Page 15 of Billionaire's Fake Plus One

“I called you a narcissist, a sanctimonious asshole who thinks the sun rises and sets on his ass as he goes about trampling on people on his way to wherever the hell he’s going.” I point out, trying to get him to see how this wouldn’t work. Our first impression of each other was terrible, and as they say, first impressions tend to linger.

Surprisingly, his lips quirk up. “I remember what you said. I deserved more.” I lose a little of my steam, and I stare at him open-mouthed. “What? I know when I’m being an asshole. I misjudged you, I’m sorry about that.”

“Wow.” I mutter as I sink back into my chair. I’m all out of points to argue with, and the figure he quoted in that document is still running in circles in my head.

“You know what? You don’t have to make a decision immediately. Take the night to think it over and give me your answer in the morning,” he says generously. “I would give you more time to think, but we’d need to leave for California in three days.”

He grimaces as if he hates the thought. But if he hates it so much, he wouldn’t go, right?

I walk to my room in a daze. I stare at the ceiling above my bed as I do some mental calculations on how I could put the money he’s offering to use. After using a huge chunk to pay off my debts, I’d be free to do whatever I want.

By no means is it going to set me up for life, but it gives me something better, something I’ve never had the luxury of having my entire life: options. As I think about it, a weight lifts off my shoulders before I even come to a final decision. But who am I fooling? With that much money on the line, the only reasonable answer is, yes.

It’s not like I’ll be doing anything illegal or something that’ll hurt someone. All I have to do is pretend to like Lucien - a few googly eyes here and there, finding humor in whatever he says. That’s basically all I have to do for a week, and that money is all mine. Should be easy, shouldn’t it?

11

Daily Update Rachel! Guess who’s going to Half Moon Bay? This girl! ??

“There will be no need for that.” Lucien says, clicking his fingers at Mrs. Garrett. She rushes forward to pick up my duffel. We have a brief tug of war over it for a few seconds, then I loosen my grip on it.

I watch her take the bag inside, incredulous. “Isn’t it a week-long wedding? Or did I read it wrong?” I ask as I come to a stop in front of Lucien in the living room. The girls have little travel bags with them, so it’s definitely not a mistake on my end.

Lucien lifts his head from his phone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’ll stop at a store on our way to the airport to get you everything you need.” I gape at him. “I’m sure your clothes are perfectly fine, but there is a certain…look my girlfriend would have.”

“If you want to take me shopping for new clothes, you’ll get no arguments from me,” I tell him, rubbing my hands together in anticipation, and his brows arch up. I shrug. I love shopping. I find it really therapeutic, but I haven’t had time or money to do it in a long while. With my other responsibilities, it just wasn’t a priority.

The front door opens, and a really,reallytall man decked out in a bespoke suit and dark, sexy sunglasses walks in. His hair is slicked back, and with the way he fills out the suit, it’s obvious he works out on the regular.

“Uncle Malcolm!” Maddie screams and rushes for him, Millie close behind her. He pushes his glasses into his dark hair as he smoothly crouches to hug the girls.

“Hello to my favorite girls in the entire world!” His voice is deep and husky, a total bedroom voice. His presence alone has me captivated and honestly, I’d do him if I were that kind of girl. Tawny eyes snag mine, and Lucien scowls at me.What?I mouth with a shrug.

“You’re right on time, Malcolm. For a minute there, I thought you might break your record of always being punctual.”

“Never,” Malcolm mumbles as he gets off his haunches and rises to his feet. His silvery gaze slides to mine. Holy shit. His eyes are arctic cold with a hard glint, flickering in what might just be the second prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. I shiver at the cold ruthlessness staring back at me.

He smiles, but it does absolutely nothing to warm his gaze. “You must be Wendy.”

I take it back. I’d sooner roll down a cactus-covered hill than do him. I narrow my eyes at him, but Lucien speaks up before I can say anything. “Willow, asshole.” He walks to his girls and bends down to take them in his arms. He whispers something in their ears, and they giggle as they clutch his hand. He kisses the top of their heads and gets up.

“Come on, Willow. We’re leaving.”

I hesitate, my eyes darting from the girls to him and back again. “Millie and Maddie aren’t coming with?”

“Of course not,” he says almost impatiently as he waves me over. “We need to leave now if we want to get there on time.”

I reluctantly say goodbye to the girls, then leave the house without acknowledging Malcolm. Lucien opens the passenger door of his Porsche.

“Thank you.” I whisper as he closes it.

He rounds the hood and gets into the driver’s seat. “Who’s going to watch over the girls while we’re gone?” I bite my lips nervously, partially worried about the twins and an equal part worried about me. They were supposed to serve as a buffer between us!

“Malcolm is taking them home with him,” Lucien answers as he pulls out of the garage, slowly making his way down the driveway to the main gates. The answer doesn’t make me feel any better as I wonder just how comfortable they will be with Malcolm. They did run to greet him when he entered the house, so he can’t be that bad, can he?

Maybe Lucien can see a little bit of worry in my expression because he says, “This isn’t the first time they’ll be spending time with him. They’ll be spoiled rotten between him and Anne, his mother.”

I sigh but otherwise don’t respond to his reassurance. I stare out the window as we drive across Bainbridge Island. I had hoped the girls would keep me tethered during this coming week - keep me grounded in reality - so I won’t get too lost in the pretense we’re about to engage in.

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