Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance

by Hayson Manning

  A strangled sound comes from my throat. My hands are damp. For the third time today, I have blue balls.

  “Get it,” I grind out before my brain and mouth converse. I wave a hand like a conductor.

  She places the offending item back on the rack. I make a note of exactly where she put it.

  “A girl can dream,” she says, her cheeks pink.

  A man can dream.

  “You’re not buying me underwear.” She nods at the counter, frowns, then walks toward the clothes. “All this is bad enough.” I grab the bra set and hold it behind my back.

  She’s going through the pile, muttering, then jerks to a halt. “Did you get these scarves for your grandmother?”

  I wave a hand; I’d rather not be having this conversation. “They’re for your moods.”

  Her face softens, and her mouth forms a perfect O. “You remembered.”

  “Photographic memory.” I dismiss the comment. “Could you pick something out for my grandmother?”

  Asia smiles, then darts between shelves, while I have a conversation with the sales assistant.

  “One in every color in this size.” I hold out the lacy set. “Can you please have everything but the coat delivered?” I scribble the address on the pad she provides.

  “I’ll arrange delivery this afternoon.” She gives me a sad smile. “The good ones are always taken,” she says. Tall, blond, and attractive, she’d be my usual type.

  I, on the other hand, am definitely not taken.

  Asia arrives back with a light green cashmere scarf and hand-warmer set and a blue T-shirt in a man’s size. Suspiciously my size, but not in black.

  “What do you think?”

  “Perfect,” I say and mean it. Gran hates the cold but loves the great outdoors. I hate the thought of her being cold. “The T-shirt, though, not sure who’s going to wear it.”

  “You are. I’m going to bust you out of your black prison.” She shoulder bumps me. I add the T-shirt so we don’t have a stand-up fight about a shirt I’ll never wear.

  “You’re a lucky girl. Your ring is gorgeous,” the assistant remarks as I hold my card against the scanner. “When’s the big day?”

  Asia startles beside me. My mind is blank.

  “Ah, we haven’t settled on a date yet. All quite new. Lots of planning to do.” Asia perks up. Now that shocks me into silence.

  I must talk to her about the ring. It is not something a man of my means would buy his fiancée.

  Tall and blond narrows her baby blues. “You’re a Johnson, aren’t you? My mom heard you were coming back into town.” Recognition and something else sparks in her eyes. I know exactly what that spark is, and I’m out of here.

  I grab the green coat and place it on Asia’s shoulders. She starts to protest. I glare down at her. She glares back.

  “You’re a really lucky girl,” Tall and blond says. “I hope you have the wedding here. It would be great for the town, and everyone loves your grandmother. She’s hired a lot of staff and never lets people go. My mom cleans on the second floor,” she says proudly.

  The second floor where my assistant and I currently sleep. My heart literally sinks in my chest. I should have thought about my grandmother’s influence in the town. We’ll be the talk of the small town before we’re back at the house. Which means we have nowhere to hide. All eyes will be on the prodigal grandson and his blushing soon-to-be bride.

  This shit just got serious.

  We don’t have to only convince my grandmother, but the entire town will report back to her on what we’re doing. Bickering, fighting, pulling each other in opposite directions.

  Tall and blond steps back. “What’s wrong? The look on your face is like someone has murdered your puppy, then run it over.”

  Asia peers at me. “It’s his serial killer look.”

  Tall and blond frowns at us. My shoulder muscles are imprisoning my spine, my back teeth are fused, and I tug my hand through my hair.

  “Come on, beautiful.” I grab my assistant. “I’m going to do you for lunch.”

  I smile at the sharp inhale from the shop assistant. Now, that’ll get the town talking.

  Chapter Seven

  Asia

  We are indeed having lunch back at the house of doom. We’re seated around the massive dining table, which is formally set. I have no idea if I’m picking up the correct fork or in fact why I have so many forks. I sit beside Jason, not across from him. Cynthia raises an eyebrow but says nothing. To break the silence that doesn’t seem to bother either of them, I chat away and guzzle wine and shiver in the massive room. They should roast hogs in the fireplace. More wine is sipped as we eat wafer-thin smoked salmon, capers, and a variety of meats I’m too afraid to ask about. One looks like ham. Turkey maybe. Wild boar? Probably. And little blobby black slimy-looking things I’m currently moving around the plate with possibly the wrong fork.

  “Caviar,” Jason says, forking a mouthful. I must look blank because he continues. “Roe from a sturgeon fish.” At my blank look he clarifies. “Ovum. Unfertilized eggs.”

  I push the plate away.

  “You like living in Los Angeles?” Cynthia says from across the chasm.

  “I do,” I say, sucking back another mouthful of wine. Whatever this is, it should make up the five food groups in the pyramid thing. “I live in an apartment block in…”

  “Santa Monica,” Jason interjects. We really haven’t rehearsed this much at all. Saying I live in a postcode I’ve never set foot in might raise an eyebrow. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live. It’s where I grew up, and the only place my sister will know to find me. I couldn’t leave if I tried.

  “Yes, Santa Monica. Lovely part of the world,” I say, having never stepped foot on the fabled pier or third street promenade. That’s taking window shopping to a degree I can’t imagine.

  “I live in an apartment block where we have movie nights every two weeks. We’re one big eclectic family and we’re always there for each other,” I say, warming to the topic. “We hang out and Netflix and chill.”

  Jason chokes on his wine. “Jesus, all of you? A group Netflix and chill session?”

  My face burns. “No! We actually hang out and Netflix and chill.” I poke him in the ribs. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “I had a great image there for a second,” he murmurs and shoots me a dark, smoldering look.

  “And what do you do for a job, my dear?” Cynthia asks.

  Now, this is a topic I can dig into. “I’m a personal assistant to a megalomaniac, closed-off, lonely man. The only time I’ve seen him smile is when he’s doing his adult coloring. His daffodils are a work of art.”

  Jason snorts beside me.

  “Why do you stay?” Cynthia asks. Her smooth forehead tries to crinkle.

  “The money is fantastic. I’ve got a few side projects going, and the money is too good to give up, so I put up with his demanding ways.”

  Jason twirls his glass. “I know your boss. He’s charming and charismatic.”

  “Yeah, when he’s coloring daffodils and tulips,” I shoot back.

  Jason’s phone beeps into life, and we both reach for our phones. We scan the email at the same time.

  A call for action has us both standing.

  “You have your phones synchronized?” Cynthia narrows her eyes and looks between us.

  “Makes for easier scheduling,” Jason quips while heat climbs my face.

  “Date night is tonight,” I scramble. “I sent Jason a reminder.” I look at the man of the hour. “Not sure where he’s going to woo me tonight.”

  “I know exactly where I’m going to woo you tonight.”

  Hours later and the crisis averted (contracts were redrawn after the vendor had a minor funding issue), we are now seated at a cute bar in a booth. The scent of fries, whiskey, and beer waft in the air. A trio of singers playing a mix of jazz, country, and rock sounds awesome. We’ve had a few curious looks, probably because we stood at the do
or and argued about who should open it—me for female equality, him because caveman.

  What Jason said in the department store has me rattled. We are going to be on display like we are now. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It’s easy to pretend in front of Cynthia, but an entire town and possibly royalty has my stomach in knots. Our appearance together will have to be Oscar-worthy.

  I gulp a mouthful of my lemon drop martini and put being on display like mannequins out of my mind and concentrate on the wonderful beverage in front of me. Lemon drops are another thing to add to my list of awesome new things I’ve tried.

  Jason sips his Scotch, tapping away on his phone. I shake my head. He’s always working.

  The cute bartender lifts his eyebrows and points at my drink. I give him a smile and a thumbs up.

  “Stop flirting with the bartender.” Jason lifts his head, and those stormy eyes latch onto mine.

  “We’re supposed to be on date night.” I take another sip. I really need to get the recipe. “You know, wooing me and all.”

  “I don’t woo.” He puts the phone down on the table. All of him is darkness tonight, as always. It’s his preferred color. Tonight, he’s in a black sweater, a matching scarf on the bench beside him. Kick Kick assass black denim hugs his thighs in all the right places.

  “Sure you do. How else do you get the ladies?” My neck is now warm enough that I pull the blue cashmere scarf from my neck and plop it beside me.

  “We swipe and meet up. We push mutually beneficial buttons, hang out, until I ultimately move on.”

  “Ah, the swipers.”

  “Indeed.” He twirls his drink, and I’m drawn to his giant paws and how they held me like treasure last night. Hands I should not be thinking about at all.

  “Your mood needs lightening?” His gaze lands on my scarf.

  For a moment, I’m impressed he listened, but my shoulders slump when I remember the photographic memory comment.

  “Often having a bad day around you,” I say with more meaning than I intend. Honestly, there are days when I’d rather duel with a rabid raccoon than deal with him and his scowly moods, along with the insane hours we work. It’s brutal. But being around him day and night is distracting and disconcerting. “If I could have purchased that pink lingerie, everything would be pink. You know, my happy place.”

  I blink.

  “That was supposed to stay in my head.” I glare at the lemony drink.

  Jason’s eyes flare, and for a moment, I feel like he’s a big panther, and I’m a gazelle he’s stalking.

  “We’re on date night, right?” His deep voice sends shivers up my spine.

  “We are,” I confirm. “Though you’re batting a zero on the wooing scale. Not that I’d know. I’ve not been wooed in an exceedingly long time.” I freeze. “That wasn’t supposed to come out either.” But it’s true. Between working Jason’s schedule, making dresses, fostering strays, and trying to find my sister, I have barely enough time to get five hours of sleep a night. My only wooing buddy is Leonardo who is battery powered.

  Dark brows rise, and a rakish smile transforms his face.

  I finish the drink, catch the bartender’s eye, and hold up a finger.

  Two menus are placed before us by a server who plays with her hair, pushes out her assets, and faces Jason, completely ignoring me.

  I shake my head and run my eye down the menu.

  “I’ll have the Mountain Burger with fries and coleslaw, please,” I say to the server’s back. She writes my order on her pad, her focus on Jason.

  “I’ll have The Works burger and fries.” He smiles at the server who all but swoons.

  “Date night’s going well,” I remark to the table. The server has moved away, and we are left bathed in a perfume that attacks my sinuses.

  The cute bartender saunters over and places the drink before me. He really is cute and smiles at me like he’d like to know me better.

  “Stop hitting on my fiancée,” Jason growls from beside me, tossing his arm across my shoulder.

  The bartender startles, holds up his hands, then backs away.

  We sit in strained silence. I’m trying hard to ignore the hand on my shoulder and the circles he’s drawing, which sends heat between my legs. My heart is ramping up to cardio levels.

  I swat at his hand. “Stop it. It’s distracting,”

  “Didn’t know I got to you.” He smirks.

  “You couldn’t get under my skin if you were a plastic surgeon and I needed a graft,” I say with a practiced smile on my face.

  “Practicing my part, that’s all. Trying my hand at wooing.” His fingers burn through my layers of clothing and turn my blood into sparkles.

  We are saved—well, I am—by the food arriving. Jason looks down at me when I add ketchup and ranch to the plate.

  “It’s delicious,” I say, swirling fries through it. I take a bite of burger and moan. Bacon, avocado, smoky sauce, and a hint of blue cheese on a baked bun.

  I’m halfway through my burger when I catch Jason’s eye. My face heats again.

  “I love that you eat with abandon. You don’t order a salad and pretend you’re dieting.”

  I consider this. “I probably should order the salad and half a cherry tomato.” I wipe the serviette across my mouth. I have curves, and I’m not embarrassed by them. It’s not like I have a magic wand and could gym-junky my body into hard planes.

  “No, you shouldn’t order the salad.” His gaze drops over my body.

  Now it is my turn to stare up at him, luckily without my jaw open. I had no idea he’d ever noticed me. He prefers tall, leggy blonds that he can bang on boardroom tables, not short brunettes he’ll never bang on any table.

  Flustered, I stuff my mouth full of fries and bolt down another lemon drop.

  Half an hour later, I’m full of chocolate and raspberry cheesecake. I slowed down on the lemon drops when I took a trip to the ladies’ earlier and wobbled.

  “When’s the wooing going to start?” I ask, leaning back against the soft leather booth. I’m sitting across from Jason now. No more drawing distracting circles on my shoulders. He leans forward, grabs my left hand, and frowns.

  “Why did you choose a ring so small?” He traces over the small stones with his finger. “Most other girls would have picked out a massive diamond and handed me the bill.”

  I shrug and try to pull my hand away, but he’s staring at the ring. “I’m not most girls,” I say, flashing him a grin. As in, I’m not his type at all. “I have a ring in mind for when I find my one and only.”

  His brows draw in. “What’s the ring like?”

  I see the ring in my mind. “It’s not conventional, but our initials intertwined with rubies, emeralds, amethysts. The colors of the rainbow and our life together.”

  “Asia Brown, there is nothing conventional about you,” he replies cryptically and takes another small sip of his whiskey. He’s on his first, where I’ve stopped at three. Lemon drop martinis are proving to be a lip loosener.

  “So, what’s with the whole three-week thing?” I ask, curious because some of the women who’ve tried to get back into his life via me have been genuinely shocked when he ended things.

  He shrugs an impressive shoulder and looks thoughtful for a second. “I’m not the man they want. The guy who wants the kids and the minivan with the giant shedding dog.” A ghost of a smile pulls his full lips. “I’m upfront with the women I date. We won’t be going to cake tasting sessions.”

  I laugh. The image of Jason eating tiny slices of cake is hilarious.

  His eyes sparkle.

  “You don’t eat cake. I should know, I made you one for your birthday.”

  His eyes hook mine. “Poor form on my behalf, to which I don’t believe I ever apologized.”

  “Nope, you never did, and it was a chocolate butterball—world famous in my mind and my absolute favorite.” I twirl my glass. “What’s with hating on cakes?”

  He doesn’t speak for a while, and
I blow out a frustrated breath. Of course he won’t tell me. A myriad of emotions are hiding behind those dark, turbulent eyes.

  “It brought back a memory that rattled me. Something I hadn’t remembered in a long time.” He’s been staring out the window, but now his attention is on me. “I apologize for the cake. I’m sure it would have been delicious.”

  There’s remorse and guilt in his eyes, and something else. “Thank you for the apology.” I stare at him some more because something isn’t adding up. “So back to the three-week thing. I don’t think every woman wants to waltz down the aisle. So why not give it a shot for longer? You might even get to a couple of months and decide you’ve found a keeper.”

  “There’d be no point. Everything always comes down to them wanting to build something solid down the line, and I’m not him.” He pauses. “Some women also want to be seen with me. Connections to people, dining in the better restaurants, skiing in Whistler. I’ve had more photos of me in compromising positions than I can count.” His voice could crack steel. “I never have or ever will consent to a photo being taken of me that will end up in the Cloud. And never, ever to a video.”

  I remember. To say he was furious was to say Thor was a garden gnome with a toothpick for a hammer. The girl in question had been paid off, but what I think really hurt Jason was that he genuinely liked her—her betrayal cut deep.

  “And if I’m honest, I get bored. There’s only so much restaurant small talk about the weather and other shit I have no interest in.” More swirls of the glass and more scowls appear.

  My bladder lets me know it needs a break. I tell Jason and head to use the facilities. Of course there’s a line, but I get to listen to the local gossip after sending Jamaica another email asking her if we could meet anywhere, anytime.

  A medium-sized brunette with her flannel shirt undone shows a black lacy bra. Classy. She’s chatting to a girl Jason would salivate over. Tall, blond, crystal blue eyes, and long legs in skintight jeans. It makes me pull in a breath, wondering how she got into them.