Page 82 of Playboy Billionaire's Fake Marriage

After giving him the rundown of tonight’s plans, I hang up and park the car, heading upstairs. I had hoped to work a few hours this morning before our flight to New York. I left the house at dawn, asking Stella to meet me on the tarmac. But, all I managed to do was what feels like a hundred thousand phone calls trying to make sure everything goes smoothly for tonight.

I sent Stella a text about half an hour ago telling her I would swing by and pick her up myself.

My phone buzzes again, this time with a notification from McGrath. I glance at it as I approach the elevators.

Just checking we’re on track to begin the process of separation at the four-month mark.

Fucking hell. The man doesn’t miss a beat. How are we at almost four months already? I mentally count. Yep, she spent the first four or five weeks of our marriage in New York before moving in with me.

Stella and I haven’t even talked about whether she’d like to return to New York or stay in Seattle. She’s doing extremely well with her businesses here, but her friends are in New York, not to mention Harriet.

I have an inkling of what she would choose to do and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Resolved to delay things a bit, I start to craft a response, but another call comes in. It’s from Rob, my New York fleet manager. “Fairchild,” I give my standard greeting for official calls, something Stella finds amusing since there are so many Fairchilds.

“Boss, I missed your call earlier.”

“I need the new twin hull ready to hit the water tonight,” I say as I step into the elevator heading up to the penthouse.

“Sure thing, boss,” Mike responds. “The hundred-footer?”

“Yeah, and make sure she’s looking sharp. I’ll be in New York tonight. Once she’s ready, talk to Xavier.”

“Cool. Engines and system checks too?”

As the elevator doors open into the penthouse, I instantly lower my voice. I half-expect to see Stella at the breakfast counter, iPad in hand, sipping her second cup of coffee. But she’s not there.

“Yes, get those done, too. If you run into any issues and can’t reach me, just call Xavier.”

“Will do, boss.”

I hang up and pause. Stella’s luggage and handbag are neatly placed in the corner. Good, she’s packed. She’s probably still getting ready. Glancing at my watch, I note it’s only 7 a.m. We have an hour before we have to leave, which is reassuring.

Deciding to give her more time, I head to my office while finishing off my text to McGrath. To my surprise, I find the library door wide open.

“Stella?” I call out and step inside. The room is empty, save for the lingering scent of her peach and jasmine perfume.

She’s been here recently.

My gaze sweeps the room. The desktop monitor is off, and it feels cold to the touch, indicating it hasn’t been used. Everything is in its place, undisturbed. Perhaps she was looking for a book?

I stroll towards the towering bookshelves. Nothing looks out of place, although there are that many books I probably wouldn’t know if she took one. I move over to the second column of shelves, which houses awards, ship models, and micro Lego action figures.

A memory flashes—her last visit here, her intrigue with the Greenwich Society trophy. Oddly, it’s now resting a couple of shelves lower than I remember from yesterday. She must have come back for another look. I reach out and finger the pointed end of the glass trophy, wondering about her fascination with the Greenwich Society.

Dismissing my curiosity with a shrug, I exit the library and move toward her room. I knock lightly.

No answer.

“Stella? We should be heading out soon.” Silence greets me again.

I turn away and decide to give her a few more minutes while I get changed. But, a sound stops me. It’s the soft click of a door closing from the direction of my suite.

What the hell? Is she in my bedroom?

A wave of unexplained anger washes over me as I stride towards the room. I burst through the door of my spacious master suite and sure enough, I find her there. She’s half-dressed—barefoot, with the shirt she’s thrown over her short black skirt unbuttoned and her black lacy bra peeking out temptingly.

She stands at the foot of my bed, absorbed in the oil painting above the headboard, but jumps when I burst in.

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