Page 29 of Playboy Billionaire's Fake Marriage

I shake my head. “No fucking way.”

“Stella, you’ll be grateful for it.”

“Oh, will I?” I scoff.

“How do you think your followers will react to you becoming Mrs. Ryan Fairchild? Because they will find out. Fairchild business never stays under wraps.”

True. Ryan is often photographed with multiple women and sometimes in compromising positions. And I am the most vocal about feminism and being a liberated woman. I’d be trolled and dragged through the streets of social media for doing something as hypocritical as marrying a spoilt, promiscuous, and sexist rich boy.

“But if I lose my online presence, how will I work? And if you say I don’t need to work—”

He interjects. “No, I wasn’t going to suggest that. But tell me how you work. What’s your setup like?”

“It’s a cross between model photoshoots and personal styling. Clients around Brooklyn come to my apartment. For those around Manhattan, I usually rent a space in an upscale salon.”

“Okay, I’m afraid you can’t freelance anymore. Especially not in Seattle.”

I rear back in shock. “Seattle! You expect me to move to Seattle?”

“That’s where Ocean Gate headquarters is, so yes. I move in two weeks, but after our wedding you can take some time to tie things up here before you join me.”

I take a sip of my scotch, needing more courage to keep going down this crazy lane.

Ryan continues. “I’ll buy you a few salons you can manage while we’re married. You can be as hands-on or off as you want. But this isn’t negotiable.”

I’m still thinking about moving away to Seattle. I haven’t even been to the city before. Ryan would be the only person I know there.

“How many can you handle? Four? Five?” Ryan asks.

“Whoa, what do you think I am, a robot? One is fine.”

“Two then. One that is very well established and another that needs a bit of TLC. It’ll help you understand the industry there quicker.”

I can’t resist rolling my eyes at his high-handed attitude but chalk it off to him being used to pushing people to their limits at work. “I really don’t see the logic in that since I’m only going to be in Seattle for six months, tops.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “No experience is a waste. You’ll want to start up your own business when you return to New York won’t you?”

When I’m twenty million dollars richer. Okay, he’s right.

I scan the next page, then again look up. “It doesn’t say here, Ryan, are we going to live together?”

“Yes, we are.”

“And… be exclusive?” I don’t imagine I’ll start picking up random men when I get to Seattle. It would also be nice to know that my contractual roommate won’t be bringing home screams and pounding headboards.

He pauses, steepling his fingers together, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ryan this serious. This side of him is a bit jarring. And I hate to admit also very hot. “Stella, first off, if I’m in a relationship, I don’t cheat. Ever. If in the coming months you see a photo of me naked and wrapped around a woman, I’m either dead, drugged, or we’re divorced. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay. What’s the other thing?”

“Nobody can know about this arrangement,” he points back and forth between us.

Because I have no family, I assume he means my friends. “I don’t see how I can move to Seattle or live with you without my friends getting to know.” I already feel bad for not telling them about Harriet.

“Oh, of course, they’ll know we’re getting married, but nothing about the restrictive clause or company policy. Can you do that for me?”

“Two of my friends are married to yours, Ryan. Brooke to Xavier and Sabrina to Jordan. Does that mean your friends won’t know about the marriage clause either? They’ll believe you just woke up and decided to marry me?”

Ryan chuckles. “Stranger things have happened. People go to Vegas and wake up married.”

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