by Sierra Rose
“They can’t get enough of each other,” I heard a woman say. “She’s so lucky!”
“These two are just as in love as ever,” another said.
“They can’t hide their feelings for one another,” a far-off voice said.
“Give us a passionate smooch,” someone else asked.
I thought I’d kick up the excitement a notch.
“You can have any girl in the world, and yet, you choose me.” I touched Marcus’s face.
He gazed at me lovingly. “I’ve never met a person as nice and caring as you.”
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
His lips brushed against mine in another soft kiss. Marcus held up his hand and swept me into the car in the same motion.
Once we were safely inside, he turned back to me slowly. “Having fun, Rebecca?”
“I’ve never had this much attention before,” I said.
“This is just the beginning.”
I smiled.
“You’re a great actress,” he said. “I almost believed every word you said.”
“It’s what you paid me for. I’m glad you think I’m doing a great job. Maybe one day I’ll break into Hollywood.”
Chapter 13
The gala itself was actually much more formal than I had imagined. I didn’t really have to worry about my shoes because instead of wandering around in a wide open ballroom like the party Marcus threw, everyone was seated at rounded tables. The kind of tables with far too much silverware, where the napkins were folded with such severity they could slice open your hand.
I didn’t recognize anyone in the room, yet everyone looked vaguely familiar. I assumed I’d seen them before on the cover of a magazine or in random pictures from White House correspondence dinners over the years. Whoever they were, they all seemed to know Marcus. We could hardly eat a bite of food before someone new would wander up and demand his immediate attention.
He introduced me each time as “his girlfriend, Rebecca.” By the time the night was winding to a close, I’d heard the phrase so many times I half believed it myself.
Once we’d finished with the dinner portion of the evening, the speech-making began. My eyes glassed over with instant boredom, but Marcus was hanging on every word—his eyes boring intently into each speaker. I sensed that “charity” functions like these were far more about political power plays and saber rattling than they were about the cause in question.
That is... I thought that until Marcus was called up to present his check.
His check for four million dollars.
“When I started this foundation nine years ago, I had no idea how it would blossom and thrive with the support of galas like this and the contributions of people like you. With almost one in ten people diagnosed with the condition every year, it’s vital that we use our seat of privilege to reach a helping hand to those who cannot help themselves. I thank you in advance for your generosity.”
His speech was short and concise—saying with only a few words what all the others had failed to convey through countless monologs. When he handed the check to the president of the foundation, I couldn’t help but glance around the table and feel a little proud.
That’s right, you sycophants. That’s what sincerity looks like. Soak it in.
Once he left the stage, the party began to automatically dissipate, and he wove through the crowd to take my hand. “You ready to get out of here?” he murmured.
“No, I want to hear from the Under-Secretary of Bolivia again.” I squeezed his fingers, and he glanced down with a little smile.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
The crowd parted like water as we made our way straight through the middle, ignoring the cameras hovering outside as we ducked into our car and sped away into the night. We didn’t say more than a word or two the entire ride back to my apartment. For whatever reason, Marcus was distracted and subdued, drumming his fingers rhythmically on his legs as he stared out the window. When we finally pulled up at the curb, he got out and opened the door for me, offering me a hand as I navigated my shoes firmly onto the pavement.
“Well, thanks again for the dress. I’ll hear from you tomorrow?”
He nodded with a distant smile, and I wondered whether or not I should hug him goodbye. There were certainly no cameras around my neck of the woods, but it was hard to know the fake dating protocol. Eventually, I just gave him a little wave and headed inside.
But suddenly, I paused. A question had been eating away at me since the woman in the dress shop had told me that Marcus was the one hosting the gala.
“Marcus?” I watched him stop and turn by the car. “Why did you pick that charity?”
There was the littlest pause. The littlest pause where his shoulders fell ever so slightly.
“My mother died of diabetes,” he said abruptly.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
A flash made me blink.
“They’ve found us,” he said.
And that’s when I noticed how wrong I’d been about the cameras in my neck of the woods. Because I saw a few men with cameras. They weren’t even trying to hide. Guess they really wanted that perfect shot.
“Do we ignore the cameras?” I asked. “Over to the left. Because they’re watching us intensely.”
He winked. “Then we better give them a good show.”
“You mean like the best goodnight kiss ever?”
“Let’s make it sizzling hot. I mean, we have to convince them, right?”
I parted my mouth in invitation.
His gaze bore into mine as our faces inched closer. “We so have to make them believe it.”
He pulled me ever so close, brushing his lips against mine in a powerful, intense kiss. I loved how his soft lips moved over my mouth, his taste addictive. I tilted my head and the kiss deepened. His touch warmed every inch of my skin as our tongues danced in perfect harmony.
I knew I was supposed to be acting. But this didn’t feel like acting. It felt like something more. He never said we had to kiss. Just act. I had so crossed the line. But then again, so had he. Or was he really trying to sell this story? What the hell was I doing? I can’t fall for this guy. He’ll just break my heart. This was an acting gig and nothing more. But why was I enjoying this kiss far too much?
His tongue slid over mine in a sensuous dance, every stroke sending me into overdrive. It was like he was breathing life into my empty soul. My body shivered with pleasure, every cell on fire. I ran my hands through his soft locks. We now kissed in a slow, erotic rhythm. It was the most perfect, passionate kiss, and I felt the sparks all the way down to my toes.
“Goodnight, Rebecca,” he said.
“Goodnight,” I responded.
I scarcely remembered the walk back up to my apartment—my heels somehow sensed my distraction and vowed to behave. I floated past Hamburg’s door, wondering vaguely why he didn’t pounce on me again about my eviction; choking on the heavy scent of Mrs. Wakowski’s curry wafting through the air; and pulled open the door to my apartment.
The lights were off, and I took a silent moment as I leaned back against the door, replaying certain scenes from the night in my head. I couldn’t tell you what exactly had changed over the course of the evening, but things with Marcus were not how they started this morning.
They were...different, somehow.
Then the lights snapped on, and I shrieked aloud.
Amanda was sitting on the couch, stroking Deevus and watching me with narrowed eyes. I flushed guiltily in my new dress, clutching my chest as my heart cautiously slowed to normal. My nervous smile went unreturned as she continued stroking the cat like a grade-A villain.
“Oh yeah,” she said, shining a spotlight on my nerves. “I saw the show outside the window. Why don’t you fill me in on the gorgeous hunk you’re secretly dating? Because he sure looks a lot like the billionaire, Marcus Taylor, to me.”
“I’m not dating Marcus Taylor. I took t
he job he offered me,” I said. “He’s giving me twenty thousand dollars.”
“That’s awesome!”
“I knew I needed the money. I’ll take care of the rent.”
Her jaw dropped. “Thanks, girl.”
“It’s a great acting gig. And I couldn’t say no.”
“You get paid to pucker up to a gorgeous guy like Marcus? Wow! Great perks come along with your job package.” She cocked her head. “But that lip-lock out there, it didn’t look like acting.”
I winked. “Now you know what a damn good actress I truly am.”
“Damn straight!”
Chapter 14
“Marcus...fucking...billionaire...Taylor.”
I shook my head as Amanda said the words for the hundredth time. It was now the early hours of the morning. The initial “scary” part of the interrogation had passed some hours ago, and we were well into the aftershocks. We’d pulled out my comforter and were lying on our backs, a bag of popcorn between us, with our heads sticking out onto the balcony—listening to the sounds of the city as we gazed up at the fading moon.
All at once, Amanda collapsed into a fit of giggles, her voice barely audible through the sound. “Marcus...I’m-fucking-a-billionaire...Taylor.”
“Would you stop?” I demanded, smacking her in the arm. “We’re not having sex.”
“...yet.”
“Ever.”
She shook her head, gazing lovestruck up at the stars. It truly didn’t matter what I said to her at this point; she was too far gone.
“It’s like a movie—or some show we’d watch on Lifetime.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is nothing more than a job. There’s no romance fantasy here. When are you going to get that? Besides, even if we did fuck the entire time, he’d just dump me when this was all over. Because that’s what players do. They conquer, and then move on to the next pretty thing. And I don’t want to be his latest conquest. And I don’t want to fall for the biggest player on the planet.”
I opened a magazine and looked at all the girls Marcus had dated. The article showed all his love interests. He had dated models, a surgeon, singers, heiresses to massive fortunes, and even a famous actress and author. He was definitely out of my league, that was for sure.
“No, this could be a movie.” Amanda ignored me completely, lost in her daydream. “The kind of movie where the guy comes to his senses and falls for the much more relatable, much prettier best friend. You know,” she shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, “that kind of movie.”
“They already made that movie. I think it’s called The Craft. Everybody dies.”
“What?” She buried her head in a pillow and giggled furiously. “That’s not a thing.” She resurfaced a moment later, pink-faced and pleased. “But I guess it would never work out between me and the billionaire. What would I tell Barry?”
“Barry?” I began with confusion. “I thought we didn’t like Barry?”
She looked shocked. “Why wouldn’t we like Barry?”
“He came over for breakfast; he fucked with your sleep cycle?”
Men had been dismissed for far less.
“We love him.” Her whole face seemed to warm as she said it, and for the first time, I brought myself to attention and took note.
“Really?” Someone who got the popcorn-under-the-stars love description? I would have to keep track of him. “Okay...Barry.”
She swooned. “I think I’m in love.”
Our cat was meowing from beneath an ottoman, and I was seized with a sudden thought.
“Why did we name him Deevus?” I asked, remembering Marcus’ question.
Amanda’s face scrunched up in a frown. “I can’t remember. I think we kept saying he was being so devious, when he was hiding behind the refrigerator.” She chewed a mouthful of popcorn contemplatively. “He tried to bite you and scratch me. And then you thought he looked like the devil...”
I yawned. “That sounds about right.” Slippers flailing, I kicked off the comforter and extracted myself from our little nest. “Well, I have to get to sleep. The billionaire and I are going to a golf tournament tomorrow, and I’m meeting him for breakfast beforehand.”
She raised her eyebrows and smothered a smile. “The billionaire now, is it? He doesn’t even get a name?”
“Does he need one? He’s got all those billions,” I said in a joking tone.
“That’s true. Well, enjoy your golf day—that’s sure to be a nail-biter.”
I laughed. “A ballbuster, I think they call it.”
“Wear some plaid.”
The sun was just started to tint the sky pink as I skipped off to bed, thrilled with the knowledge that my secret was no longer a secret. I’d gotten the one person I needed on board.
Chapter 15
“I don’t care what time it is in Switzerland, Billings, just get him on the line!”
My summons to the Taylor compound had come much earlier than I would have liked. Having gotten only three hours of sleep I was running on fumes, sucking down a cappuccino like a life raft as that demented peacock lurked somewhere in the beyond.
“I’m sorry, Rebecca.” Marcus held his phone away from his ear and apologized again. “I just have to get a handle on this whole article thing before it spins out of—yes, Billings? I told you I don’t need a translator, just get him on the damn phone!” His tone shifted night and day as he turned back to me. “Would you like a croissant?”
“Yes, thank you.” I kept my eyes down on the table as I snaked one off a plate and started picking off little bites.
A copy of Time Magazine lay on the table across between us, a picture of Marcus’ face splashed across the front with the headline, “PARTY LIKE A BILLIONAIRE: How a Business Tycoon Morphed Into a Party Animal.” I looked down at an image of Marcus standing on a yacht surrounded by all kinds of bathing-suit beauties. But Marcus seemed far more concerned with the article himself. I guess he didn’t like the negative spotlight.
“Fine,” Marcus snapped, “if it’s really so important, I guess he’ll just have to call me back. He’s only my fucking publicist after all.” He clicked off the phone and dropped it on the table in disgust.
I clicked my tongue disapprovingly. “The Marcus Taylor taking call-backs? Whatever could be more important,” I held the magazine up over my face, “than you?”
Marcus’ expression was dark. “His wife is having a baby.”
I tossed down the magazine in disbelief. “And you were seriously trying to get him on the phone?”
“It’s their second baby. He’s already been there.”
“Okay.” I avoided eye contact and sipped my coffee, wondering why he’d called me over for a rage-breakfast when we could have just met at the country club.
“I just can’t believe it,” he ranted on, his gaze fastening once more on the page. “Troublemaker playboy with anger issues?” In a swift move, he kicked a silver mimosa tray halfway across the terrace. “I’ve completely changed my ways!”
I raised my eyebrows and buried my face in my croissant. “Yeah, they definitely got that wrong.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Clearly, you have some issues to work out. I’m going to meet you at the club, sweetie. If you could just call that butler of yours again to make sure the peacock is wrangled, I can get to my car.”
“Rebecca.” His hand flashed out to mine. “I’m sorry. Really.”
My eyes locked on our intertwined fingers as he sighed.
“There’s so much pressure right now for me to close this deal, but Takahari’s on the fence and stalling. He’s not taking me seriously. I can’t imagine this article will help my image.”
“Hey.” I cut him off, flashing an unexpectedly warm smile. “That was then, okay? Before you started to turn your image around. Before you started showing up at your own galas and charity events. Before you got this amazing new girlfriend who’s going to make all your wish
es come true.”
His veneer broke, and he offered me a soft smile. “Is that true?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to make all my wishes come true?”
My heart fluttered nervously, but I shook my head with a stern frown. “Unfortunately for you, that isn’t outlined in my contract. I did, however, think it prudent to throw in the occasional pep talk. For twenty thousand dollars, and all.”
He laughed aloud. “That’s quite some pep talk.”
“Just one of my gifts.” I took a huge bite of croissant and surveyed the grounds like a queen. “So what’s it going to be? Just the club today?”
“Yep—I’m having some clothes delivered for the occasion. We can change here and then drive to get there by eleven.”
“Clothes?” I repeated carefully. “Like...golf clothes?”
He paused. “Unless you’ve already got something you’d like to wear.”
“I’ve got an argyle onesie that I think would be appropriate.” When he said nothing, I flipped up the magazine and surveyed the photograph again with a frown. “Were you on vacation?”
“I’d closed a major deal. I was celebrating in Hawaii.”
“You look nice,” I said. “Very happy and carefree. Lots of women.”
“I was pretty drunk when that picture was taken. It was a private photo. I have no idea how the magazine even got it.”
“I’m sure somebody snapped a quick pic on their phone. Sold it for thousands.”
“I don’t want to be that man anymore, Rebecca. I’ve quit drinking and partying like that.”
“You don’t have to explain your lifestyle to me. That’s the best thing about a fake girlfriend. You can do whatever you want and I won’t be mad or judge your actions. See? You should have gotten me years ago.”
He chuckled, then looked off. “I really want to be a better man.”
“I’ve learned firsthand that no matter how many things I alter in my life, I’ll never be the perfect woman. All of us will make mistakes, give in to weaknesses, and stumble from time to time. We’re only human. But, with enough focus, we can really work hard to make improvements over time.”