The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend - Part 2 (The Billionaire Saga)

by Sierra Rose

  How did one throw away Prada?

  I pinched the Dumpster lid between two fingers and peeked tentatively inside, reeling back in horror at the stench of rotting food and garbage coming from within. My arms tightened automatically, protecting the innocent clothes.

  I couldn’t toss them on top of all of that, could I? Even if I did want a cathartic cleanse, the clothes hadn’t done anything wrong. They were just helpless bystanders, caught in the middle of all this.

  I hugged them to my chest, debating my options. Suddenly, I brightened. I darted back to my car and pulled out an old garment bag. I bundled up the memories solemnly into the bag. The least I could do was offer them this little amount of protection. Who knows? Maybe some poor girl exactly my size would be rooting through the trash, find them, and start a new chapter. A chapter where all her dreams would come true. Or maybe they’d rot in a landfill for the rest of time. With a long sigh, I returned to the dumpster.

  But I still couldn’t do it.

  Come on, Bex, have a little will power.

  It just seemed like such a waste. And what if it was the nine vodka shooters talking? I didn’t want to wake up in the morning and regret what I’d done…

  “Considering a move?”

  A greasy voice made me jump and turn around. Teller Hamberg, my landlord from hell, was meandering slowly across the parking lot, eyeing the Dumpster with a wicked grin.

  “This could be a step in the right direction.” He looked it up and down. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you a reference.”

  I kept my eyes straight forward, struggling to control my rage. I didn’t have it in me to deal with this man right now. But of course, Hamberg couldn’t leave it alone.

  “And as much as I’d like to help with first and last, I’m afraid I won’t be able to return your security deposit either. That mangy cat of yours is sure to have done some damage—”

  “Listen up, you little, slimy worm!”

  His eyes bugged out, and he fell back a step as my voice echoed through the lot.

  “I have neither the time nor patience to deal with you and your pathetic little ‘my entire vocabulary is rooted in housing terminology’ threats! I got your eviction notice already, and I have the money to pay you. So either accept it and back the fuck off, or don’t, and I’ll write you up for sexual harassment as well as being a pain in my ass before I go!”

  My voice echoed off into silence and a warm flush hummed through my chest.

  That felt…great! I should have done it months ago! Talk about a cathartic experience—maybe now I didn’t have to throw away my clothes…

  For a second, I thought he was going to be sick. But he eventually pulled himself together enough to stammer, “E-eviction notice? You’re not being evicted. I mean, not anymore.”

  I jutted out my chin. “Damn right I’m not, wait—what do you mean, not anymore?”

  He looked at me like maybe I was stupid. “Your back rent has all been paid.”

  My face went blank. “What?”

  “By that man who climbed up the fire escape to your apartment. He paid everything the first day he came here.”

  With sudden clarity, I pieced together several things at once. The day the papers had spilled from my car and Marcus had helped me pick them up. The casual way he’d stuffed his hands deep in his pockets before saying goodbye. The way I’d been distractedly surprised that Hamberg wasn’t bothering me about leaving.

  At first I was just shocked. Why wouldn’t Marcus tell me? What was the point of a gesture like that if I didn’t even know it was from him?

  Of course, Marcus had paid. Because paying for things was so very easy for him. Because it required no human emotion, only a checkbook.

  This acting gig was supposed to be emotionless! This wasn’t supposed to include back rent! This wasn’t supposed to end with a proposal on a grand stage!

  I walked over to the nearby Goodwill bin. I finally decided that I would donate the clothing to charity rather than throw it away. With an exasperated shriek, I lifted the lid and tossed the garment bag carelessly into the bin. Then I went back upstairs, leaving a bewildered Hamberg Teller behind.

  That was it—everything out!

  I stomped through the entire apartment, black Sharpie-ing Marcus-related events off the calendar, throwing out old mocha cups and two Ferris wheel tickets I’d kept from that night at the beach. I got rid of anything and everything I could…until I got to the bracelet.

  It was hanging up on my nightstand, dangling from my lamp so that when the sun rose every morning, it sparkled light all over my walls.

  The rampage stopped with the bracelet. I plucked it from the lamp and stuffed it deep in my purse, but I kept it. I simply couldn’t bear to throw it away.

  That fact alone made me want to slap myself.

  Here I was placing all the blame on Marcus, but I had been the idiot to go along with his crazy plan. I was the one who lied at the party to begin with and planted the notion in his head. I was the one who’d placed the money behind the popsicles, and I was the one who had kissed him back on the beach that day. I was the one who let my feelings get involved.

  Yes, the blame was at least partially on me.

  …but at least I didn’t propose.

  Amanda called me. And I told her everything.

  “What did you think was going to happen, Bex?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you think the billionaire was going to kiss you, then get on his knees and really propose to you? C’mon! Get out of dreamland.”

  “No, of course not. But we both felt emotion in those kisses. I know there was something there.”

  “Chemistry.”

  “No, it was more. And he just blew them off as kisses to make the ‘fake girlfriend gig’ look even more convincing.”

  “Why did you kiss him?”

  “I was attracted to him from day one. You know that. He’s gorgeous, and when he looked at me, well, I couldn’t resist. I was kissing him for real. It wasn’t just for show. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”

  “The job’s over, right? So just forget about him.”

  “You never kissed him. You can’t forget a kiss like that. You just can’t.”

  “At least you didn’t sleep with him.”

  I blew out a long breath. “If I couldn’t get over a kiss, I’d never get over that.”

  “So forget about the kisses.”

  “How many men can kiss like that? He kissed me like no one has ever done before.”

  “But he’s a player. He kisses girls on a daily basis. It’s what he does. So, of course he’s experienced. He’s an asshole. And he has to hire somebody to make him look like he’s a saint. Just run away while you still can.”

  “His kiss was addictive.”

  “Because he gets lots of practice. Now enough about the kiss! Everything worked out. You did him a big favor, and you got paid. Case closed.”

  “I left a day early. I’m not sure if he’ll even pay me the rest now.”

  “Of course, he will. So what if you bailed out a day early because you got your feelings hurt? You accomplished the job. And if he doesn’t pay you, then he’ll have to deal with me. And I’ll give him hell.”

  “I know you would.”

  “You should’ve let me take the acting gig. I wouldn’t have gotten involved. I love Barry way too much to hurt him.”

  “And Barry would’ve flipped out about the proposal.”

  “Yeah, that might’ve messed things up. It’s a good thing I didn’t take the job.”

  “Let’s put it behind us, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and pondered everything. I was so gullible. I tried to tell myself that those kisses meant nothing. But deep down, I knew they meant something to me. I just wish they would’ve meant something to him.

  Filled with fresh vindication, I deleted his number and ringtone from my phone and hurled myself down on my bed, feeling about
as terrible as possible.

  For one of the first times in my life, I didn’t dream.

  Chapter 3

  To my extreme relief, when I woke up the next morning, everything was perfectly ordinary. There were no galas to attend, no fundraisers with people I didn’t know, no photographers camped outside my window. Because they probably still thought I was in the Caribbean with Marcus. Everything had gone back to the way it was supposed to be. Life had moved on, and I was certainly ready to move on with it.

  I’d gotten up a few minutes before my alarm, and took an uncharacteristic morning shower—usually I was a night person. After quickly blow-drying my hair, I let it fall in loose waves down my back, enjoying the stray curls as I applied a thin dusting of makeup. When I was satisfied, I pulled on my favorite amethyst scrubs and a pair of new running shoes my mom had gotten me in an effort to make me work out. I even wore my lucky robot socks.

  Yep—it was time for a fresh start, and I was going to put my best foot forward. No pun intended. Fine. Pun…kind of intended.

  The point being, I was ready for a clean slate. I even took the time to graciously clean Deevus’ water bowl before I left for work, setting it down with a grand relish in front of him. I headed out to the bus stop with a determined smile. I’d also ignored the red light flashing frantically on my phone. I’d missed a call from my mom, and she’d no doubt left a voicemail chastising me for neglect. I’d call her back after my shift, I decided, throwing the phone onto the sofa. On most days, I’d never consider leaving without it, but this was an exception. The thought of cutting myself off from the world and burying my head in something normal held an absurdly strong appeal, and I skipped merrily down the garbage-lined streets, delighted to be catching the early bus.

  This was going to be a good day, dammit. Even if I had to hold a gun to its head.

  My stellar attitude must have shown because I could have sworn people were looking at me differently on the bus. I avoided the sideways glances and subtle stares with a fixed smile, keeping my eyes fastened on the road as I slid on my sunglasses. Worst case scenario, I had something stuck to my scrubs. Best case scenario, my new aura was already rubbing off on people, and I was going to start a cult of positivity. Either way—not so bad.

  I jumped off the bus a stop early so I could duck into my favorite coffee shop and grab a mocha to keep me going through work. The place was packed as usual, but I slipped quickly into line and watched as my favorite barista, Kelly, danced back and forth behind the counter—multi-tasking with a grace and speed I was certain I could never achieve. My vision blurred distractedly as I started running through my mental checklist for the day. Right after work, I was heading to the bank. Then I needed to send off the first auto repair check to the shop…

  “…pretty sure that’s her. Rebecca something or other…”

  I turned around with a slight frown to see a group of people staring my way. Staring because I was staring, no doubt. My face quickly cleared with an apologetic smile.

  “Sorry, thought I heard my name.”

  They froze for a second before returning nervously to their huddle as I turned back around. A strange chill was creeping slowly up my spine. I didn’t think I could be imagining it. I didn’t think I was being paranoid. People were definitely staring at me.

  My heart sank a fraction of an inch despite my supreme efforts to keep it afloat, and I checked my clothes as discreetly as I could. No big deal. I’d just ask Kelly whatever it was, fix it, and continued on with my sunshiny, normal day.

  “Hey,” I greeted her preemptively as I reached the counter, “do I have something—”

  “Rebecca!” Her face lit up, and she handed me an already prepared mocha-chino. “I see you caught the early bus.” She glanced quickly around, then leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “Congratulations.”

  I blinked. A rather lackluster thing to be congratulated for, but I commended her optimism. That sort of attitude was exactly the thing my new cult of positivity needed.

  “Thanks,” I said slowly, shooting her a curious look before heading back outside.

  Still mulling over the strange encounter, I hurried on down the sidewalk, gripping my mocha in one hand and rummaging around in my purse with the other. The walk through the park to the hospice center wasn’t far, but I still had to step on it if I didn’t want to be late. On that note, I needed to remember to talk to Lisa, my supervisor, about a possible schedule change. I hadn’t fulfilled the end of the bargain by staying the full weekend like I was supposed to. Now that I wasn’t going to be getting the other half of my “supplemental income,” I’d need to pick up an extra shift here or there if I—

  “Ow!”

  My scalding hot mocha spilled down the front of my scrubs as I walked headfirst into a man who had stopped suddenly on the cement. Ripping off the sunglasses, I gave myself a once-over before turning to him, unsure as to whose fault the collision had been.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized quickly, relieved to see that he hadn’t burned himself as well. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  The man’s look of indignation transformed before my very eyes, lighting up to one of scarcely contained excitement as he waved a newspaper at me. “You’re the girl, right?”

  If you live in LA long enough, you learn to avoid getting sucked into people’s crazy.

  I put my sunglasses back on. “No, sorry. Wrong person,” I said quickly as I hurried on past.

  “The girl with Marcus Taylor?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, fighting the urge to smack myself in the forehead.

  Of course.

  The looks on the bus, Kelly’s congratulations, the newspaper. The pictures from the Diabetes Fundraiser Gala had to have come out in the paper. Marcus and I had posed for so many different events these last two weeks I could scarcely keep track.

  And of course, those had to come out today.

  Today of all days. The day after I was making every concerted effort to put those two weeks and that gigantic mistake behind me.

  I was going to have to deal with the fallout sooner or later. I should have expected this.

  Without another word, I walked off through the grove, dodging looks and angry pedestrians alike.

  So much for having a Marcus-free morning, I thought as I tipped my change automatically into my customary homeless man’s cup. Not that it would have lasted long anyway. The second Amanda got home, I’d have to relive the whole thing. I’d have to relive it when I pulled that money out of the freezer and finally took it to the bank (an errand I’d been postponing on the off chance they’d think I’d stolen it or ask me why it was so cold). And I’d have to relive it every time I saw his handsome face on a magazine or in the news somewhere.

  No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, Marcus Taylor would be plaguing me—to some degree or another—every day for the rest of my life. He was impossible to escape!

  For the second time that morning, I froze in place. Then, without warning, I turned back around. Splashes of my mocha sprayed out in a wide arch, and I ignored the angry protests of my fellow pedestrians as I returned once more to the homeless man. My fingers fished around in my purse for a second before I came up a moment later with a handful of diamonds.

  Without pausing to think, I dropped the bracelet into the man’s cup and walked away.

  “Wh-what’s this?” he called hoarsely behind me.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Impossible to escape? Well, that damn well didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

  I got to work a few minutes later and threw my purse down in my cubby. It was unusually quiet in the front lobby, so I sank into the chair behind the front desk for a moment and rubbed my eyes. When I’d gotten up this ordinary morning, this was not what I’d had in mind. All the stress, jet lag, and fatigue from the last few days had me hovering right at the edge of my limits, threatening at any moment to push me over. With a weary sigh, I put my elbows on the edge of the counter an
d caught my head in my hands, smoothing back my hair as I breathed through the anxiety with another deep sigh. It would be all right. This, too, would pass.

  That’s when I realized something was wrong.

  I couldn’t tell you how. It was that inexplicable feeling I get sometimes. The one that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Like the calm before a storm.

  In a sudden rush, I pushed to my feet and started down the quiet hall. An abnormal hush had fallen over the entire facility, and I quickened my pace as I rounded a corner and saw a group of people crowded around a room.

  Room 207.

  I stopped where I stood. I knew that room. And I knew what Lisa was going to tell me even before she spotted me and headed over through the crowd.

  “She passed away early this morning,” she murmured consolingly. “It came on suddenly, but it was very quick. Her daughter’s on her way down right now to try to arrange something for the funeral. I don’t think they can really afford—”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. Before I knew what was happening, I’d slid down the wall and was sitting with my back against a door, staring wordlessly at the mournful crowd.

  Lisa knelt in front of me with concern. It wasn’t like me to lose my head over the death of a resident. It was a standard part of the job—one which I’d been able to work through and compartmentalize many years ago.

  But…not this one. And not today.

  “Honey, why don’t you take the afternoon off?” She placed an almost motherly hand on my knees and looked at me kindly. “I know how much Mrs. Diaz meant to you. You can come back tomorrow if you want to speak with the family.”

  I nodded numbly, keeping my eyes on the door. “I can’t leave. My other patients need me.”

  She returned to the crowd, but I stayed where I was against the wall, staring at the now empty room of a good friend of mine.

  Mrs. Diaz had been one of the first patients I ever had after completing my certification. I was nervous implementing the things I studied on real people, and she had the time of her life faking seizures when I took her blood pressure, screaming at needle pricks—we had to get blood sugars—and doing basically anything else she could think of to scare me out of my mind. After I threatened to discreetly make her take showers five time a week if the behavior continued, she and I had struck up a fast friendship. She was initially here recovering from a botched knee surgery, so that gave us plenty of time to talk as I walked her through countless months of physical therapy. She told me about her life, and I told her about mine. She knew I was a struggling actress. She celebrated with me every time I got a minor part. She even advised me to let Amanda keep Deevus, saying that I needed a pet who loved me.