Page 26 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

Where are we going? I text again.

You’ll find out when you get there. He adds a smiley face to the end of his text.

When I ask Jasmine to cover the shop on Saturday, I don’t plan on telling her that I’m going away with Orson. But she’s a smart woman and figures it out in a nanosecond.

“Where’s he taking you?” she asks with the same excitement she’s displayed every time she’s talked about our relationship.

“That’s what I would love to know,” I reply, bagging the unsold bread and pastries as the day draws to a close.

“Oh, it’s a surprise. How sweet.”

Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought about it like that. I know it might seem a bit weird, but then, this whole situation is still weird. But as I think about Jasmine’s words, I realize that Orson could have just emailed me with the notification of wherever he had booked. He didn’t have to come with me. Nor did he have to make it a surprise.

It is sweet, and I feel bad that I haven’t even acknowledged that.

Later that evening, when I’m alone in my apartment, I send him a text. I haven’t thanked you for what you’re doing for me this weekend yet. So, this is just to say that I’m really grateful for all your efforts.

He answers almost immediately. There is no need to thank me, Lily. If you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s YOU who is doing ME the biggest favor.

In a way, I don’t have the capacity to compare our situations. I’ve never had more than a couple of hundred dollars in the bank. That’s the reality of running a business.

I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to have billions. I mean, I know he doesn’t have billions of dollars in the bank. A lot of his wealth is in assets, like his cars—of course he has more than one—and the helicopter, and his apartments, and all the rest of the stuff he invests in.

But I’m a small business owner. My bakery is my life. I’ve no idea what having a few thousand looks like, never mind the concept of inheriting a multi-billion-dollar business. I’m going to guess it’s a pretty big deal.

Well, isn’t it one of the reasons you agreed to this fake relationship in the first place?

Yes, but my own selfish reasons came first. I’m not just doing it for me. I’m doing it for Dad. For his memory. So his legacy can continue, at least for a little while longer. And maybe Orson doesn’t understand that. I don’t really know; we haven’t talked about it. But if he doesn’t, that’s okay. I don’t expect him to.

But for me, we’re both on equal footing where favors are concerned. His reasons are no more important than mine and vice versa.

Friday morning comes around pretty quickly, and I can feel my nerves starting to tighten in my stomach. Good nerves. Excited nerves. Jasmine was determined to get rid of me and made sure I told Orson I’d be ready before lunch. Something I’ve thanked her for a million times.

When I see the Mercedes pulling up outside, I glance at her and give her a nervous grin.

“Go and enjoy yourself, Lily,” my wonderful friend says. “There’s no one I know who deserves it more.”

11

Orson

I’ve made a lot of phone calls this week, and not all of them were for my job. This weekend needs to be special. It’s the least I can do after what Lily agreed to do for me. Besides, she deserves it. I’ve seen how hard she works. I was also shocked a few days back when I asked her about her last vacation.

She was sitting across the table from me in Grounded, a coffee shop in Willow Creek. It was one of our outings to show the townsfolk that we’re now an item.

Her brow furrowed as she concentrated because evidently, she really had to think about it. After a minute, fearing my coffee might freeze over while I was waiting, I pressed her.

“Come on, Lily. It can’t be that hard. When did you last go away?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, still sitting with her face screwed up.

“Last year? The year before? Last month? Anytime this century?” I was teasing her, but it wasn’t helping.

“Eleven years ago,” she said eventually.

It was a good thing I wasn’t drinking my coffee, or she would have been wearing it. “What?” I blurted. “That can’t be right.”

She nodded. “It’s true. It was the year before my mom really started to decline.”

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