Page 96 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
By the time I realize it, it's too late. They surge forward, swarming me like flies.
"What the hell?" I shout, throwing up an arm to shield my face.
"Are you Grayson Wolfe's new fiancée?"
"Did he steal you from your ex?"
"Did you sleep with him to get your position, ma'am?"
My brain blanks. I don't even try to answer. I just run, pushing through the glass doors and straight into the building, praying they won't follow. My hands are shaking as I jab the elevator button.
When the doors close, I sag against the wall, gulping air. By the time I reach my office, I'm trembling so hard I can barely fit the key in the lock. Once inside, I slam the door, lean on it, and let out a shaky breath.
Safe. For now.
After a moment, I pull myself together enough to grab my phone and call Grayson.
He answers on the first ring. "Hello?"
Grayson, what the hell is going on?" I demand. "Why are there paparazzi outside my office?"
He pauses. "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Isn't this one of your schemes?"
"No. If it were, I'd have told you. Besides, why would they be after you? It's not like I'm a celebrity."
"Are you kidding me? You were in Forbes!"
"So were half the people in New York. That doesn't usually draw a camera crew."
I exhale sharply. "I don't know, Grayson. All I know is I don't have time to deal with this right now."
"Don't worry," he says, voice calm. "I'll take care of it."
"Please do," I mutter and hang up.
To my surprise, he actually does.
By the time I need to head out for errands, the street is clear—no cameras, no shouting, nothing. The relief hits like cool water after a fever.
When I finish my errands, I drive to the event venue, anxious to see how things are shaping up. Guests are already arriving. Servers glide through the lobby with trays of champagne and orange juice, and everything looks perfect.
I weave through the crowd until I spot Grayson talking to a large, balding man in his fifties wearing a tailored suit, cowboy boots, and a longhorn bolo tie instead of a regular one.
"Congratulations on your engagement, young man!" the Texan booms as I approach. His accent is thick enough to butter bread.
"Thank you," Grayson replies smoothly.
"And is this your fiancée?" The man turns to me, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Hooo-eee," he whistles. "I can see why you picked her to plan this symposium… amongst other things. She's a mighty fine filly, that's for sure."
I freeze, every muscle in my body locking. My heart plummets to my stomach. This—this exact insinuation—is what I'd feared.
Grayson's jaw tightens, but his tone stays polite. "She got the role because she was the most qualified."
"Yeah, sure. I bet her dick-sucking skills had absolutely nothing to do with it!" the man guffaws, roaring with laughter at his own joke.
My heart drops further still, shame burning through me. Before I can even react, Grayson moves.
