Page 26 of Fake Dating Mr. Prince
“Do you believe her?” Ben asked.
I paused. It was hard to admit that the part of me that once loved Simone wanted to believe she’d been led astray by a big evil villain of a manager, but the glint in her eyes the night of her interview still haunted me. “No, I don’t. I think she knew exactly what she was doing that night, and she didn’t care that it would hurt me. Or that the American public would think she’d been in an abusive relationship.”
Noah nodded. He was with me when it all went down and knew how hard I took it. How I struggled to comprehend Simone’s carefully crafted words, suggesting the daily torment she lived with because of me. She never outright said I hurt her, but the implication was there, and the reporters ran wild with the story. I’d desperately wanted to believe it all had been one big mistake.
I wasn’t going down that road again. No way.
I reached for my drink when I felt two arms encircle my waist, making me jump in my seat. Before I could turn around to see who it was, a pair of soft lips brushed against my ear.
“Hi, I’m Amber.” I turned my head as she eased away from me with a pout on her face. She wet her plump lips with the tip of her tongue and raked her manicured nails down my biceps. “Want some company tonight?”
“Do I know you?”
“Maybe.” She tilted her head and batted her eyes.
For a second, my mind blanked. Had I slept with her? Did we know each other? My gaze took in her curly light brown hair, blue eyes, and classically beautiful face.
I might not remember a name, but I never forgot a face. I didn’t know her.
While I ineffectively tried to untangle myself, her friend curled her hand around my arm and batted her eyes at me. “Listen, ladies, I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“You’re Dean Prince, right?” Amber asked.
I was not in the mood for this tonight. Another day or time, I might have considered it, but my company was at stake right now, and that was far more important.
“Oh no, Dean Prince. This isn’t him. You just missed him.” Jaxon jumped in, placing his arm around the first girl, effectively peeling her away from me.
The girl’s face scrunched up. She looked at me, then at the door, then back at me.
“I can understand the mistake. Lots of people have confused him with me,” I said, playing along. “If you hurry, you might catch him.”
The second girl shrugged and grabbed her friend’s arm, and tugged her in the direction I pointed.
“Thanks,” I said. “That would’ve sucked if it got out of hand. I told my father I’d play by his rules, and I meant it.”
“It’s cool.” Jaxon slapped my back and winked. “Next rounds on you as thanks.”
An hour later, I pushed open the door of my penthouse, grateful to finally be home. I moved across the expanse of my open concept living room to my wall of windows and stopped to take in the view. Stars sparkled over the buildings spread out across the city while bright lights shined from the capitol building.
I rubbed at my aching eyes. The last forty-eight hours had been an emotional whirlwind. It was bad enough that no amount of charm won over Jules D’Amboise. Running into Simone was the cherry on top of a shit storm sundae.
I hadn’t seen her since we broke up and made a point to avoid any shows or movies she was in. I hated the reminder of what a schmuck I’d been. After three years together, I’d convinced myself that I knew her, that we were perfect for each other, that we might have what my parents did. She showed me that no matter what you thought, people hid their true selves in a relationship.
I ran my hand down my face and walked into my bedroom. Sleep tugged at my drained body. I threw off my shirt and barely got my pants off before I dropped face-first on my bed in exhaustion.
***
“WHAT THE HELL IS THEmeaning of this?” I jumped as my father slammed down a newspaper on my desk, the echo from the slap of his hand ringing in my ears.
“Meaning of—” I paused when I saw the picture on the cover of the tabloid. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Staring back was a picture of me with the two girls from last night draped all over me at the bar. “Dad, it’s not what you think.” I looked up and waved my hand at the paper.
Dad shook his head and started to pace. He stopped, opened his mouth, shut it, and then started pacing again. Finally, he stopped once more. When he spoke, the controlled anger of his voice had me wince. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want to run this company?”
I banged my palms on the desk in front of me and I pushed to stand in one fluid motion. My eyes narrowed, positive they met his gaze with confidence. “I can’t believe you would even ask me that. You know how badly I want to run this company. It’s all I’veeverwanted.” It was my turn to shake my head at him in disbelief. “I could have taken a job anywhere. Instead, I chose to work my way up here to prove myself to you, and to everybody else that I didn’t get this jobjustbecause I was your son.”
Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why, Dean? Why would you do this after the conversation we had before you left for Paris?”
“I didn’tdoanything, Dad. They approached me. I sent them away—end of story. I didn’t even know someone took a picture. It all happened in a matter of five minutes. You can ask anyone who was at the bar that night. I didn’t leave with those girls. I stayed at the bar for another hour with my friends, then went home. Alone.”
