Page 39 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

When I glance at her again, she’s full-on grinning at me.

I look at her knowingly. “You’re pulling my chain, right?”

And then she giggles, and my heart skips at the beautiful, soft sound. She reaches over and grabs my hand, catching me off guard.

“You know we don’t have to pretend anymore. There’s no one watching.”

“I know,” she says, not letting go of my hand.

And then nothing more is said. I’m nearly afraid to ask where this is going, and Lily is clearly enjoying keeping me hanging on a line. And yet, sitting here, driving home with her hand in mine, feels like the most natural thing in the world. So I’m just going with it.

When we get back to the apartment, she lifts up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Good night, Orson. And thank you. I had a great time.”

I can only stand there watching her stroll down the hallway before she disappears into her bedroom. I’ll be honest, I’m feeling a little shell-shocked at the turn of events, but not in a bad way.

Okay then.

The next day, after a weird night's sleep and some dreams I’m not going to go into, I’m in the office when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID, and for the first time in a while, I smile. Not that I don’t smile all the time. I just don’t usually do it when my grandfather is calling.

“Hey, Pops. What’s up?” I say, sounding annoyingly blasé.

“I need to see you, Orson,” he growls into the phone.

“Oh, another two-hour drive for a five-minute conversation?”

“And bring your marriage certificate with you,” he snarls, before hanging up.

Dropping the phone on the desk, I lean back in my super comfortable office chair and grin from ear to ear. He thinks he has me, but he doesn’t, and after another moment of smugness, I buzz through to Gloria and get her to clear my calendar for the afternoon.

“When I told you to get married, I didn’t expect you to marry the first girl you met,” Pops snarls across the desk.

“You didn’t really give me a choice, did you?” I say from the leather chair opposite him. “You wanted me married in four months, and so I’m married. Or perhaps you didn’t really want me to get married at all. Maybe you thought I didn’t have the stones to do it, and it was the only way you could con me out of my inheritance.”

“Let me see it,” he demands, gesturing eagerly with his hand.

Now, the thing is, I know my grandfather very well. So well, in fact, that I knew there was no way he was going to believe I was married just because his spies told him I was. And thus, even before the weekend away at Lake Tahoe, I had already made some inquiries of my own.

As it happens, there are quite a lot of rather talented graphic designers online. With a yarn of how my wife is devastated because a small flood in the house destroyed some of our precious possessions, including our marriage certificate, the designer made me a near-perfect copy with stamps, seals, and everything. I mean, she really did amazing work.

Which is why my grandfather, with his bifocals and a magnifying glass, is currently scrutinizing it. I’m not sure he would know what one looks like, and of course, he knows it might not be real. But therein lies the beauty of the whole thing. He can doubt, but he can’t prove.

“You know I can call the public records office to find out if this is legitimate, don’t you?” he says, eyeing me with every ounce of suspicion he can muster.

Okay. I didn’t see that coming. My heart thumps in my chest, but I retain my poker face. Slumping back in my chair, I throw my hand out to the phone that sits on his desk. “Call them,” I say, with a confidence I do not feel at all.

I’m bluffing with my future empire here, and if he lifts that phone, this is all over.

Pops looks at me for the longest minute of my life. I’m using every ounce of energy I have to keep from crumbling under his steely gaze. This is make or break time. I’m used to holding my nerve in cutthroat deals, but this is in a different league.

“Fine,” he relents, though I know it’s not fine at all. He doesn’t believe me, and I still don’t know that he won’t call the public records office the moment I walk out the door. But I’ve made my play now, and there’s not a darn thing I can do about it.

Like I said, stubbornness gallops in this family.

But the two of us are as stubborn as each other, and while I won’t back down, he won’t allow himself to be humiliated by making a phone call.

Stalemate.

“Who is she?” he says, his tone now far less dangerous.

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