Page 22 of Darling Obsession

I don’t know what this annoying flutter in my gut is all about. My breakfast must not be sitting well.

Ever since she walked in here wearing a chef jacket and sneakers and somehow looking even sexier than she did wearing next to nothing in Velvet Lounge, blathering apologies and trying to give me a pink cake, I’ve felt…off.

I concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths as I get up and round my desk. I stand in front of her, and she looks up at me.

She seems to be struggling to breathe right, too.

Maybe she really thought I was going to fire her.

Good.

“This is a joke, right?” she says, still struggling to digest the situation. “I saw this in a movie once. Demi Moore and the billionaire…Indecent Proposal, right?”

What a nice time to discover that she has a sense of humor.

I slide my hands into my pockets, a stance of calm control, but my fingers are feeling twitchy. “This is not about sex. I’m not paying your husband for a night in bed with you.”

“Oh, good. You’ve seen it, too. Then you know how ridiculous what you just said to me sounds.”

“I’d caution you to take me seriously.”

She frowns. “Doesn’t the billionaire lose in the end…?”

“I am not trying to win, or buy, your love,” I grit out. “Pay attention. You will attend a family dinner with my siblings and I. All you have to do is pretendthat Darla is one of your names. It shouldn’t be a problem. You seem to have several of them.”

“Several of what?”

“Names. Identities.”

She shakes her head, confused. “I… what?”

“Your name is Allison. You told me it’s Quinn.”

Her full name, according to her employee file, is Allison Quinn Monroe.

“Quinn is my middle name,” she says. “Everyone calls me Quinn. I literally only use Allison when I have to.”

“You go by Dominique at the club.”

“Because I was told to.”

“And I’m telling you, your name will be Darla, for one night.”

I can see it’s sinking in, slowly. That I am serious.

“Why, though?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m your employer. But,” I force out, “I broke up with Darla and didn’t tell my family. They’ve never met her. So, you’re her, for one night.”

That should be explanation enough to satisfy her, true or not. It’s all I’m willing to give.

Maybe the undertone of this whole conversation is becoming clear to her. That I’m in control of this situation, and I’m not giving her a choice.

I’m not asking.

“But… how can you trust me to pretend to be someone I’m not in front of your family?”

“Because I told you you’re going to.”

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