Page 16 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

Amanda

“Do you have any idea how close you are to losing your job, Fitz?”

Evan’s cold as ice tone belied the fire in his eyes. I thought that the nebbish-looking Mr. Fitz was going to burst into flames right then and there. Or maybe run and jump out the top floor of the office in an effort to escape Evan’s wrath.

I’ve been in a lot of office buildings and boardrooms in my time working for Jennifer’s charity. Possibly hundreds. And I’d never been in any nearly as soulless and spartan as that boardroom. Everything was black and white with hints of industrial, dull metal.

The setting seemed to translate directly into the people in the boardroom. It was a great term, boardroom because everyone in that chamber was stiff as a board. They all addressed Evan as ‘sir’ or as Mr. Jones. Usually ‘sir’. There were no smiles, no levity. It was all somber and businesslike.

I couldn’t get over the change that had come over Evan. He was no longer the sensual, passionate darling he’d been on the plane. This was a cold-blooded assassin of the business world. His suit might as well have been sewn out of the broken hearts of his enemies.

I found myself worried for Fitz’s sake. The poor guy was trying to explain why he hadn’t been able to find anyone to be Evan’s fakewife.

I had been summoned to this meeting to try and salvage the idea of a fake wedding, even though Fitz seemed to think it impossible. I was starting to wish I’d stayed home, because Evan’s cold-blooded wrath was frightening to behold.

“If you will just listen to me, sir, I’ll explain everything.” Fitz swallowed hard. “It’s been a series of unfortunate events and strange happenstance.”

“What’s the difference between a reason and an excuse, Fitz?” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “I really believe that our time together is coming to an end.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I really am. I have lined up several candidates, but sadly every time something has made them toxic to the point of radioactivity.”

“Like what?” Evan snapped.

Fitz pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and cleared his throat.

“Ah, well, let’s take Hillary Gomez, the former TV star.”

“I thought she was the ideal candidate. I mean, she has such a squeaky-clean image,” Evan said.

“Ah, well, about that…” Fitz cleared his throat. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded blue and white handkerchief, which he used to mop his sweating brow. “It seems that Miss Gomez was at Seth Goren’s afterparty and got into some, shall we say, ‘party favors’ that sent her on a crazed bender.”

Fitz turned his phone around so that Evan could see the screen. It appeared to be news helicopter footage of a high-speed car chase. The banner at the bottom readFormer Kid Star Now in High-Speed Chase After Leaving the Scene of an Accident.

“One hundred miles, thirty-eight police cars, and one smashed donut shop later, she’s landed her perky little butt in rehab. So much for the squeaky-clean image.”

Evan seemed slightly less peeved. Not very much, but slightly.

“Very well. What about Scarlett Lakes? She’s up for an Academy Award, that has to be good publicity.”

“I’m afraid that Miss Lakes is no longer a viable option, either.”

Evan stood up and looked Fitz straight in the eyes.

“Fitz, I trusted you to handle this. I’m starting to feel like I have misplaced that trust. Sorely.”

Fitz mopped more sweat off his brow and cleared his throat several times before speaking

“I’m afraid it was out of my control, sir. Miss Lakes’ ex-boyfriend Chet Freeman—”

“Is that the pro wrestler turned actor guy?” Evan asked.

“Yes, the very same. He leaked a sex tape online as revenge porn. Miss Lakes is going into seclusion and her career prospects aren’t looking so hot right now.”

“Hardly her fault. Or yours, Fitz.” Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Now please tell me that Renee Paltrow is going to work out?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Our former Olympic figure skating champion has now joined the Committee to Rebuild American Patriotism. She’s shaved her head and declared that lizard people are running secret sex cults in the attics of Pancake Houses across the United States.”

I snorted with laughter. I couldn’t help it. Everyone stared at me like I’d just farted in church, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

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