Page 4 of My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

Gwen has to push her lips to my hair to say, “It’s gin, girl. You’ll have to get used to it in this town.”

My lips purse at the mere thought of having something like that again. I’m used to cheap beer and colorful cocktails that are almost always bootlegged moonshine. Even then, gin tastes like bad decisions, and I don’t need to make any of those tonight in front of my coworkers.

She orders two more drinks in tall glasses now, handing me one while she takes the other, her hand latched and locked on my wrist so she can drag me away to the back of the club, past the stage and the huge crowd of people listening to hard music. It’s daunting to be somewhere this crowded and tight.

I hold my breath until we’re in the clear, outside on the breezy patio that’s lit with cigarettes, people in their nightclub clothes, and some wooden picnic tables that sit under many heat lamps. I meet the guys from earlier, thecoding geeksthat are relatively familiar to me, at least.

They remind me of my online college friends taking coding courses. They’re a little awkward with very specific humor, but they’re all super friendly, nonetheless.

One of them elbows Gwen and asks, “You didn’t get herthe swan, did you? Seems a little rough for her first time out.”

Gwen waves him away, eyeing my drink that I’ve been a little apprehensive to taste after that hell of a shot. “Nonsense! It’s Seattle. She has to get a taste of the town.”

“Only if the town tastes like sour rubbing alcohol,” a new voice warns, a heavy presence cascading over my back like a lingering shadow lifting from the ground. “Here, try this, Kitten.”

I turn just enough to see a familiar face with high-cut cheekbones, dark quaffed hair, and a set of dazzling dark eyes. He hands me a small drink with a spiced rim and tan liquor on ice. I take the drink, somewhat surprised to see him here at such a place—nonetheless while wearing a blazer and slacks.

Holding the drink, my lips are parted in thanks, or at least in utter shock, unsure what to do at this moment with everyone watching. He’s my boss’ rival! I can’t just accept a drink from him.

“Izzy, right?” Dimitri purrs. “Why don’t I show you around the place? I’m good friends with the owner.”

I swallow, only nodding while I stammer to reply, “Yeah, one minute, okay?”

He nods, pointing towards the doorway to get back into the club. “I’ll be right inside waiting.”

When he leaves, I find Gwen’s eyes in my panic. She’s holding back a shocked look of surprise as well, taking a long inhale until her lips press upward in a smile.

“Oh my gosh, Izzy! What are you still doing out here with us? Go after him. He clearly finds you attractive.”

I roll my eyes, hesitant to sip on my drink but when I do, it’s sweet and simple—just what I needed compared to that tart gin Gwen chose for me. “I don’t know if I should. Isn’t he Alek’s biggest competitor? I can’t be flirting with him at a bar… right?”

“You’re not on the clock out here,” one of the guys says poignantly.

Another guy chimes in with a very matter-of-fact tone, “Besides, I’ve slept with at least three of Dimitri’s coding chicks at Wilde Tech.” One of the other guys elbows him, but he doesn’t back down. “What? He has really hot coding chicks. It’s not like we talk about work. The rivalry is between Alek and Dimitri, not us.”

“What are you still doing here?” Gwen groans, nearly ready to self-destruct. “Go, go, go!”

Taking my new drink, I hurry inside, only to bump into the mass of muscle that is Dimitri Wilde. He turns slowly, his eyes darkening while we’re nearly chest-to-chest. His line of sight comes right over the top of my head, standing way too tall for me to do the same to him, even in my stick heels. His grin is lopsided and proud, my chest flustered with the pressure of his attention while I fear my breast may pop right out of my red top.

Something tells me Dimitri Wilde would bemorethan okay with that.

“Where are we going?” I ask, the sounds of the music a bit louder than it was outside. “You said you know the owner.”

He leans in and forward, having to accommodate our clear height difference. His meaty, warm palm pressed to my side, brushing my smooth, bare skin with his strong thumb.

“Kitten, I am the owner.”

An old shiver strikes through me, and I wince, indirectly coming forward so I’m leaning against his solid chest. I can already feel the rippling muscles under his button-down shirt, my head spinning at how tough his body is. He doesn’t try to separate us, bringing me closer with his hand nearly stroking down my lower back, but keeping it above my skirt hem.

“Easy now,” he whispers, speaking his warm breath into the frame of my ear. “Don’t want to fall in those pretty heels of yours. You’d hurt yourself.”

I push my free hand gently against his chest to pull away, only slightly, my senses overwhelmed with his sweet whiskey scent that swarms my nostrils. His lips are just about even with my eyes, something about their perfect bowtie shape making my thighs pinch.

“I just wanted to steal you away for a moment.”

Clutching my drink, he takes the straw into his lips softly, pursed like he’s kissing me, and takes a long sip of my fruity-flavored drink. When he releases, I nearly want to bite down on that stray next, but I refrain.

In reality, I want him tobite down on me, but I don’t say that out loud. Even if I don’t, it’s clear he can read my expression—just as clearly as I can read his.

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