My Billionaire Fake Fiance: A Romantic Comedy (Beaky Tiki Series Book 1)

by Elyse Riggs

  She clutches her clothes ball tighter to her chest. “Yes, that sounded totally cliché.”

  “But let me explain. Please. Two minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  She leans on the wall. “You’ve got one hundred and twenty seconds, if I did the math right. Which I can’t guarantee. Because I haven’t had any coffee yet.”

  “I’ll get you coffee. All the coffee you want. I just need your help for a few days.”

  Chapter Eight

  Kaylee

  Oh shit. Is he really suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? Even worse, he sounds like a cheap used car salesman: Kaylee Love, what’s it going to take to get you to pretend to be my fiancé today?

  “Hang on, what are you asking me? For a price tag?”

  He shrugs. “Why not? It’s a win-win. I’m sure there’s something you need or want. And I get to stick it to that awful scheming jerk and keep my company.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Or are you just out of your mind? I’m a person, Jellybean. I’m not for sale.”

  “It’s not like that,” he insists. “Look, you can make the ground rules here. I just need a few days.”

  It’s my turn to bang my head against the wall. If I’m lucky, his brother and sister in the next room will think me and Jellybean are in here having sex and not hashing out the details of a sordid arrangement.

  That’s less humiliating somehow. Plus, I realize I haven’t finished changing and I’m still standing here in his tee shirt plus panties. I can’t go to work right now anyway.

  I decide to humor him. “Let me sum up here. You’re asking me to pretend to be your fiancé. For the weekend. And in return, you’re saying you will give me money?”

  “Exactly! Or designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, whatever.”

  I don’t need designer anything. Not my style or budget. The only thing I really want is to get Scrumptious Chocolate off the ground. That is my dream. To own my own business and be my own boss. That would be amazing.

  I’ve done all the calculations. Between the cute location I scouted last year, the equipment, and the other startup expenses, I know exactly how much it would cost to get off the ground. Especially since there are already a few established heavy hitters in the local market with business plans I could follow.

  Either way, I’ve been asked to come up with a suitable amount of compensation in my head, without coffee, and under duress. “Are you sure about this, Jellybean?”

  He nods.

  I take a deep breath. Either he’s going to laugh at me outright at which point I’ll be free to leave, or he’ll agree. As crazy as that sounds. But he’s the one who keeps pushing for an answer. Here goes nothing. “Alright. There is something I’d really like to do. How does three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars sound?” I hold my breath.

  “Right. Done,” he says quickly.

  Too quickly. It makes me feel dirty. But to be fair, I’m the one helping him out, right? That amount is everything I’ll need to get started with a little breathing room to spare. And he didn’t even blink when he agreed.

  The situation, which already feels out of control, just veered off the tracks and over a cliff. Wow. Wait a minute, just how rich is he, anyway?

  “Let me sum up. You’re saying you need me to help you for three days and you’re going to pay me three hundred forty-five thousand dollars?” I pretend to mull it over. But who am I kidding? I’m broke as hell, and the money is going to come in really handy.

  “I’m good for it if that’s what you’re worried about. Promise,” he says it matter-of-factly, like we are discussing the tip on a pizza delivery instead of hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  I blink at him. “Holy shit. Seriously, how rich are you? Like, on a scale from Batman to Scrooge McDuck?”

  That comment brings out the dimple out again. It’s going to be a long weekend.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know how much money those guys had, but I’ve always been more of a Richie Rich fan.”

  “Fine,” I say. Honestly, I’d be crazy not to agree to this deal, no matter how crazy it sounds. And I know that the longer I argue, the longer this awkward conversation will last. If anything, I’m even more in a hurry to get out now. I have a lot to process.

  Despite it all, I still have to get to work. With any luck I can still keep everybody from finding out about this weird side deal. How hard can it be? “Okay, I’ll do it. But I’m keeping this shirt.”

  “What?” he objects. He opens his mouth in surprise, like losing his super comfortable old college tee hurt him more than the money. I lift an eyebrow at him, daring him to argue, but he doesn’t. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it. “So the rules are, no more sex. Or it’ll feel weird. And none of my friends or coworkers can ever know about this.”

  “Why does that matter? What do you care if they know?” he argues defensively.

  “Because it’s not real, that’s why. And if you don’t like it, then you can find another fake fiancé.”

  “Fine.”

  “And I want to keep my job.” I keep going because I’m on a roll. And because I’m already starting to feel uneasy about the money. I know damn sure that when it comes time to pay up, there are no guarantees.

  My current job is the one chance I have to dig myself out of debt unless Richie Rich here comes through. “Now get out of here so I can change and go to work.”

  “You work in the clothes you wore to the bar last night?” he asks.

  “Pastry chef. I get to wear a big white coat. And underneath I can wear whatever the hell I want. Any other questions?”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll leave you to it.” He turns off the shower and lets himself out of the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, I finish getting ready and whisk myself out of the bathroom, then out of the bedroom, and then out into the main suite in hopes of sneaking out. Again.

  Of course, the girl from the couch, Jellybean’s sister, meets me the moment I step out of the bedroom. Fortunately, she presses a warm mug into my hand.

  “I made you coffee,” she says, communicating somehow in the innocent gesture that accepting the cup is mandatory and not voluntary. It’s a strong move, both aggressive and presumptuous. I like it, but only because it involves coffee.

  How does she know I even like coffee? But she’s right, I do. And furthermore, I both need and want a cup of coffee right now. I peek down at the liquid it has cream. Bless you, Jellybean’s sister.

  If it has sugar too, then I’m home free and can walk out the door already caffeinated. Only one way to find out. I take a sip. “It’s delicious, thank you,” I say in a snippier tone than I mean to.

  Judging by the expression on her face, my bitter tone only brings a newfound respect. Odd. Who are these people?

  “So, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.

  “I’m a chef,” I answer, making a move for the door.

  “Oh,” she says. I can’t help but notice that her face breaks into a joyous rapture. “Sous?”

  “Pastry,” I say and watch her expression change from rapture to confusion to suspicion.

  “Where’s your shop?” she asks. “Rome? Paris? London?” She scrunches up her face into a grimace. “It isn’t a chain, is it?”

  Screw this. I clutch my victory tee shirt closer, grasp the coffee cup firmly, and put my hand on the door handle. “I’m late for work. Thanks for the coffee.”

  I let the door shut behind me and finally take a deep breath. Oh, Kaylee, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?

  Chapter Nine

  Chase

  As soon as Kaylee walks out, the room feels empty, even though I’m filled with mixed emotions. She’s so frustrating. And irritating. She’s also beautiful and fun and after some negotiating, she agreed to come to my rescue.

  I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of happy that I need her as a fake fiancé. It gives me an excuse to see her again. I can’t stop thinking about last night.

  B
ut I can’t believe she was sneaking out. And if her reaction to a deal to help me out is any indication, she doesn’t even know who I am.

  I can’t figure out if that’s adorable or infuriating or both. First, she tries to sneak out on me, and then I barely get her to agree to be my fake fiancé. This is all new territory for me.

  But now is the time to turn my attention to Ashley and Liam. “What the hell? Who let you two into my room? Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Relax,” Liam says. “She’s cute. Funny too. Pastry chef, going to work,” he shakes his head. “You can’t make that stuff up.”

  I massage my temple with my fingers. “You could have texted. Like normal people.”

  “This was way more fun,” Ashley says. “It’s too bad she couldn’t get out of here fast enough, Chase. A relationship would probably help your corporate cause.”

  “She’s my fiancé,” I announce. Then I wait with smug satisfaction for the expressions on their faces to change. I can see that they have lots of questions.

  “You’re kidding,” Liam says.

  “Nope,” I answer. “Next.”

  Liam tries again. “How long have you known her? How did you meet? Why did you keep her a secret?”

  “Hang on,” Ashley interrupts. “You’re engaged? Why the hell didn’t you lead with that in the first place?”

  “You surprised us,” I answer.

  Ashley charges ahead. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t see a ring. If you two are engaged, why doesn’t she have a ring?”

  “Yeah, brother. You’re a lot of things, but cheapskate isn’t one of them,” Liam jumps in.

  “It’s getting sized,” I lie smugly.

  Liam continues with a grin, like it’s a fun game that he’s winning. “I can’t believe you tried to hide her away from us.”

  “I’m not hiding her. You two aren’t supposed to be here, remember? The bigger question is why aren’t you in your own rooms?”

  Ashley shrugs. “We got here early. The rooms weren’t ready yet. We came to help you with the corporate intrigue. How were we supposed to know that there was a bonus fiancé involved?”

  “By help me, you mean you wanted to get here before I found out so you could wallow in my misery, right?”

  “I’m hurt,” Liam says, clutching his chest. Then he burst out laughing.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Then what’s your plan to help me?”

  “Oh, there’s no plan. You were right the first time,” he shrugs. “I wanted to give you a heads up. I also wanted to come hang out at the beach.”

  “Same,” Ashley chimes in.

  They both grab coffee mugs and then head back to sit on my couch. It’s clear that I’m not getting rid of them any time soon. “I’m going to take a shower,” I announce. I have some serious thinking to do. And a phone call to make.

  Chapter Ten

  Kaylee

  As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’m still in my clothes from yesterday. I doubt anybody will notice, especially if I get to work a little early and throw my coat on. So that’s my new plan.

  For once, instead of being a giant pain in my ass, work is a welcome distraction from the previous events of the morning. I slip into the kitchen area of the resort from the back entrance and head straight to my locker.

  “Wow, looks like somebody had a fun night.”

  I jump out of my skin at the sound of the nearby voice. Ugh It’s Vivian, one of the nosier employees at the resort.

  “Not particularly,” I say as nonchalantly as possible as I slip the jacket on over my clothes. Normally I leave the top half of the jacket unbuttoned, but under Vivian’s prying eyes I button it to the top.

  Vivian studies me and then I see her judgy face scrunch itself up into an expression I don’t like at all.

  “Ha! You can’t fool me. I know what the morning after a fling looks like. There’s your hair, for one,” she says.

  That’s just insulting. “What’s wrong with my hair?” It’s true that I didn’t have a lot of time to get ready this morning and after the whole conversation in Jellybean’s suite I also didn’t have time to go home and change.

  Then I replay the morning’s events in my mind and panic washes over me. Did I really just make a major life decision entering into a verbal financial contract involving hundreds of thousands of dollars with a guy I know only as Jellybean? Shit.

  “Your hair looks messier than usual,” Vivian continues, “like you had a very hot date last night.”

  “Can’t a girl have a bad hair day without judgement?” I ask.

  She holds her hands up, but her face remains an infuriating smirk. “Fine, don’t spill.”

  “Okay. Good talk.” I grab my purse, manage a weak smile at Vivian, and head to my work area. That was a close one.

  Vivian is one of the oldest and most experienced members of the kitchen staff at the resort. She knows every person, nook and cranny in this place and she’s a bulldog when it comes to gossip. With any luck at all I just sidestepped a major land mine in my plan to not be discovered having a one-night stand.

  Besides, it’s almost time for the morning meeting. Every morning, all the chefs and kitchen staff line up for a meeting with Ralph, the head chef. Ralph fills us in on what to expect today, along with whatever updates we need about the weekend.

  There have been rumors about a major top-secret event this weekend for a while now. We’re used to it. Celebrities come and go here all the time.

  It’s not a big deal to us. It’s just a fact of life, like the tide going in and out. I get my station ready to open and then make my way to the main kitchen area where all the others are gathered and waiting.

  Ralph is a tall, burly man with short dark hair and a mustache. He comes in and clears his throat. The chatter in the room ceases. “Okay, people, I need you guys to be at your best this weekend. We’re about to be up to our eyeballs in Covingtons.”

  At the mention of the name Covington, I freeze. My heart starts racing, my palms feel sweaty, and I have to force myself to breathe in and out. The Covingtons are a notoriously wealthy family. They’re notorious for some other things too.

  And if that’s what the super-secret special event is, then that means that the guy I just hooked up is probably a Covington. Holy shit. I feel my cheeks heat when I remember the crack about Scrooge McDuck. Oh yeah, and I nicknamed him Jellybean. I fight a wave of nausea as the realization of it all washes over me.

  How was I supposed to know he was a Covington? I thought he was just like every other semi-rich trust fund guy that comes through here on a regular basis. In my defense, we get a lot of them.

  I decide to continue with my inner freak-out while Ralph rambles on and on about instructions for new French recipes, slightly altered dinner hours, and increased security at the resort.

  Then I remember the negotiation in the bathroom of his suite this morning. Fuck. Am I really fake engaged to a Covington? I gave him a bunch of shit about it too.

  That being said, I don’t have regrets about our night together. He’s hot as hell and great in the sack and exactly what I needed.

  Well, until I tried to sneak out. Except for all of that. This was not what I signed up for at all. There wasn’t a clean break for me, just an insane verbal proposal in a resort bathroom after a one-night stand.

  What if I spend the whole weekend pulling his ass out of the fire and he just walks away without holding up his end of the bargain?

  In the end, it would be my word against his. And the dozens of lawyers that he could afford to hire. I would be screwed. No way they’d believe me. How could I have been so stupid and naïve?

  The whole situation makes me want to break into hysterical laughter, but I choke it down and try to concentrate. Breathe, Kaylee. In and out. In and out.

  That’s when I realize everybody is looking at me. What now?

  Ralph’s eyes are locked onto mine. “Got something to add, Kaylee?” he asks.

  I shake my he
ad violently. “Nope.”

  “Okay then,” he says, his voice booming across the massive room. “Ken and Lisa, you take point on the new recipes, the rest of you look alive and stay on your feet.” There was a pause. “And Kaylee, we better double the dessert prep. I hear these billionaires have a sweet tooth.”

  Yeah, yeah. As usual, it’s Kaylee the afterthought. Being a pastry chef, even at one of the best restaurants at one of the most exclusive resorts in the country, still feels like being at the kids table. I sigh and trudge to my kitchen. Luckily, having my own space is one of the few perks I have.

  It sure beats bumping into fellow chefs every five minutes or having to slalom my way from one end of a busy kitchen to the other.

  I am especially thankful for the solitude today. I have a lot to process and I might as well do it while making delicious pastries.

  There’s plenty of time before the lunch rush. And since people don’t usually eat desert for breakfast, I have several hours to prepare. I dive in, throwing myself into my work.

  The whole time, I’m thinking about Jellybean. The conversation this morning was so rushed that when I agreed to be his fake fiancé, I didn’t even ask what that meant exactly.

  A dinner here, a walk on the beach there, meeting his parents? Or his real name. You could have asked for his real name, Kaylee. The only thing I know for sure is that I am unprepared.

  As I begin to process everything, it seems so unreal and unlikely that I start wondering if I dreamed the whole thing. It’s really nice to daydream about opening up my own shop. Maybe that will happen. If any of the events of this morning turn out to be true and I’m not actually losing my mind.

  I finish putting a chocolate glaze over some eclairs and then head to the freezer to get more frosting. I nearly run over Vivian in the process. I turn the corner right into her, colliding chest to chest with a woman I am already trying to avoid. What are the odds? We bounce off of each other, and her face looks just as surprised as mine to find me here.