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

by Hayson Manning

  “I feel so guilty. That stupid bet over the compass,” I grind out. “I still see James going through the ice, followed by Mom. I couldn’t move my feet.” My throat closes and dries as the image replays in my mind, as it does every single night I’m here.

  She pales as if I’d killed her only child and grandchild all over again, dug them up, and set them on fire.

  “No, Jason, no. Your father was supposed to be watching you and James, but he was on the phone chasing yet another doomed business venture. Sonya had a terrible headache, probably from all the fighting, and was resting.” She shakes her head. “It is not lost on me that my daughter was blinded by your father’s good looks. Your father didn’t marry for love. I don’t think your father is capable of love, but he married Sonya for my money.” A long sigh escapes her. “Your father didn’t even know where you and James were that day.” Her face hardens. “If your father had been parenting, none of this would have happened, which I informed him, and like the true coward he was, he left that day.” She ages visibly before my eyes. “Jason, you can’t live James’s life. Live the life you want to lead.” She kisses my forehead, and her voice is firm. “But make no mistake, if you are not truly at peace with your past, I will have no option but to gift this wretch of a house. It’s time we all moved on.” She walks from the room.

  I slump deep into the chair. I vaguely remember my parents maybe had argued that morning, but they argued so much it was hard to tell if it was that morning or any other. I remember my father always chasing a dream venture. He still does. He’d tell us about it with stars in his eyes only for us to receive a nonchalant shrug weeks or months after if we asked about it. I don’t know what glue held my parents together; what seven-year-old does? But I remember a lot of arguments, fighting, and slammed doors. I don’t remember a lot of affection between them.

  One thing my grandmother is very, very wrong about is me living James’s life. I am not. I am living the life I’ve been destined to live.

  As for coming to terms with this house, I’ll have to be way more convincing to my grandmother I am at peace with the world and am, in fact, ready to settle down.

  One voice, one face, floats into my mind and won’t leave. A face with sparkling hazel eyes, a smart mouth, and a smile which fills me with sunshine.

  There’s only one thing for it.

  Time to get back to work and put this all behind me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Asia

  I’d had a bad day until I found Angus, and I whooped around on the ride-on mower. When I asked him about Jason as a boy, he’d clammed up and said I should ask the source. Well, that isn’t going to get me anywhere. Besides, why did it matter? We were only here for another seven long, long, days. Well, the good news is, I haven’t seen Jason since our disastrous morning-after chat.

  Yeah, we had sex where we burned for each other. It was like two firecrackers the size of New York setting the sky alive. Alive? I haven’t felt this alive forever. It was like winning the lottery, finding religion, and freedom after years of being trapped in a cult. I thought I liked sex. Well, it turns out with Jason I love sex. The thrust of him deep in my body, his possessive dark eyes holding mine, his teeth nipping my nipples, my inner thighs. He’s marked me everywhere.

  My face heats when I remember his moans when I sank my teeth into tight ass muscle, my lips on his until he groaned, my mouth claiming.

  Then morning broke and, along with it, a little bit of my heart because of the conversation. The conversation where Jason had said it was a mistake, he wished he could take it back, and would I sign the amended contract. I didn’t expect a declaration of love, but admitting it was a mistake and he has no feelings? I’m not buying into the bullshit. The man has feelings, he just doesn’t want to admit he has. Not about me—of that, I’m well assured. But there is something more than circuit boards driving his mind. Good luck to the girl, guy, or psychiatric hospital who is going to find what maketh the man work.

  There’s a charming text on my phone informing me my services are not needed as he will work by himself.

  I bang out an email to my sister begging her to contact me, silently pleading for her to hit reply, and wait, and wait, and wait.

  Feeling doomy and gloomy, I head for the garage where I find a pair of ice skates I should be able to squeeze into. Warmth radiates throughout my body. I have a memory of my grandmother holding my hand in a makeshift rink that popped up in downtown LA. I can still taste the frosty air that hurt my lungs, the laughter as people glided by or groans as they fell, but it was something I was good at. A natural, I heard people say that day, and it’s a memory I want to replicate, right down to the cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows bobbing in the cup.

  Today is going to be a happy day.

  Today I’m going ice skating on the pond.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jason

  Something catches my eye as I pound out an email in the downstairs office where I snuck off to this morning before the birds were doing their thing. A therapist I’d had a couple of sessions with to kick the nightmares had told me I used work to escape emotional pain and whatever I don’t want to talk about. Utter bullshit. Work keeps me sane.

  The something is small and moving with speed outside. A turquoise scarf whips in the biting wind.

  Someone is on the lake.

  Someone is skating on the lake.

  Air locks in the chest. Ice is freezing in my veins. I watch in horror as someone falls.

  “Jesus! Fuck!”

  I bolt to the window and throw it open. “Asia!”

  She doesn’t hear me over the wind that is picking up.

  She picks herself up off the ice and skates away, giving me her back. Her tinkling laughter is a bomb to my ears.

  “Asia. Get off the fucking ice!”

  I’m out the window and sprinting toward her, my heart thumping like a bull in a fight, the air seizing in my chest as I hit the ice sprinting.

  She is farther away than I thought, but I keep sprinting as something sharp bites into my foot.

  “Asia!” I shout at the top of my voice. “Get off the ice. Now!” I’m still running, but she’s skating slowly away. At my voice, she turns.

  “Don’t ruin this for me, Jason. I’m reliving a beautiful memory with my grandmother.”

  “Get off. Now!” I’m ten feet away from her.

  “No.” She tries to skate faster, but adrenaline is shocking my body. I grab her coat and spin her to me and try to drag her off the ice.

  I’ve got to get her off the frozen pond. Now.

  “Let me go.” She frowns. “What’s wrong with you? What are you doing?”

  She shrugs out of my hold and moves away.

  Not on my watch.

  I make another lunge for her and grab the hair whipping around her face.

  She’s not getting away this time. I wrap the strands around my fist and pull.

  “Jason!” Her hand comes to pry away my fingers while I pull her toward land.

  “Stop it. Let go of my hair.”

  Not a fucking chance.

  One hand is still holding her hair while I grab her shoulder and propel her toward the house.

  I can see nothing, hear nothing but the beating of my heart and the white of the ice.

  “Stop it, you’re hurting me!”

  Under any other circumstance, I would never inflict pain on another human being and would let her go in a heartbeat, but these aren’t normal circumstances.

  My breath is coming in jagged bursts. Cold sweat dampens my body, and every muscle is twitching.

  Finally, after what feels like a year, I pull her to the ground on top of me, cushioning her fall. She’s safe. I roll off her and look up to find the entire army of staff, Angus, and my grandmother staring down at us in various stages of horror.

  Asia is swatting her cheeks and pulling off the skates.

  “I can’t believe you did that. You are such an asshole!” She
throws a skate beside me. More swatting of tears and the other skate is thrown on the ground. I thought she’d throw them at my head.

  Better being an asshole than watching her go to a watery grave.

  She jumps to her feet and bolts while I lay staring at a gray sky with a barely beating heart. The adrenaline is bleeding from my muscles. Acid churns in my gut, and I’m exhausted.

  “Jason.” My grandmother looms over me. “Come inside.” Her face is white and pinched. “Your feet.”

  With a concerted effort, I stand and wince. My feet are raw and bleeding. I had no idea I wasn’t wearing shoes when I bolted out the window. Someone throws a blanket over my shoulders as I limp toward the door.

  “I’m fine. Superficial.”

  “You are not fine. Nothing about this is fine.” She pushes me toward the door. I’m shivering. Jeans, a T-shirt, and no shoes aren’t recommended for running on ice.

  I’m led to my grandmother’s bathroom, where she produces a first aid kit and starts wiping my feet with alcohol wipes. I go to pull out my phone, but it isn’t in my pocket. It’s either on the ice or at my desk.

  “Can someone check on Asia?”

  “Asia is fine. Probably a bit humiliated being dragged off the ice by her hair in front of the staff, but she’ll be fine.”

  I wince as she swipes a deep cut. Not for me but for Asia.

  “What were you thinking?” She’s placing Band-Aids with smiley faces on my feet. The irony is not lost on me.

  “I wasn’t.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I saw her skating on the pond, and I couldn’t see that happen again.”

  My heart is doing cartwheels in my chest. If I could take my pulse, I’d say it would be thready.

  “Come, Jason, there is much we need to discuss.”

  I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “This is important and cannot wait.”

  I’ll get to Asia in a minute. God knows what I’ll say to her; I’m hoping the words will drop into my brain.

  My grandmother lowers herself onto her couch in her private living room. I haven’t been in here for years, but it feels the same. A mahogany card table. A bag of knitting. Huh. I didn’t know she knitted. Different colored knitted blankets are strewn across the four couches.

  A pot of tea and shots of whiskey are brought in by a pale Annika, who glares at me and hands me my phone, muttering something—probably foul—in Swedish, before she leaves the room on a soft click.

  I take the shot glass and down it. It burns my throat and stomach. Exactly what I need.

  Gran puts a cup of tea in front of me. She’s always loved Earl Grey, hot with a slice of lemon. I didn’t like it years ago. I take a sip. Nope. Still hate it. The cup rattles in the saucer.

  “Aren’t you going to take a shot?”

  She shakes her head. “That’s for you for after.”

  My head shoots up.

  “I like Asia. I like her very much. I see the way you look at her.”

  It’s physical, I want to explain, but say nothing at the hope shining in my grandmother’s eyes. It’s like I’m breathing in spikes, slicing my lungs with every breath.

  “She’s good for you, Jason. She doesn’t take your grumpy moods. She’s the one, I know it in my marrow.”

  I lift my eyes to meet hers, and my hand convulses.

  She smiles at me sadly. “You have to talk to her, really talk to Asia about what happened. Let her in.”

  Talk to her? Let her in? I’d rather battle raging hyenas with a bleating goat attached to my back than talk to Asia about my past. My boarding school buds know. We hold our secrets bound in blood.

  Grandmother strokes my hand, and I lean into the affection. It’s the longest she’s ever touched me outside of shaking hands.

  “You are good for each other. You and Asia can overcome any obstacle thrown at you. I see the way she looks at you.”

  We don’t look at each other. We stab each other with our eyes. We share lust-filled glances. But there isn’t affection in her hazel eyes.

  What should I do now? Confess the relationship is as real as Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and a Playboy bunny’s tits? I go to open my mouth, but she stops me with a look of such profound sadness, that my blood stops and reverses route.

  “The thing is, Jason, I’m dying.”

  I rear back like I’ve been whipped with burning wires that sink into my flesh and penetrate my bones, but she holds fast and draws my hands closer.

  I rip my hands from hers and pace the room, then pull my phone from my pocket. “What are we talking about here?” I am way better at planning and getting shit done, because right now I can’t lose her. I can’t.

  “Ovarian cancer. I’ve known something wasn’t right for a while, but I didn’t act, and now here we are.” She waves a hand.

  She waves her hand dismissively as if it means nothing, and she’s just dismissed it like it’s all okay. Dandy even.

  I’m on Dr. Google and clicking links. My heart screeches to a halt as I scroll down. Blood drains from my head, and I slump into a chair, then stare at her with burning eyes. “But there are options. I see them here.” I wave my phone at her.

  “Jason, no.”

  “We’ve got money. There must be some outrageous potential cure we can throw the Johnson money at. It’s the Johnson way.” My throat is closing.

  “It is the Johnson way, but it won’t work this time. I’ve had specialists flown in from Switzerland, France. I have had consultations here, and the prognosis is the same.” She draws a hitched breath. “I want to go out with dignity and on my terms, not hooked up to tubes, unable to get out of bed until I am someone who is pitied.” She juts her chin at me. “I will never be pitied.”

  She’s got me there. Cynthia will go out on her terms and her terms only.

  “How long?” I grind out. My jaw is so tight I rub the tortured muscles holding it imprisoned.

  “As long as it takes.” She pats my hand. “Now, I’d be very honored if you had the wedding here. A small ceremony in the next couple of days before ….” Her eyes swim with tears.

  Wait. Married? What is she talking about? Did I miss a conversation?

  “Married?” I venture, and her eyes grow wide and shine.

  “It would make me the happiest woman on the planet to know you have married Asia and settled down.”

  Married? Settled down? A cold sweat blankets my body.

  I try to swallow, but my mouth is a desert.

  “So, can I start preparing for the ceremony? Time is of the essence.” I can see her mentally planning while my heart shatters. God, if it keeps her around on the planet longer, I’ll get married in every religion going and possibly invent some new ones.

  Finally, finally, when I get to spend time with my grandmother, she drops the mother of all bombs in my lap. No, not bombs, but grenades with a launcher.

  I stayed away too long.

  Regret and my new best friend, shame, are tied with a ribbon of sorrow.

  I will not let her down.

  The deal is cemented with my nod.

  It looks like I’m getting married.

  Blood drops from my head in a sudden, dizzying swoop to hang out with my feet covered in happy face Band-aids. The irony is not lost on me. I’m going straight to hell where I will burn for all eternity or freeze in some ice-filled crevasse with chatty clowns for company. It’s no more than I deserve.

  A four-hundred-pound weight has landed on my chest. My fingers shake like a junkie coming off a high.

  “Good, it’s settled.” My grandmother pats my hand.

  I’m frozen. I nod, trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth, then scrub a hand across my face.

  How the hell am I going to convince Asia to marry me in the next couple of days? Scrap that. How am I going to convince Asia to marry me at all?

  Could we pull it off? Could we get married, then have a quiet breakup when we get back and keep it on the down low?

  That could work.


  Ideas churn in my head, along with the acid building at the back of my throat. We’re compatible in bed. Big tick right there. She’s kind of funny and snarky and does, occasionally, make me smile. That’s a plus in the ledger. I could pay her a shit ton of money. Everyone likes money. Having my assistant in my bed isn’t without merit.

  I can have a slice of Asia’s butterball cake and eat it, too.

  We can play house until we’re back in Cali, then get an annulment or whatever.

  But first up, I’m going to have to do something I’ve never done in my life. Talk to Asia about what happened all those years ago, because I have to convince my assistant to stay and not storm out of my life. If I remind her what’s at stake, she’ll back down, hopefully. But to do so, I’m going to have to talk to her. Really talk to her, which is about as appetizing as a slug sandwich with jizz (not mine) sauce.

  My skin is too small for my body. My spine is holding muscles in a vice, and I swear I’m going to have to book a dental appointment. My molars are forever fused and my jaw aches, but it’s the cranking of my heart about talking to Asia that has cold sweat covering my body. Easy. I’ll give her the edited Cliff Notes version of what happened. Maybe she’ll agree to marry me and then we can put this farce to bed.

  I jog to our room.

  Our empty room.

  There is no mouthy assistant. Only a note telling me she’s leaving, and for me to go to hell.

  I close my eyes and wince.

  Don’t worry, baby, I’m already there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Asia

  I’m sitting at a bus stop waiting for an Uber, which is another twenty minutes away. I cannot catch a break. The angry purple clouds from earlier make good on their promise. I pull my puffer coat tighter, trying to stop the wrack of shivers as rain laces my face and sticks my hair to my scalp. I look skyward.