Page 15 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Her eyes sparkle prettily in her anger, and it takes a second for me to stop staring at them enough to gather what few wits I can manage to find. "Have you?" I manage to force out, doing all I can to keep a neutral, uninterested expression on my face. But it isn't easy when all I want to do is grab her, throw her across my shoulders, and take her up to my apartment to have my wicked way with her again.
"Yes. We just got a message that your finance department isn't approving our expense report. What's up with that?"
Not sure what to say, and still only half registering what she's talking about, I stammer out something about me not having been at work this afternoon due to personal commitments, but she cuts in, rudely, ending my explanation mid-sentence.
"Listen," she hisses. "I don't give a damn what you've been up to this afternoon, and I'm not going to interrupt your evening at home, either, but we do need to talk. I'll be at your office tomorrow morning, first thing. Don't try to avoid me. Believe me, you can't get rid of me that easily." With that, she flashes me an expression that if looks could kill would certainly have leftme for dead, turns on her heel, and heads back down Central Park West, her backside swaying provocatively as I watch, until eventually I can see her no more.
I stand on the sidewalk, my cock tented in my pants, and a strange ache of loneliness descending over me. What if she'd come up to the apartment? If those twenty or so minutes of sordid action over my office desk had been that good, what would a whole night of genuine lovemaking be like?
"Everything okay, sir?"
"What?" Startled, I look around, to see Alvaro, the Cuban doorman standing next to me, looking a little concerned for my wellbeing. I quickly pull myself together.
"Oh… yes, yes, just fine, Alvaro, thank you, just fine. Here," I hand him a fifty that I happen to find in my pocket, though I'm not really sure why. "That's for your concern."
"Well, thank you, Mr. Wolfe." His voice registers pleasant surprise. To be honest, I'm surprised myself. I don't normally give out generous tips for no real reason. Still, today has been a strange day all around, I think as we head up the steps. Alvaro, all smiles and pleasantries, calls the elevator for me, and gives me a salute as I step inside.
It must be somewhere between floors eleven and seventeen when the thought hits me... Jenna Marlowe… couldshebe the one?
Could she play the role of my fake fiancée?
CHAPTER 5
Jenna
"Gah!" I down my cocktail in one gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and slamming the tumbler back on the bar counter. It burns on the way down, but it's already loosening my muscles, uncoiling some of the tension that has been plaguing me all week. "God, I definitely needed that."
"Yup," Ashley remarks, watching me in amusement. "It looks and sounds like you did." She signals the waiter for another round—Mimosa for me, and Long Island Iced Tea for her. The waiter nods and gets busy with shakers, shot glasses, ice, and all the paraphernalia of his trade.
I sit upright on my stool in the trendy bar, rolling and stretching my neck, turning it from side to side, trying to ease a knot that just won't seem to go away no matter what I do. God, I need a thorough massage, perhaps followed by a session in the sauna. Actually, I could do with a proper vacation… somewhere exotic like Fiji, perhaps. Right now, however, that's a luxury I cannot afford.
The problem is that this damned project for the Wolfe Foundation has taken over my life. It's literally been the only thing I've focused on — from first thing in the morning as Itumble wearily out of bed to last thing at night as I collapse back onto my mattress, shattered and aching from another day's insanity. I've had to give up the gym, I've stopped visiting my parents, and I've not had one single moment of personal recreation time —unless, of course, you count the time I was lying across his desk while he speared his cock into me, my juices flowing, heartbeat pounding…
I bite my lip and clench my thighs. No, that's not happening again. It can't happen. I won't let it. It's a good thing I hightailed it out of there when I did. If I'd insisted on talking to him afterwards, we might have ended up at his home. God only knows what would have happened then.
"Ready to talk about it now?" The question from Ashley, my roommate and best friend, jerks me out of my reverie. She sips the Long Island the waiter has just set down in front of her and eyes me judgmentally. "Something's up, sister. I know you well enough to see the signs. Now spill."
Perhaps this bar isn't the best place to unload my tale of woe, especially the more personal parts. There are people around us, and the music is loud enough that we have to yell to be heard. But if I don't tell her now, I don't know when I'll get another chance. I glance around. Fuck it. No one's listening. I need to unburden myself, and Ashley's my best friend as well as my roomie. We've known each other since school, and there are no secrets between us. I'm so lucky to have someone like her to trust when times are tough.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell all." I sigh and reach for my cocktail, taking this one much easier than the first. "You know the project I've been working on, right?"
"For the hunky billionaire, Grayson Wolfe, you lucky girl?" she asks.
I roll my eyes. Of course that's the part she'd focus on. "Yeah, the hunky, irritating-as-shit billionaire Grayson fucking Wolfe,whose team wouldn't know what adequate communication was if it bit them in the ass. That one."
She grins. "He's really that bad?"
"Oh, you have no idea. Working with his company has been the most frustrating thing I've ever had to do in my life, and that's including having to delete all my mom's conspiracy theory posts from her Facebook page.
"Anyway, the first event was this welcome gala that was going to be held at the Ritz Carlton, flying in all these VIPs and dignitaries. I go above and beyond—and I'm talking above and fucking beyond—to get the venue looking perfect. I even hired that Brooklyn artist the Met Gala was trying to get for their stage, outbidding them in the process. I did it all… I set up the stage, spent ages on the décor, selected the catering, made sure the seating was comfortable, got the lighting exactly right… I did it all. Then, two days before the event, I go there for one last check to make sure it's all ready, and what do you think I find?" I pause for dramatic effect, locking eyes with her.
"What?"
"Everything I'd put there, all my hard work—the stage, the décor, everything—had been ripped down. All gone."
Ashley gapes, and the shock on her face tells me she gets it.
"Yup. It was all gone—all my hard work and blood, sweat, and tears of the last two months—and that's not even the worst part. I call his secretary to find out what happened, and you know what she said?"
