Page 3 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Fake Girlfriend

I nodded. "Done."

She laughed, the sound echoing off the studio's high ceilings. "You're actually serious about this. You're out of your mind." She tilted her chin up and met my gaze. "And What if I say no?"

I leaned in. We were so close that I could hear the rapid beating of her heart and smell her sweet scent. Summer roses with a hint of a fresh sea breeze. My nostrils flared as I took in a deep breath. "Then I'll find someone else. But I'd rather it be you."

"Six months of pretending to be your girlfriend? In the public eye? With your ex-lover probably plotting revenge as we speak?"

I nodded. "Don't worry about her. She can't plot her way out of a paper bag. Think of it as a business arrangement with social benefits."

She paused for a moment as she considered my proposal. To my dismay, she shook her head. "I can't. Pretending to be in a fake relationship feels wrong. I'm sorry, but I'm not the one to help you with your problem. I hope this won't interfere with my work here at the firm."

I was disappointed, but this was only a setback. "Of course not. Take your time to consider my offer. There's no need to rush."

As I left the studio, I couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity. She was unlike anyone I'd ever met. For a lowly assistant designer, she was sharp, independent, and unafraid to challenge me.

Sasha Bennett was going to be mine, she just didn't realize it yet.

Chapter 2

SASHA

I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring, pulling me out of a restless sleep. With a groan, I reached out to silence the alarm. After tossing and turning until almost dawn, I had finally fallen asleep for a short while.

My head was still spinning from what happened at work last night. Denver Roberts had actually cornered me in the design studio and asked me to be his fake girlfriend. The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh, but the memory of his intense gaze made it all too real. Not to mention the way he'd leaned so close to me until I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. A shiver of excitement ran through my body at the memory.

With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the kitchen. The fridge was empty of everything except a can of soda, a quarter stick of butter, a jar of raspberry jam, and a bag of lettuce that was starting to grow fur. I had been so busy with work that I completely forgot to get groceries this week. Thankfully, I still had a loaf of Wulfthorn multigrain bread on the counter, so I cut off two slices and popped it into the toaster oven. I poured a scoop of coffee into the coffee maker and started it before heading to the bathroom.

Freshly showered and with a cup of hot coffee in my hands, I started feeling human once again. Retrieving my warm toast, I slathered on a healthy pat of butter and jam.

As I ate breakfast, I examined my surroundings. The apartment was cluttered with sketches, fabric swatches, and half-finished designs. A mannequin at the end of my dining table wore a half-finished dress covered in black roses held in place with pins and a large purple hat with a piece of black lace veil over the left eye. All of it evidence of my sudden flashes of creativity. I loved my little space, but it was a constant reminder of how far I still had to go.

At XMGH, I was just an assistant designer working under other designers with years of experience and seniority over me. My ideas were often dismissed as "too experimental" by my conservative lead designer, Margot. It was frustrating, but I wasn't about to give up. Some day, I would be in Margot's place and in charge of my own line. I'd worked too hard to get here.

My gaze fell on the sketches scattered across the coffee table. They were rough, and unfinished, but they were mine. And for all her criticism, Margot hadn't been able to take that away from me. Maybe I wasn't where I wanted to be yet, but I wasn't giving up. Not now. Not ever.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my social media while sipping my coffee. While I wasn't getting recognition for my designs at work, I had a small but loyal following online. People who were aware of underground trends before they broke out and who were not afraid to take a risk with unconventional fashion. My latest creations that I posted yesterday already had over six thousand likes and a couple hundred comments.

And yet, it only took a little red flashing icon at the corner of my screen to make my heart sink. I had a new message in my direct messages. Like all the messages I had received lately, it was from a user with a question mark as their profile picture. The message was short, but chilling.

"I'm watching you. I like the color purple."

I quickly deleted it, my hands trembling slightly. It wasn't the first creepy message I'd received, but this one felt different. My eyes darted to the window in the living room. Shooting to my feet, I dashed over there and pulled the curtains shut.

My hands shook. It was just a good guess by a troll. There was nobody out there. Despite my attempts to calm myself, the uneasy feeling lingered as I got ready for work.

The apartment felt too small suddenly, the walls closing in on me. I needed air. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, but as my hand touched the knob, I froze. What if he was out there, watching me? The thought sent a chill down my spine.

Stop it, I scolded myself. I couldn't let an online troll keep me from living my life.

The XMGH office was already buzzing with activity when I arrived, but the energy felt off. Margot was waiting for me at my desk. She had a pinched disapproving look on her face as she sifted through the sketches that I had left on my desk from the day before.

"Sasha, these are interesting," she said as I approached her. The condescension and sarcasm in her tone contrasted sharply with her words. "But I'm not sure this is what we're looking for. Our customers want elegance, not costume party or whatever this is supposed to be."

I bit back a retort and forced myself to smile. "I understand. I'll revise them."

She tossed the sketches onto the desk with a curt nod. "Try starting over from scratch. And it will do you well to remember to stay with the brand's aesthetic. Mr. Roberts will not tolerate anybody on this team wasting company resources."

I clenched my fists as she walked away. Frustration churned in my chest. Margot had it out for me the first time I stepped into her studio. I could come up with the perfect design that hit every target of the brand's aesthetic and she would still find something wrong with my design. Her constant criticism was wearing me down, but I refused to let her break me.

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