His Fake Fiancée: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me Book 1)

by Fiona Murphy

  “However the hell you choose to define yourself, I do not care. All I care is you do it while working for me. If I were to define your work by what you brought me rather than the hours you spent doing it. Ensure, you do not feel tied to your desk, you would stay.” I am fascinated at how quickly hazel disappears leaving behind vibrant green as our eyes meet and hold.

  A slow nod.

  “For you, or for your grandfather?”

  Her chin comes up in defiance. I am challenged to restrain myself from capturing her small chin and holding her still while I claim her mouth.

  “For the both of us. I meant what I said, I do like what I do. I don’t think I would be good at it if I didn’t like it. It will also be nice not to worry so much, about the mortgage and allowances for the nurses Abuelo likes, not just puts up with, and other things that will make him happy and quit being so...” A shrug as she trails off.

  “He is melancholy?”

  She laughs. “British people, always with the best adjectives and so formal.” Shaking her head, a weariness comes over her. “Before the heart attack, melancholy would have been a good word. After my grandmother died, he was lost. They met when she was twelve and he was fourteen. The very next day she told him she was going to marry him. At sixteen she got her wish, and they never spent a day apart until she died. So, I understood, but after the heart attack...”

  Her eyes cloud with pain and confusion. “What?”

  Closing her eyes, she goes on. “He’s been so mean. He was never a hugs-and-kisses kind of guy. I got all of that from Abuela, enough I didn’t notice not getting it from him. She was always quick to defend him, after losing both my mom and her brother, then my dad, he had a hard time forming attachments, getting close. For a little while after Abuela died we were the closest and most affectionate we’d ever been. I even got two hugs.”

  A hopeless sigh. “Ever since he came home after the heart attack, it’s like he doesn’t even like me. Like we’re two roommates who can’t break our lease. We’re together out of obligation, not love. I never felt that way myself, but it’s what I get from him. For some reason, he’s convinced he’s a burden and I will be better off once he’s gone. No matter how hard I try to tell him otherwise. It scares me sometimes. Honestly, even if he didn’t need a nurse, I wouldn’t be able to relax unless someone was always with him.”

  “You have no other family?”

  “No, I had an uncle but he died when I was little, in Desert Storm. My dad’s family weren’t happy he married my mom. They were apparently terrified that they would have a black granddaughter. So my dad told them to get stuffed. I think there was a brother or something, but he never talked to them again, that I know of.

  “My dad and my grandparents didn’t start with the best relationship, but by the time he died they were his parents too. As far as he was concerned, they were all he and I needed.”

  I have everything I need to know. Christina Connolly is exactly what I hoped she would be, and so very much more. Those plans I have will bear profitable fruit, as long as I do not make the mistake of attempting to mix business with pleasure. No matter how pleasurable it would be in the moment, I would much rather have the money she will make me.

  ***

  Christina

  His finger is doing that tapping thing on the desk again. The sound draws me out of the dreamlike feeling of the last half hour. After the first terrifying five minutes, all my fear of him fell away. The way he talks about plans for me is scary and exciting and I can’t wait. Only five seconds after I walked into his room it hit me: Anna was wrong. I was wrong. As good as the self-love felt, it would never replace Ivan.

  Desire kicked in hard and fast and needy. Drawn into those intent, unfathomable black eyes, I answered every question, shared what I never thought I would with anyone else because I could deny him nothing. Having his whole attention is addictive—I would do or say anything to keep it. My heart started pounding in my ears; my skin went hot and tight. Then I sat down across from him, so very close, and damn it all to hell I was wet all over again for him. I was still sensitive from before, the word torture came to mind.

  I’m wondering if I’m a freak or something because when he practically yelled at me and ordered me to sit down, it kicked over a hive of angry bees I had no idea were in my tummy and my nipples went tight to the point of pain. Even now there are bubbles fizzing throughout my blood, floating through my body, making my skin sensitive and my fingertips tingle.

  Then there was a flicker of amusement in those endless eyes of his, and the world stopped spinning. Everything around us faded away. For the first time I wasn’t afraid of the way he made me feel. I wasn’t afraid of him. Now he has me sharing things I never have, not even with Anna. The judgement I expected isn’t there from him.

  “He is lucky to have you,”

  “No, it’s the other way around entirely. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for me. I have to do the same for him.”

  “Up to and including working for an asshole like me?”

  Crap, I blush. I can’t believe I said it out loud. “I’m sorry but if you’re going to be an asshole, I’m going to call you on it.”

  An honest-to-god chuckle comes out of him and those bees are swarming again, turning my blood into hot, sticky honey. He is so damn beautiful. It really isn’t fair. “In that case I want it out now. Ditch the makeup. You do not need it and I do not like it. Also ditch the frumpy clothes two sizes too big. I would prefer smarter clothes. At the very least, purchase new ones that fit you.”

  And now I hate him again. How does he do that? Channel pure asshole in a few sentences. “Excuse me?”

  An eyebrow goes up. “While you are at it, make an appointment to get your hearing checked. I do not like repeating myself.”

  He might not fire me for calling him an asshole but I’m pretty sure if I slapped him, he would make me regret it. “Maybe it’s because you keep saying crap that is so unfucking believable I assume I’m hearing you wrong.”

  “You believe I am saying it. Just because you do not like what I have to say does not mean it did not need to be said. When you are at my side you represent me. Your clothing denotes a lack of sense and style. I do not lack either, so while you are at my side neither do you.

  “That is all for this evening. Be up and ready to go at nine tomorrow. We meet here for a quick confirmation, then leave for the farm to be there by ten. Good night.”

  He’s dismissing me; his attention is already on his computer screen. I hate him. Before I unleash the anger surging inside me, I get out while I still can.

  7

  Christina

  Stepping back from the mirror, I’m at last satisfied I no longer look like the walking dead. I didn’t get any sleep last night, again. I was going to wear makeup anyway today to piss off Ivan, but now it’s necessary.

  Yesterday, I had gone for more of a natural look to simply cover up the restless night. Today I go full-on glam, close to a look one of the sisters from Hungry Harvest had shared on her Instagram a few weeks ago.

  Now it’s time for my hair. I want to put it back in a bun but it doesn’t go with the makeup. I do not wash my hair every day to minimize stress on it, so it’s still wavy from being up all day yesterday. It takes a while with my flat iron to get rid of the waves and slight curls. Just as my wrist is beginning to hurt, I’m done.

  In front of my meager selection of clothes, Ivan’s words of disdain haunt me. Were they really that bad? Hadn’t I said basically the same thing to Abuelo? It’s stupid to get my feelings hurt over the truth.

  Growing up my grandparents, especially Abuelo, declared form-fitting clothes off limits. I wasn’t really bothered. I hated the way men stared at my breasts. The catcalls I received about my breasts and ass. The bigger clothes helped me hide them. Even Brandon preferred me in the larger clothes, never even hinting that I should change what I wore.

  The only thing I have that Ivan will like is the dress I wore yesterday.
But even if I weren’t trying to hit back at Ivan, I don’t want to wear the dress. I’m too embarrassed Tim will realize I don’t have a large selection of clothes. The dress was if push came to shove for an evening or dinner.

  When I get back to Chicago, I’ll go shopping. But because I want to, not because Ivan said so. For today, I pull on the black pencil skirt and black button-down shirt.

  When I go into Ivan’s room, he takes one look at me and I know he’s pissed. I don’t care. I try not to, but I’m so fucked because I do care.

  I might as well not even be there for all the attention he pays me over the next few hours. By one o’clock we’re back at the hotel packing to leave with a contract signed to Ivan’s benefit in every way he wanted. We’re in the air by two and we land in Chicago only forty-five minutes later.

  Once we’re in the building things go from fast to turbo. Tim is throwing me in the deep end, he tells me without apology. There is no choice. He hands me a thick binder which details the workload and step-by-step instructions Rebecca put together when she was hired and frustrated by the lack of clear procedures.

  The first thing in the binder is Ivan’s general schedule. In bold letters the words, do not bother while he is working out, scream at me. I’m stunned at what his day looks like. He wakes up at five in the morning, works out for an hour, ends with a swim for twenty minutes then showers and has breakfast. By seven he is in the office where he stays until seven in the evening.

  Tim and I will switch off coming in early and staying late, until six. Ivan doesn’t demand we work the same hours he does, but we will be here or with him for ten hours a day with an hour lunch break during those ten hours. He works out again at ten for another hour and is in bed by midnight. Now I understand why his body bulges with muscle. I don’t make it past the first page before I’m being handed a company to research their financials, and Ivan wants it before the end of day.

  I’m coming up for air when Tim lets me know he’s going home. He’ll see me in the office at eight tomorrow. I nod as I do a quick check on the financials I put together. It’s almost done. I check the clock, five thirty. Damn it. I grab the phone and call Emily letting her know I’m running late. She assures me it’s fine. Hitting print, I grab a thin binder and hole punch to put everything together.

  As I approach Ivan’s office, someone has tipped over that damn hive of bees again. I swear I can hear them buzzing in my ears as I cross the threshold to his always open door. “Sir?”

  His focus is on his screen, but I notice he’s doing that thing, tapping the forefinger of his right hand on the desk. His head comes up. “You have the financials?”

  I nod then cross the room, tension increasing with every step. What is going on with me? I offer him the binder. He leans back, doesn’t take it from me, just allows his eyes to run over me. Those bees are freaking the fuck out, as am I. He doesn’t say a word, and it is seriously scary.

  “What?” The word escapes my tight throat. Anything to end this moment.

  “I told you I will not terminate your employment. Is that why you flagrantly disregard my instructions? You feel safe you can do whatever you wish and get away with it?” His words are soft yet vibrating with something that sends the hairs on the back of my neck up.

  My mouth is dry then wet. I shake my head, my throat tight. Glittering black obsidian touches my face, my cheek, my lips.

  “I want an explanation for why you are covered in makeup. Why you are wearing unsuitable clothing.”

  Fear builds until it breaks under the weight of his anger. “Fuck you. I quit.”

  I toss the binder on the desk and walk away. I can’t. I can’t do this. No, not another day, he’s making me crazy. I’ve gone all of three feet before a large hand grabs my arm, burning me as it grips me tight to swing me around to him.

  “You are not going anywhere.”

  Gravel, smoke, fire thrash at me. Close, he’s too close; my body is going absolutely fucking nuts. I’m plugged into a thousand volts of electricity, and god, I want more.

  “I will not allow it. You are not this weak. You will not buckle at the first test.”

  It’s a direct hit. I’m not weak! Fuck him. Steel would bend when it got hot enough, and this bastard is a sustained wildfire every time I get close.

  “You won’t allow it? Fuck you. I’m not weak. You hit me every time you get close. There is only so much any person could take of it.” I’m fighting not to yell and losing.

  “I had to wear makeup. I didn’t get any sleep. I looked half dead. I don’t like makeup, okay? Not that it’s any of your fucking business. But I know how to use it and when I need to I will. So that I don’t embarrass you while I’m at your side. The clothes I’m wearing are all I had.”

  “Liar, I know you brought a dress.” He hurls the words at me.

  How the hell could he know? “Fine, I had the dress I wore the other day. I didn’t want to wear it unless it was absolutely necessary. Tim saw me in it just the other day. It’s embarrassing not to have more clothes that would fit. I would have gone shopping but I’m not some fucking doll. You don’t get to say what I wear, whether it’s makeup or clothes, you megalomaniac control freak. You told me I could walk away. I’m walking away.”

  “I lied.”

  The words are the last thing I hear before my world explodes. The hand on my arm tightens and yanks me hard up against him. His other hand catches me around the back of my neck and brings me up to him or he moves down to me, I don’t know. I don’t care, all I know is his mouth is on mine. Those lips are softer than I imagined as they crash down on me. His tongue is hotter, harder, and so much more savage than I ever dreamed.

  My hands are around his neck, holding on tight to him, to this moment. Every step I have taken, every decision has led to this moment, to him. After everything he has said and done, I would never have thought it possible but in his arms, I’m home. I’m safe. I’m where I belong. A strong arm is around my back, binding me to him; it’s too much and not nearly enough. I can feel him, steel burning into my soft stomach, oh god, wet heat floods my body in preparation, in craven need.

  Suddenly, he tears his mouth away. Shock is clear on his face, no, no please and there it is: regret. He closes his eyes as he shakes his head.

  “Please, don’t say it,” I beg him.

  “I should not have done that. I apologize.” He’s moving away from me. Pulling away, yet my knees refuse to stand on their own. I almost fall, he catches me, and all too briefly I’m back in his arms before he settles me onto the chair in front of his desk. “Please forgive me. I—”

  “No.”

  He rises to his full height in front of me. “What?”

  “I don’t forgive you, for anything. Are you trying to fuck with my head? Is this how you get your kicks?”

  Thank god he’s confused.

  “No, of course not. This is wrong. You are my employee. I am the one in the position of control. Regardless of the fact that is exactly how I prefer it in my personal life, when it comes to getting involved with someone who works for me...” He shakes his head. “The unevenness of it is wrong. I do not want you to feel as if you are compelled to be with me in order to keep your job. Which you are not leaving, by the way.”

  He’s lost his mind. I can’t stay.

  “Look at me, Christina.”

  Defiantly, I refuse. I won’t stay and he can’t make me. Holy crap, I flinch at the lethal threat in his eyes. He is vibrating with pure menace, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

  “You aren’t going anywhere. It’s not fucking happening. Walk away, and I’ll make you regret the thought ever crossing your mind.” The threat is so potent I do not doubt him for moment.

  And holy fucking shit I am soaking wet for him. It’s gone, his control, his cool, the careful façade he maintains so effortlessly is cracked for a hard and fast minute. Over me, because of me. I have no idea why instead of scaring me, like I’m pretty sure it should, it thri
lls the fuck out of me. I might need my head examined as well as my hearing.

  “Make me stay.”

  He takes a step toward me then stops as he catches himself. “One hundred and fifty thousand a year, including a clothing bonus of ten thousand a month.”

  This fucker. I shake my head. Terrified if I open my mouth I will lose control completely.

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand a year and a clothing bonus of twenty thousand a month. That is all, Christina. There cannot be anything more. Look at me, damn it. Do not hide from this just because it is not what you want to hear.

  “I fuck, Christina. I do not make love. I do not date. I do not have relationships. A few hours of mutual pleasure, there is no sleeping together. I do not cuddle or hold hands. I just fuck. For a week, two at most. Often, I only need once. You are not cut out for what I do.” Those last words are almost an apology.

  “You are my employee and you will stay my employee. You could not endure the aftermath of us working together once we ended. You would ask for more, and it will only hurt you when I cannot give you what you want. Yes, you make my cock hard, but the release you could give me I could get from anyone. That is not what I want from you. I want your brilliance at making me money and that is all.”

  Every word is a cut to my skin. I look down, wondering where the blood is; I could have sworn I was bleeding out. How can it hurt so badly when he was saying everything I knew? He wants to fuck me, but not enough to lose the money I could make him. He wants me, but not more than he wants money.

  Anger builds until it blinds me. How the hell could he hurt me so much and I still want him? Why do I want so badly to go down on my knees and beg him? What the fuck is wrong with me? All at once my stomach turns. I need to get away from him, before I embarrass us both. I find my legs and rise from the chair. He steps back, he doesn’t come near me. Turning away, I make it to the door on unsteady legs.