Page 13 of Forever Fake

No one has ever stood up for me the way Blake did, especially against my father. I’m still rattled by it. Most of all because I don’t understand why he cares about the horrible things my father says to me, and the names he calls me? I’m sure it’s just a power play. That’s the only rational explanation.

But… for a moment it felt like he really cared. Like he saw me as a person who deserves a sliver of respect.

I let go of that thought before it anchors deeper inside my mind, my heart…. my soul. It doesn’t belong there.

Papa continues, “You should have told me about your ties to Mr. Baron.”

“Why?” I snap. “So you can use my relationship with him to your advantage?”

Papa’s fingers curl into fists, and I recoil. “Don’t make me hurt you, girl. Why are you always so difficult? Why can’t you be more like your sisters, or your mother?”

I fall silent as he berates me, pointing out how I’m lacking compared to my siblings. He’s been telling me for years how I’m not as good as them, how I never will be either. How I’m lucky to be living under his roof.

“You are a disgrace,” he says, pacing again. “The only reason I haven’t thrown you out of my house is because your mother and sisters would object. But now, just maybe, you’re good for something.” He stops and stares down at me. “Don’t fuck this up. Make Blake Baron my son-in-law. With him as family, I’ll become the most powerful and feared don in the city. But if you two break up or divorce then that’s it. I’ll cut you off and toss you out of here. Don’t ever bother coming back—this won’t be your home anymore.”

I nod again.

He’s not bluffing. He’ll make sure I never set foot in this house again if I disappoint him. Too bad my fake marriage to Blake Baron will inevitably end in divorce. He’s sure to have an airtight prenup in place, which means I’ll be on the street, penniless.

I’ll deal with those consequences later. For now, it seems my father has completely bought this fake relationship. That’s one family member down. Now all I have to do is convince Mama and my sisters.

CHAPTER 7

Blake

Only Yve would call a board meeting on a Sunday afternoon. In her perfect world, everyone would work seven days a week, there’s no such things as weekends or holidays. Which is why we’re all gathered around this table today instead of waiting until Monday morning.

Partly, I think she does this to fuck with me, since she knows I have my own business to run. The only reason I’m sitting on the board of directors for Titan Enterprises is to keep my brother Liam’s seat warm while he’s in college. He’ll inherit this position as soon as he graduates, and I’ll be damned if I let Yve run the company without keeping an eye on what she’s doing.

So for the past three years, this is where I’ve spent the majority of my weekly working hours. In this hell.

Peter, Titan Enterprises CFO, drones on and on about last quarter’s financial reports. This board meeting should have ended at least an hour ago. Everyone around the table’s getting antsy, toying with their pencils, or zoning out on the whiteboard behind Peter’s head.

Everyone except for my step-monster. Yve keeps glancing at her watch. I look at mine and discover it’s three minutes pastfour in the afternoon. She must have hired a new assistant. One that isn’t punctual.

I can’t wait for this shit-show to go down.

Sure enough, the boardroom door bursts open, drawing everyone’s attention to the frazzled mess of a young woman standing there. Her dress suit’s wrinkled, hair frizzy, and cheeks flushed. In one hand she holds a venti Starbucks beverage. Ducking her head, she makes a beeline for Yve, whose heated scowl could light the devil on fire.

“I said four PMsharp, Erica.” She grabs the drink from her assistant. “It’s almost five minutes after the hour.Fiveminutes. If I wanted my latte at four-o-five, I would have told you so.”

The young woman withers under Yve’s vicious gaze. Everyone else in the room shifts uncomfortably in their seats. Even Peter stops talking for a minute.

Yve sips her drink and her face scrunches in disgust. “Is this made withmilk?”

“It-it’s a latte, ma’am.” Erica nervously twists her fingers together.

If I weren’t used to Yve’s tirades, I’d cringe at the girl’s poor choice of explanation.

“I didn’t ask you if this was a latte, you brainless idiot. I asked if this is made with milk!”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“From a cow?” Yve’s shrill voice causes temporary hearing loss.

Her assistant hesitantly nods.

Yve hurls the cardboard cup against the far wall. Several board members duck in order to dodge the steaming missile that paints the white wall in brown liquid.

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