Page 4 of Curvy Girl for the Billionaire

She pauses, eyebrows raised, waiting.

And I don’t know what the fuck comes over me, but I say the craziest, stupidest thing I can think of in a last-ditch bid to keep her from walking away.

I just need to buy more time with her, and I don’t give a fuck how I go about doing that.

"Be my fake girlfriend." If possible, her eyes, framed by those thick, beautiful lashes, get even wider. "It's not what you think,” I go on. I’m babbling now, and it’s pathetic, but fuck, it’s the effect this woman apparently has on me. “It's...strategic. For appearances. My family—they won't stop giving me shit about not having a girlfriend."

"Fake girlfriend?" Her voice is incredulous, skeptical. "Why would I?—"

"Because I'll pay you a lot," I interrupt, urgency bleeding into my words. "Enough to make any financial worries disappear."

Charlie's expression is unreadable for a moment that stretches too long. Then, slowly, she lowers her clipboard. "How much are we talking?"

"Name your price," I say without hesitation.

"Playing someone's girlfriend isn't exactly in my job description," she says, but there's a new note in her voice.

Thank fuck, she’s considering it.

"Consider it a side gig. One that pays exceptionally well." Hope surges through my veins. "What do you say?"

She studies me, her gaze intense and probing. I hold my breath, waiting, needing her to say yes.

Not for the sake of quieting my family, but because the desire to have her by my side—even under false pretenses—has become a craving I can't ignore.

"Fine," she finally says, and relief crashes into me like a wave. "But we set clear terms. This is strictly business."

"Strictly business," I echo, a victorious smile curling my lips.

"Starting now," she adds firmly, extending her hand.

I take it, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm from the contact. My cock shoots a spurt of precum from my tip. I feel it stain the inside of my pants.

Christ Almighty, what this curvy beauty does to me.

No way in hell this is strictly business.

Because Charlie is the one.

I know it.

three

. . .

Charlie

I flick off the light and sink into the darkness of my living room, the only illumination a sliver of moonlight that slashes across the hardwood floor.

My heart is a trapped bird in a cage of ribs, fluttering wild with every replay of tonight's gala in my head. I should be asleep, but the echo of his voice, deep and persuasive, keeps me awake.

The offer was ludicrous. Play the doting girlfriend to Alexander Bennett, billionaire CEO with a touch that could sear through silk.

But desperation has a funny way of painting lies in shades of necessary evil. Debt doesn't care about morals.

So, I agreed—against the screaming protests of my conscience.

But why me? The question nags at me. There were women at that gala who dripped diamonds and sophistication, yet Alex's blue gaze, sharp as cut glass, fixed on me. His choice feels like a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, and I'm without a cipher.

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