Page 113 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Jonas. What’s up?”

His voice is tense. “The Tanaka deal is imploding.”

My stomach drops. Tanaka Industries, our Japanese partners for the smart building technology that would give us a significant competitive edge in the market. The technology that would make our properties 40% more energy-efficient than Blackwell’s.

“What happened?”

“They’re balking at the intellectual property terms. Claiming our lawyers changed language after the initial agreement.”

“Bullshit. I reviewed those contracts myself.”

“There’s more,” Jonas continues. “Blackwell’s representatives reached out to them yesterday with a competing offer.”

“Son of a bitch.” I slam my fist on the counter. Ava jumps. “Sorry.”

She waves it off, but her eyes never leave mine as I continue the call.

“I need to be there,” I tell Jonas. “Book the jet for tonight.”

After hanging up, I run a hand through my hair. “I have to go to Tokyo. Tonight.”

“The smart building tech deal?” Ava asks.

I’d forgotten I’d mentioned it to her during our dinner date. “Yeah. Tanaka Industries is threatening to pull out over IP disputes, and now Blackwell’s circling like a fucking shark.”

“For how long?”

“Two days, max. I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll stay in touch over zoom.”

“Like we’ve stayed in touch over the past four nights?” she taunts.

I lower my gaze, feeling the guilt building up again. “I’ve been busy with work.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since that night.” Her voice is quiet but sharp.

“What night?” I play dumb, though we both know exactly what she means.

She crosses her arms. “You haven’t been home before midnight since I told you about my grandmother’s portrait.”

“I had legitimate meetings.”

“Until 2 AM? Every night?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize sharing something personal with you would make you run so fast in the oppositedirection.”

That stings because it’s true. “I’m not running.”

“Really?” Her eyes narrow. “Because it looks exactly like that from where I’m standing.”

“Look, our arrangement is complicated enough without adding emotional baggage.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her face hardens.

“Emotional baggage.” She repeats flatly. “Is that what you call it when someone trusts you enough to share something painful?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No? Then what did youmeanexactly?” She steps closer, challenging me.

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Fuck, Ava. I’m just trying to maintain boundaries here.”

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