Page 4 of Three Handsome Billionaires and a Pretend Fiancée

Ultimate Beat, with his piercings and tattoos and chain mail outfit, took one look at the kitten in her arms and melted at McKenna’s feet. Of course, he would. After stalking his socials, she discovered he was still mourning the loss of his childhood pet, and the kitten McKenna had found bore a spooky resemblance to Ultimate’s cat, Freya, of whom she had seen countless pictures online.

“A gift from Ledger Mayfield,” McKenna said sweetly, watching the singer stiffen at the name before she handed over the kitten to him. She didn’t need to say more, and before long it was a done deal. Ultimate Beat would be performing at Rose’s birthday party, and Ledger would once again be in his niece’s good graces.

She smiled all the way to her car yet again, eager to check the musician off her list. She couldn’t wait to get home, take off her bra, eat a carton of ice cream, and watch her favorite reality series.

Oh right. She still had to sort out her hair. Lindsey had sent her a hundred messages throughout the day, and she’d let her cousin know for the hundredth time it was all right. She’d survived the day just fine, hadn’t been arrested for obstructing everything in sight, and there was nothing to forgive her cousin for.

McKenna then sent Madame Tara a message to make sure everything was on schedule. The ladies were supposed to be heading to their respective venues about now. And then she drove herself home, but not before stopping for pizza, which would serve as hers and Lindsey's dinner since her cousin was on her way to McKenna’s apartment to dunk her head in conditioner.

As soon as she got home, and while she waited for Lindsey, she started to send another message to Madame Tara after receiving no reply from her, but just then a notification from the Madame herself popped onto her screen.

She skimmed the words.

Oh shits.

No. No. No.

This couldn’t be happening. She called Madame Tara, and it went straight to voicemail. She probably couldn’t answer her phone because she was otherwise engaged, possibly with her head in the toilet.

Madame Tara, Azura, Sonya, and Elara had come down with food poisoning. Something they’d eaten at the office earlier on.

Food poisoning.

Chapter Four

How could the ladies honor their contracts if they were puking their organs out, amongst other things?

They couldn’t.

So how could she possibly spin food poisoning?

She couldn’t…

Plan B.

She had one hour to find replacements, get them dressed, and have them learn the scripts she had written out for each of the bosses. It was too short notice to go the professional route. And she didn’t have a bunch of friends she could call on. At that moment, her cousin walked into the apartment. But Lindsey did have friends.

“Linds?” She grabbed her cousin by the arms. Lindsey’s attention remained fixed on her hair. “Stop looking at my hair and listen to me. Today is your lucky day. And your two other friends, Marina and Louise.” She quickly explained the situation, and three minutes later she found herself back at square one.

Lindsey immediately said no, she would pee herself; she’d be so nervous. Two more calls later, and Marina needed a two-month heads-up so she could lose five pounds at least as if she needed that, and Louise preferred to fantasize about them rather than meet them in person as their freaking pretend fiancée. Her ovaries could never, she said.

Okay. Plan C.

McKenna took a deep breath. It was on her to-do list, which meant it needed to be done. She couldn’t bring herself to mark anything on her list with a big, fat red x. She didn’t fail. She allowed something to be pending, but that was it. And this couldn't be postponed. They needed three fiancées for a couple of hours for one night only. And that night was tonight.

Failure was just not an option.

They wanted three pretend fiancées? She could be all three herself.

“I’ll have to do this myself,” McKenna said, biting her lip and glancing at her watch. It was fine. She knew the script. She had written it after all. She just needed to show up. That was all.

“Mac, hmm, but your hair?” Lindsey reminded her.

“Right. You have ten minutes; just do what you can,” McKenna said, sitting down on a chair. Rattled and under pressure, Lindsey sprayed her hair with water and frantically coated her tresses with the detangling conditioner.

While her cousin tried to do some damage control, McKenna called a designer boutique, threw around her bosses name like confetti, and soon everyone was jumping to do her bidding.

She then leaped into the shower, rinsed her hair, reconditioned it again, and scrubbed her skin to within an inch of its life. By the time she was done in the bathroom, Lindsey had already opened the door for the boutique delivery person, who dropped a wide variety of dresses for her to choose from.

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