Page 73 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

Ipour myself a third finger of whiskey, staring out the window at the Manhattan skyline. It’s late as hell but sleep isn’t coming. All I can think about is that damn painting.

Ava’s canvas haunts me. My face carved from dark wood. Her artistic interpretation of the mask I wear. Is that how she really sees me? As this cold, emotionless man carved from wood?

And what about that fiery figure threatening to consume both of us. Consumeme.

I take a long sip, letting the burn travel down my throat. Is that how she sees me? As someone about to be destroyed by the memory of a woman from his past?

Or is the fire actually meant to be her? She wasn’t exactly forthcoming about it...

The thought stops me cold. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s the consuming fire. The way she’s wormed her way into my thoughts. The way I find myself staring at her when she’s not looking. The way I almost fucking kissed her tonight.

I slam the glass down harder than intended. This wasn’t part of the plan. Spousal Asset Protection Trust. Business arrangement. End of story.

My phone vibrates. Jonas.

“Fuck, it’s late,” I answer.

“You’re still up,” he counters. “The Riverside Corridor properties. Blackwell’s angling for them.”

“Through what avenue?”

“Shell company called Nexus Acquisitions. Found the paper trail tonight.”

I run a hand through my hair. “That son of a bitch never sleeps.”

“Neither do you,” Jonas says. “But we need to move on this. Burt suggested we let them go. Thinks they’re not worth the capital investment.”

“Burtwouldsay that,” I mutter, remembering the lukewarm assessment from our investment committee. “What’s your take?”

“Honestly? The projections are mediocre. But the location has potential if the right vision comes along.”

An idea forms. “Send me the full portfolio. I want to run it by someone with fresh eyes.”

“Who? Not one of Blackwell’s people, I hope.”

“No,” I say, watching the ice melt in my whiskey. “My wife.”

“Ava?” Jonas’s surprise is evident. “Gideon, with all due respect—”

“Just send the files. I know what I’m doing.”

After he hangs up, I wonder if that’s true. Do I know what I’m doing? This could be a perfect test. See if Ava has any business sense to complement her artistic talents. The trust gives her decision-making power, after all. Might as well see what she’s capable of.

“You want me to what?”Ava stares at me over her coffee mug the next morning. Her hair is a mess of curls, her oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. It reminds me of when she was wearing my dress shirt the morning after our one night stand. She looked so hot in it, so—

Stop. Just stop.

“Review an investment opportunity,” I repeat more coldly than I intend, spreading the portfolio across the kitchen island. “The trust needs to start making decisions, and I thought this would be a good first exercise.”

“At seven in the morning?”

“Business doesn’t sleep.” I tap the aerial photos. “Riverside Corridor. Five mixed-use properties along the western edge of Manhattan. Currently underperforming.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is this a test?”

Smart woman. “Consider it an educational opportunity.”

“Right.” She sets down her coffee and picks up the market analysis. “And what does your team think?”

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