Page 96 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Just working,” I gesture to my canvas next to the laptop. “Got a little caught up in it.”

He studies me for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly. “How long have you been in here?”

“A few hours,” I shrug. “I heard you and Burt earlier. How was the meeting?”

Gideon leans against the doorframe. “Productive. We’re finalizing strategy for tomorrow’s board presentation on the Riverside expansion.”

My heart skips. The same project Burt is feeding information about to Blackwell.

Should I tell him now?

“That’s good,” I say instead. “I’m excited to see how it develops.”

Listen to me, pretending I belong in a boardroom when just last month I was debating whether mac ‘n’ cheese counted as a food group. Yet here I am, practically salivating at the chance to impress Mr. CEO with my amateur detective skills. As if his approval is suddenly the gold star I never got in kindergarten finger painting.

The realization that I desperately want to make Gideon proud hits me like a splash of cold water. When exactly did his opinion start mattering so much? Probably somewhere between that night on his desk and him defending me to federal investigators. Inconvenient timing, these feelings of mine. Really inconvenient.

“You should join us tomorrow,”Gideon says. “Your insight on the project was valuable. The board should hear it directly from you.”

I nod, trying to look enthusiastic while my mind races. Tomorrow’s meeting. That must be what Burt was talking about on the phone. Whatever he’s planning, it’s happening soon. He did mentionFriday, after all. That’s what, two days from now?

“I’d like that,” I say.

Gideon’s eyes drift to my abandoned painting. “Red,” he observes. “Angry?”

I follow his gaze to the canvas, where slashes of crimson cut across the surface like wounds.

“Not angry,” I lie. “Just... intense.”

His lips curve slightly. “You can say that again.” He pushes off from the doorframe. “Dinner in an hour? I had Sebastian pick up food from that Italian place you liked.”

“Sounds great,” I smile, hoping it reaches my eyes.

After he leaves, I stare at my laptop, my mind whirling with plans. I need to investigate further before tomorrow’s meeting. I need to understand exactly what Burt is planning and how much damage he’s already done.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, once again tempted to call Gideon back, to tell him everything right now. But it’s not just pride stopping me. I want to present him with complete information, not just suspicions.

And that’s when it hits me.

This is what a real partner would do. Not just a contract wife. Arealpartner.

The thought brings heat to my cheeks, but I push it aside. First things first. I need to discover just howdeep Burt’s betrayal goes, and I need to do it before tomorrow’s board meeting.

I focus on my laptop again, my resolve hardening. If Burt thinks his little warning will scare me off, he clearly doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with.

Art students might look soft, but we’re scrappy as hell. Game on, Burt.

32

Gideon

Iscan the quarterly projections on my screen in my downtown office, preparing for tomorrow’s board meeting when my phone buzzes. Ava’s name appears on the screen. Unusual for her to call in the middle of the day.

“Ava,” I answer, but there’s no immediate response.

Instead, I hear Ava’s voice, distant as if she’s not speaking directly into the phone. “Burt. Where’s the paperwork you wanted to drop off for Gideon?”

Something in her tone raises my hackles. I listen more carefully, realizing she must have called me deliberately without announcing herself.

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