Page 2 of Billionaire's Fake Wife: A Single Mom BWWM Romance

Everything that I aspire to be as a successful woman, Mrs. Fields, seems to have accomplished it all.

The power, the fame, the ridiculously clear skin on her face, and on even on her hands as she continues to type, ignoring my presence.

"Mmm. Smells good. That will be all, Sonya. Thank you," she nonchalantly says without ever looking at me.

I don't know why but I find myself bowing ever so slightly in front of her as I'm leaving. I guess to me, she really is fashion royalty. I can only hope that one day, she'll see the potential in me too. I had to bust my ass off just to even get to be in my position in the company.

"Ah, Sonya. One more thing," Mrs. Fields suddenly erupts as I reach for the door.

I quickly walk up in front of her desk, "Yes, Mrs. Fields?"

"The napkins?" Mrs. Fields grins as she looks at me with a particular curious jest.

"Oh! Of course, my apologies," I say as I reach for my pocket and hand over the pile of napkins to her before finally leaving the office.

I sit back on my desk with a renewed sense of fatigue. Don't get me wrong, I love the opportunity to be able to work with the most celebrated female fashion icon of the decade. But sometimes, it can really get tiring just to be able to get on her radar.

But no matter how many hours I stay late in the office or how many cups of coffee I deliver to her, or even how much I keep asking for additional responsibilities, Gloria Fields just doesn't see to see anything else in me, other than my name.

If only I could get th

e opportunity to actually design dresses and even organize some of the fashion shows, instead of all these administrative work.

But I can't forget the other reason I'm doing this job, I say as I reach for my phones and open my photo albums and scroll over pictures of this cute five-year-old girl with caramel skin and angel eyes.

My daughter, Lauralee, smiles as I'm hugging her tightly in bed in our picture. On the day this picture was taken, I had just gotten home early in the morning, straight from work. That was the first night I had gotten assigned to work under Mrs. Fields, an employee of hers had just quit her job and left a pile of work to be done on that day. With a smile, I simply nodded and worked all night to get everything done.

Luckily for me, it’s a Friday, I had the entire Saturday morning, literally from twelve midnight to six in the morning, to finish the remaining workload, final edits on prototype sketches.

The phone rings and I put it on speaker.

"Sonya?" Mrs. Fields' voice emanates from my phone.

"Yes, Mrs. Fields?" I attentively reply.

"I'm going to need you to stay a bit after work today," Mrs. Fields informs. "Angelo just sent in his sketches today. They are atrocious, and he seems to be too wasted from partying last night to fix it. It's going to need a bit of your Sonya magic. Can I trust you on this?"

I take a quick look at my daughter's face now on my computer before answering, "I'd love to, Mrs. Fields. I would like nothing more than the opportunity to do so."

"What would I ever do without you, my dear," Mrs. Fields compliments.

She complimented me!

And with an invigorated sense of purpose, I continue on my work.

Two

Grant

Numbers, numbers, numbers. There's nothing better to start a day than combing through a hundred megabytes of spreadsheet data in my handy-dandy laptop. As I search through the various data sets like expenses and income, I can't help but feel a tinge of joy and excitement of the possible information the cryptic numbers hide within them. Like Indiana Jones, I salivate at the treasure that is waiting to be discovered in the Temple of Doom that is my spreadsheet file.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Is this guy some creepy weirdo? Is this guy a nerd? And the most common question that I've been getting from newly acquainted strangers is this guy a serial killer who leaves weird calling cards made up of numerical puzzles that taunt the detectives who are trying to solve the crime?

No, no, and no, but the last one might have been cool to see as a movie. Man, I should totally hit up Netflix for a pitch like that.

But I digress, I should really learn how to tell better stories, and not lead all you lovable fans of mine into some unrelated pish-posh of a side plot like what I'm doing now. Anyway…

No, I'm your typical handsome, six-foot-three, blonde, blue-eyed prince of privilege, all thanks to my last name, Fields. You might have heard of them about now, or more specifically, about my mother, Gloria Fields. Fierce, intelligent, and a beautiful fashion icon who rose through the fashion ranks throughout the years.

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