Go ahead, open it. See if you like it. Well, it's not like you have much of choice really, you've got to wear that tomorrow," Grant declares.

  I get the box and open it very slowly. The ring shimmers in the light, and I get dazzled by it.

  "Try it on, I hope I got the ring size correct. Nevertheless, we can have it resized later," he tells me.

  I remove the ring from its cushion and put it on my left ring finger. I extend my hand and admire it from afar.

  In the center of the ring is a diamond solitaire in a semi-mount princess cut. On the two sides are smaller round yellow topaz stones. The band is made of platinum.

  "It's very pretty," I murmur.

  "I think the topaz brings out the color of your eyes," he comments. "That's why I chose it."

  I'm touched by his comment, even though we both know that none of this is for real.

  "Consider this as a loan," I say. "When everything's over, and we both get what we want, then I'll return the ring to you. Until then, I'll take care of it."

  Today's the day. I hope we make it through.

  I almost wasn't able to sleep last night. Though I know I need my beauty rest so that I'll at least look presentable today, my nervousness got the better of me. I kept tossing and turning in bed, imagining all the ways that this can go wrong.

  I'm sitting at my desk trying to shake off my jitters when Grant sends a text message reminding me that we'll be leaving in ten minutes.

  I stand up and make my way towards the restroom where I retouch my make-up. I dressed up in smart casual today, making sure that everything is coordinated and proper. As the cliché goes, first impressions last.

  I haven't had any personal encounters with Gloria Fields aside from work, but if you've watched The Devil Wears Prada, then she's similar to Miranda Priestly. She'll give you a once over from head to toe, and it would seem like she's looking into your soul.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I finish applying a coat of lipstick.

  "You got this girl. Don't be afraid and just be yourself," I tell myself.

  Grant and I drive through the streets, and we arrive at a posh steakhouse. This is a two-Michelin star restaurant, and reservations are made weeks before for you to be able to get in. But of course, Gloria Fields would be an exception.

  We're directed to a more private part of the restaurant as we go in and mention the reservation. Gloria's already seated, having her aperitif. Grant holds my hand and gives it a small squeeze as we approach the table.

  He gives her a kiss on the cheek, then proceeds in introducing me.

  "Mother, I'd like to formally introduce you to my fiancée, Sonya Lynx," Grant says.

  Gloria looks up at me for several seconds and then gives me a small smile.

  "Lovely. Please be seated," Gloria directs us.

  She motions to the waiter who comes by our table and gets our order.

  "Sonya," she says. "I know you work in our company, so I already know you professionally. Right now, I'd like to know you a bit more. Tell me about how you and Grant ended up with each other."

  I look at Grant, and he encourages me with a nod. I start telling her the story that Grant and I agreed to, with Grant adding some bits and details as I go along. The entire time, he's holding my hand, which lessens my nervousness.

  Gloria seems to be convinced by our story. Mostly she just hummed or nodded in acknowledgment, but she also asked some questions. Thankfully, we're able to answer everything.

  As our main course arrives, the atmosphere becomes a little lighter, and we start talking about the fashion industry. This one, I know by heart. The three of us discuss several things, especially the ones related to the company.

  Gloria's impressed, and I can see that. She even mentions the possibility of a promotion which I've waited for so long. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

  The meal ends well, and Gloria tells me that she looks forward to Grant and I working together for the company. I let out a deep breath of relief once we're back in Grant's car.

  One point for team Grant and Sonya.

  Ten

  Grant

  One word: Wow.

  Sonya Lynx is an angel sent from above. I send her a quick message to thank her for helping me.

  I'm glad that it's over, whew, but I was expecting to have one of the worst days in my life, and yet I get the opposite. The meeting was successful, and even when my mother tried to hide her feelings behind her usual veil of indifference, I saw right through her.

  That's because I always see right through her.

  If Gloria Fields thinks nothing her son does get past her, then that said son's the same. It runs in the family. Since the age of seven, I've learned to read her every quirk and anticipate her every reaction like a forecaster does with the weather.

  Of course, I'm kidding, although my mother's a type of weather all her own; volatile. Bring an umbrella or, better yet, stay inside your homes.

  Armed with my expertise in the field of Gloria Fields —pun totally intended— I boldly proclaim that Sonya Lynx blew her socks off.

  Not a lot of people do that; hell, even some models or designers can't name certain styles nor talk about fabrics as eloquently as the woman has done. The number of times my mother's lips quirked at the corners was substantial proof that Sony has passed the test with flying colors.

  I still am nervous about my mother's feedback, as she and I hadn't talked about Sonya yet. Still nervous if she still thinks it's a charade.

  Shaking my head, I focus on the positive side of things. On Sonya.

  Another thing that I appreciate about her: I don't even know half of the names she's mentioned, but she's never made me feel like an outcast or an idiot. She'll always pull me into the conversation and explain what she's talking about.

  Which is good because my own mother tends to be snappy when I ask her about what she does.

  Sitting down with a can of beer on my trusty leather couch, I relive the day's events with a smile. As much as I enjoy crunching numbers and working with spreadsheets...not daily, but yeah, you get the point; learning about appliques and dyeing techniques are more exciting.

  I am not sure wha
t I can use the knowledge for, but it's nice to have an understanding of what my mother loves about the world of fashion and why she's willing to spend nights in her office, rarely stopping to eat or even sleep.

  The TV is buzzing about some football games, but the commentators and the cheers of the audience are just white noise at this moment. Cold malt beer trickles down my throat one gulp after another.

  I think about Sonya Lynx and the way she glows when she talks about clothes and design. She has this fire in her eyes that burns brighter when asked and challenged about her opinions.

  Her expressiveness doesn't end with her pretty face; her rich dark arms and hands would move around as she debates in favor of her favorite indie brand. The movement causes her black-blue hair to dance along her shoulders and torso.

  Those midnight blue-black locks look like satin under the warm glow of daylight coming from the huge and wide arched windows. And the overhead restaurant lights.

  All throughout lunch, my fingers itched to run themselves through it. Those same fingers twitch, and I sigh, standing up to get another beer from the kitchen.

  It takes me a couple of hours to finish the second beer and actually pay attention to the TV.

  I stay in the living room long after the football match ended, browsing through channels mindlessly. My thoughts are on Sonya again.

  With her talent, I am a hundred percent sure that the business will flourish. If we have more people like her, who are passionate about their job, we're in good hands.

  Sonya can be my partner in the future and help me run my mother's company once she steps down. I might focus more on the marketing and financial side of things, while she can handle the production.

  I chuckle. That'll probably take a long time, not soon, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared and have plans. It's essential to have goals, after all.

  My mother will pressure me even more if I don't show her how serious I am about my work or even my future. As if I'm not doing myself a service by saving up. Savings are good for anyone's future, no?

  Apparently, to Gloria Fields, it isn't. Now, I'm left with no choice but to get married, well, it's fake marriage.

  At least my fake wife-to-be is quite the looker.

  Sonya definitely is.

  I never noticed it before, but aside from her pretty face, she has good shoulders. Yes, shoulders that help carry her posture well and, um, show off the great curves of her waist. With her sitting ramrod straight yet relaxed in that restaurant chair, her —

  I shouldn't be thinking about how perky her breasts looked; for Pete's sake, the woman was tastefully clothed.

  So...what do I think about? Her face? Yes, her beautiful face. Her eyes usually look black to me, but I saw hints of chocolate brown in them while in the restaurant. The warm lights really bring their colors out.

  She barely wore any makeup, just enough to enhance her features, but I love the color she used on her lips. I don't know much about makeup beyond the things I hear from the other women, especially models I've slept with, but that glossy brown she wore had attracted my eyes a couple of times during our lunch and conversations.

  Will I be allowed a taste? Will her lips be soft? Can I take a bite?

  I think they will look good on my...my own lips? I want her to kiss me. Oh my...I groan, shifting my pants and opening the zipper a little. It's getting uncomfortable and too snug down there. These fucking tight pants... they're supposed to fit perfectly.

  When I realize that I have started palming and rubbing myself to images of her eyes and thoughts of what magic those sinful full lips can perform, I jump up and run towards the shower, making sure it's on the coldest setting.

  I scream not from pleasure but from the Arctic-cold water raining down from the showerhead.

  I put the phone down and wait with a tall cup of coffee for the pizza delivery man. The cold water helped a bit, as it always does; all the X-rated thoughts flowed down the drain along with the soap and shampoo suds.

  Sonya Lynx, however, stays in my mind.

  I'm not gonna deny it; like any other man, I have fantasies and urges. I don't typically deny myself those except if the woman's married. And another line I don't dare cross is thinking about my colleagues —my mother's employees— romantically or sexually.

  I don't want to put anyone in that spot and be tagged as unprofessional by my own mother.

  I guess Sonya is really just that attractive. Not to mention sharp and witty. Hey, isn't smart sexy? And paired with that face...I reach for my coffee cup and took a gulp that scalded my tongue. Not the kind of pain I like, but it'll do.

  Boundaries must be set, not only for her sake but for mine as well. I can't take advantage of her and our agreement just because I can't keep it in my pants. Besides, I can hit up some of my contacts, and even friends, if I want a quick fuck.

  Yet, why, Sonya? She has never shown me any motives, unlike Kelly from marketing or Arianne, one of the receptionists. Those two women tried to tempt me several times, but I've always managed not to give in. Hard not to, but I put my foot down even when my dick was still up.

  I am typing a message on my phone when I realize who the sender will be, and I quickly delete the 'What's up' before opening another app.

  Rubbing my hands all over my face, I brood and play games on my phone until the pizza finally arrived. I give the delivery man a hefty tip, and he thanks me profusely.

  Thanks again, I hit send before I can stop myself. Well, that was dumb.

  But not as dumb as the grin on my lips when my phone buzzes. I pluck it out of my trousers, and the reply stares at me.

  A reminder.

  You're welcome. I'm just doing my part of the bargain.

  Eleven

  Sonya

  It's a beautiful day; although I was restless last night, I am wide awake now. Energized by coffee, my daughter's antics, and the memories of yesterday's lunch date.

  Sitting down and eating with Gloria Fields, not as her employee but as her equal, is the best thing that's happened to me since joining her company.

  I drop off Lauralee at her school, foregoing the school bus this time. We sing in the car to her favorite children's show songs. I still have time for work anyway, what with not really being able to sleep properly because of the buzz that still refuses to leave me.

  When I arrive at the office, I greet everyone with a wide smile.

  That smile falters a bit when I get to my desk. My colleague Kelly has her back to me, scooping up some documents and folders.

  "Wait, what's going on?"

  She turns around with a smile. It's a bit strained, but I sense no malice in her expression. Okay, maybe just a little.

  "I'll be taking over some of your tasks and projects starting this day until we hire a new assistant or an intern. Let me help you transfer your things over to your new office."

  Oh, that explains the slight frown. And then Kelly's last sentence gets my attention.

  "My new office?"

  I receive a look that plainly states Really, girl? As if you don't know.

  She receives a timid smile from me. Shaking her head, she puts everything on a box and carries it to her own desk, before coming back to help me carry some of my pictures and knick-knacks. Our other colleagues watch and congratulate me, some with strained smiles on their faces.

  She brings me to a polished, wooden door, which opens into a room with full windows and an immaculate white desk in the middle with a computer on top. A translucent vase of fresh flowers is situated nearby on another desk, along with a propped-up mannequin torso.

  This is it...the fulfillment of my dreams. I'm one step closer to my goal.

  Thanks to Grant Fields, I finally have a chance to show how worthy and talented I am to his mother. I held my own against her, and even though I don't want to be conceited, I'll claim it right now:

  She's impressed.

  "Congratulations," Kelly intones from beside me. She looks around with longing in her eyes. "I wish I
got promoted, too."

  I shake my head. She is actually good and talented, but she's still new to the company, just a few months in. Once she gets into the groove of things, she'll rise up high. I tell her that, and she blushes, congratulates me again and thanks me, before leaving me alone to my thoughts.

  "Crazy..." I approach the desk and run my fingers along its surface. Laminated wood. Feels sturdy. Looks expensive.

  Lauralee, on the other hand, is happy for me, too. I tell her everything as much as I can, so she won't be surprised if things happen or change.

  One thing, or person, rather that she keeps asking about is Grant.

  "Is he nice to you?"

  "Yes, sweetheart."

  "Good. Since he's going to be my father soon."

  Of course, she knows it isn't true, but her eyes shine with hope. She wishes it is. I hope I can give her that.

  My phone rings, taking me out of my reverie. Speaking of the devil...

  "Good morning, Grant," I chirp into my phone's mic. "Listen, I just really want to thank you for yesterday. I mean..."

  I look around, cross to the door, and close it before continuing. "I know we have an arrangement, but what you did help me prove to your mother that I have what it takes."

  I thank him again, and he chuckles. The sound sends a shot of warmth straight to my heart. A smile forms on my lips.

  "Well, listen here, too: you're amazing."

  My smile widens.

  He carries on, "I also learned some new cool things I never did before...especially shibori? I appreciate that you didn't make me feel and look like an idiot in front of my mother. Actually, I want to ask you for a favor and am hoping you'd say yes."

  Well, color me intrigued. "What is it? I'll be honest with you, I'm not gonna say yes if I'm not sure I can do it."

  "Relax, we're not going to do anything illegal."

  "Uh-huh. You saying that makes it all the more suspicious," I reply to him. I'm sure he's grinning.