Page 37 of Baby For My Bossy Fake Fiancé

Chapter Ten

Damien

“Fuck,” I slammed the lid of my MacBook shut. The loud sound resonated through my study. But that was the least of my problems.

It could be replaced. Any fucking thing could. But not the deal.

I had just read the email from Reynold’s real estate. Informing that due to certain health complications, signing of the deal would be postponed. It appeared that the man had gone into cardiac arrest the morning after the event.

Pinching the bridge of my nostrils, I released a frustrated grunt. Deciding to take the day off work wasn’t helping. I should have known.

This was not the plan. I should have known things would take a different turn. I should have known to prepare for contingencies.

Now I’d be stuck with my assistant. But that was the least of my problems, at least for now.

My throat suddenly constricted. There was only so much laying low could do. It was only a matter of time. And the time was drawing near.

My heart dipped as I glanced at the table before me. A magazine that tried to probe into my past. And alcohol.

The perfect combination for a man on the run. For a man whose past was catching up with him.

I became attuned to the silence as I watched the taunting bottle of whiskey. I had escaped its clutches. Its sinister grip of addiction.

And I had vowed never to go back.

Who was I kidding?

Not going back was impossible. Except there was a way to erase my past. And atone for my sins.

With dreary eyes, I tugged the bottle closer. Ignoring the glass cup in front of me, I brought it to my lips.

It burned, just like it used to. And I longed for the oblivion that came after.

The elusive and successful Damien Knight, managing partner of Blanchard Legal, was once in a heartfelt relationship that left his heart crumbled. Could this be the reason he’s still single?

Heartfelt relationship…

I took another swig of the scorching liquid.

What did they know? What relationship did they know? How much di-

It didn’t matter anyway. Whatever they knew, they would only know more. If… they kept digging.

If… or when.

I downed the third swig. This time, leaving it long enough to trickle down my lips.

Walker was a good distraction to the media. A good distraction but not a perfect one. As foreseen, she had piqued their attention. But for how long?

This fresh ruckus–the new headline– would give me time. To make sure everything stayed buried. Hidden. But how?

The whiskey didn’t seem to be having any effect. The guilt was still heavy in my heart.

Perhaps I’d grown so addicted. And I needed another bottle. A stronger one.

The floors relinquished a screeching sound when I stood up. But before I moved, my phone buzzed.

Phone. Not my landline.

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