Page 24 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

But nothing about how he collects and discards women.

“Ms. Hammond,” he acknowledges with a slight nod. “Would you excuse us? I’d like to speak with Ms. Redwood privately about a business proposition.”

My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles.

A business proposition? What does that evenmean?

Lucy gives me a questioning look. I nod slightly, and she squeezes my arm before walking away, but not without mouthing “call melater” behind Gideon’s back. She walks with a skip, as if meeting Gideon was the highlight of her day.

If only she knew...

“There’s a café around the corner,” he suggests. “We can talk there.”

I walk alongside him, the humiliating heat in my face slowly subsiding like a fever breaking. But in its place comes something far more interesting. A delicious, righteous anger that almost makes me smile.

Well, well, well. Mr. King of the One-Night Stand has a “business proposition.” How absolutely fascinating. Let me guess, he needs someone to paint his ceiling while lying naked underneath them? We’ll see about that.

My heartbeat steadies with each step, embarrassment giving way to a steely resolve I didn’t know I had in me. I’m actually looking forward to hearing whatever ridiculous proposal he’s cooked up, if only for the satisfaction of watching his face when I turn him down.

Turns out getting kicked to the curb is excellent practice for doing the kicking. Who knew?

This is going to be good.

The café is blessedly quiet for this time of day. His security detail posts up at the entrance while we take a table in the corner, and I wrap my hands around a mug of black coffee, trying to ground myself. Gideon sits across from me, his presence seeming to fill the small space.

“I’ll get right to the point,” he says after ordering an espresso. “I need to get married.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “Excuse me?”

“I’m facing a hostile takeover attempt. A competitor of mine has found a vulnerability in my corporate structure. My legal team has determinedthat the only way to protect my assets is through a Spousal Asset Protection Trust.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When none comes, I laugh. A short, disbelieving sound.

“And this concerns mehow, exactly?”

His eyes meet mine, dead serious. “I’m proposing that you marry me. For six months. After which we’ll divorce, and you’ll receive a settlement that would allow you to open your own gallery, clear your student debt, and create without financial constraints for the foreseeable future.”

Is this a joke? Am I being punk’d right now?

I repress the urge to look around for cameras.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, leaning forward. “You wantme.The woman you slept with only once and then kicked out. You wantmeto marry you to save your business?”

“Yes.”

“And what made you think of me for this ‘role’?”

His expression doesn’t change. “You’re intelligent, independent, and have no connection to my business world. You’re also graduating soon, which means you’re at a natural transition point. The timing works.”

Wow. He really knows how to make a girl feel special.

“So our night together... that was just an audition?” The thought makes me feel slightly ill.

“No,” he says firmly. “That was... unexpected. But it did confirm we have chemistry, which would make our marriage more convincing.”

I take a deep breath, trying to process this insanity. “And what exactly would this marriage entail?”

“We would live together at my penthouse. Attend necessary social and business functions as a couple. You would be co-trustee of a parallelinvestment entity, which would give us the legal structure needed to block Blackwell’s move.”

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