Page 152 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

The elevator doors close on his face, cutting off whatever lie he was about to tell me.

Stupid, stupid girl. Signing a business arrangement that was supposed to change your life, but instead will ruin it.

Somewhere along the way, I let myself believethere might be something real beneath the contract, beneath the clauses and legal jargon. The worst part isn’t even the betrayal. It’s that I still love him. Even now. Even knowing what he planned to do.

And that makes me the biggest fool of all.

The lobby is a blur as I rush through it, past concerned security guards, out into the bright afternoon. The doorman calls after me, but his words don’t register. I just need to get away from here.

I momentarily think about all my belongings still upstairs. At least everything is mostly packed. I’ll send someone to pick up everything.

I make it halfway down the block when the screech of tires pulls me from my spiral of self-loathing. A piano-black SUV skids to a halt at the curb beside me. My heart lurches into my throat.

Great. Now I’m being kidnapped. Perfect cap to an already fantastic day.

The tinted window rolls down to reveal Ray Donovan, Gideon’s head of security. His perpetually stoic face reveals nothing, but I notice his eyes tracking the pedestrians around us with professional vigilance.

“Mrs. King,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Would you like a ride?”

Of course Gideon sent his goons after me. Heaven forbid I have a mental breakdown in public like a normal person.

“Did he send you to bring me back?” My voice cracks embarrassingly. “And don’t call me Mrs. King. I’m Ms. Redwood.”

Ray’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m instructed to take you wherever you’d like to go. And if you refuse, I’m to shadow you until your personal security detail arrives. Security protocols, youunderstand.”

Of course. Billionaires and their stupid security protocols. I stare at him a long moment.

Well, it’s this or an ugly-cry on the sidewalk in front of Manhattan’s elite.

I remind myself that Blackwell could have watchers secretly recording me at this very moment. But at this point, I don’t even care.

Without a word, I yank open the door and slide into the leather interior. The car smells like expensive upholstery and faintly of Gideon’s cologne. Even his absence is a presence I can’t escape.

Ray turns slightly from the driver’s seat. “Where to, Ms. Redwood?”

I look out the window at the traffic rushing by, all those people living their normal, non-betrayed-by-a-billionaire lives.

“Drive,” I say, the single word containing all the hurt, rage, and confusion I can’t put into sentences right now.

The SUV merges smoothly into the traffic.

I have no destination in mind, just away. Away from those documents. Away from those eyes that looked at me like I mattered.

Away from the mistake of believing, even for a moment, that Gideon King could love someone like me.

50

Ava

The smell of fresh paint and dust fills my nostrils as I adjust the track lighting for the umpteenth time. My new gallery space in Chelsea is simultaneously perfect and a complete disaster. Kind of like my life right now. Well no, that’s being too kind to my life. It’s definitely a disaster.

Beside me, two painters on ladders are debating color temperatures by the main wall. “This white has too much yellow undertone for the lighting,” one complains, while dabbing a test patch. The other rolls her eyes. “White is white. Nobody notices these things.” I want to tell her that everyone notices, especially art critics, but I’ve already had this argument three times today.

“A little to the left,” Lucy calls from in front of me, where she’s arranging a cluster of small abstract pieces from my Brooklyn series.

I twist the light fixture, which is currently powered by a generator like all the other lights, as the electrical work isn’t quite done. “Here?”

“Perfect!” She claps her hands together, thenimmediately returns to her notepad. “The Morettis just confirmed they’ll loan us the three mixed-media pieces we asked for. Another collector to cross of the list.”

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