Page 7 of The Billionaire's Wife

“I swear to god that it will all be above board,” he’s quick to answer. “Nothing sexual, nothing inappropriate, and nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

I continue to assess him with my narrowed gaze. My gut is telling me no. That this is a crazy idea, that there’s no way we’d be able to pull it off, and that Alec is an asshole anyway, so what do I owe him? The only problem is that hundred grand. My mind keeps getting stuck on it—over and over again. Shit, a hundred grand could change my life. A hundred grand could pay for a decent chunk of vet school. Almost all of it. I could start my career debt free. The idea of that is practically exhilarating.

Noticing my hesitancy, Alec takes a tentative step forward. “It’ll be easy. I promise,” he presses.

Fuck. I’m trying hard to push away that fantasy of a hundred grand, but it’s becoming more and more tangible as the seconds tick by. And I don’t think I’ll be able to turn it down. God. Am I really going to do this?

“I … guess,” I finally say.

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

I shrug. “Sure. Yeah. What the hell?”

The corner of his mouth ticks upward in a smirk. It’s the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen from him. Although this one is irritatingly smug. Jesus. How am I supposed to pretend to be this guy’s wife when whenever he smiles, I wanna smack him in the face?

“Thank you, Ella. I mean it,” he says.

I nod, even though I’m still unconvinced. But whatever my feelings are, we’re going for it. I agreed, and here we are.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” he adds. “How do you feel about Caribbean vacations?”

Chapter 5

Ella

There were a lot of ways I saw my gap year after college panning out. Growing my dog walking business, saving money for vet school, spending time with friends, maybe making a trip out to California to live out some surfer girl fantasy for a weekend. But becoming a billionaire’s wife and spending a week on a million-dollar yacht in the Caribbean surely was not one of them.

Well, fake wife. But in a way, that’s even more insane.

Who hires a girl to be their fake wife? Before Alec had left my apartment yesterday, he’d briefly told me about Marcus Caddelle and the company merger. I guess I get it. But then again, why not just tell the truth? Is this Marcus guy some sort of asshole? Some intimidating jerk Alec and his brothers were worried about offending? It’s hard to imagine Alec being intimidated by anyone. But I suppose we all have our breaking points.

And now I have to spend a week in the company of this weird guy—along with Alec’s brothers and their wives? Ugh. I can only assume they’re all as pretentious and irritating as Alec himself.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I set down my cup of tea I’d been nursing and head to the door. I open it to find a delivery man with a rather large box that he’s plopped down at my doorstep.

“Ella Reed?” he asks politely.

“Yes,” I say eyeing the box suspiciously.

“Sign here.” He holds out one of those digital pads. I sign it quickly, and he smiles and bids me a good day, then wanders off.

I stare at the box before me. It’s big. Way too big to have been something I ordered. Sure, I’ve been known to online shop. I’m a sucker for skincare sales, and I love a fun shoe. But this definitely isn’t something I bought.

I reach down and awkwardly slide it into my apartment. Once it’s in the living room, I grab a pair of scissors from the counter and open it up. Within the box are lots of smaller boxes and bags, with a note on top. I reach for it.

For the trip, it reads. Signed simply, Alec.

Ah. I should have guessed this was from him. But what is it? I toss the note aside and curiously explore the box. Almost immediately, I notice a box with a name I recognize. My eyes widen. Holy shit.

Chanel.

I reach for it, opening it gingerly to find three dresses inside, all roughly knee-length and warm weather appropriate. I notice a price tag still attached to one, and I immediately check it out. My mouth nearly drops to the floor. What the actual hell?

I continue perusing the box, finding sandals, shorts, tops, and some swimsuits, along with a purse and sunglasses—all from ridiculously nice brands. I’m torn between utter elation at the finery before me and a twinge of irritation. Did Alec assume my own things wouldn’t be nice enough to display to his brothers and future business partner?

Sure, I don’t own a Chanel swimsuit, but who would even notice?

Just then, I notice another smaller box at the bottom the large box. I reach for it, opening it up to find what looks to be a diamond ring inside. My eyes widen at the size of it. Holy shit. Is this real?

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