Page 13 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

Salvage what little bit of peace and quiet I have in my life, given all the many people who make unreasonable demands on my time.

“You’ll be staying downstairs,” I say. I take a closer look at the shoe in my hand. Yes, that’s definitely drool on the heel.

I pull off the loafer I’d already put on and then set both shoes aside. I pick my pair of gray Valesca Belgian loafers off the rack and fit them on.

“What’s wrong with the black ones?”

“They have dog spittle on them.”

“Are you always this fussy?” She turns to look at the closet rows. “And who organizes your clothes like this? By color, I mean. Black, dark-gray, light-gray, tan…” She walks along the row and touches a few items.

“Could you please keep your hands off my clothing items?”

“Sorry.”

I have to squeeze past her to make it to the door. I catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s floral and fruity. Or is that her shampoo? Whatever it is, it smells divine. It’s not right for her to smell that good.

That cloudy-headed sensation sweeps over me. I’m getting dangerously close to the same frame of mind I was in when I agreed to this foolish arrangement in the first place.

It’s this closet. It’s too small.

A walk-in closet is no place for laying down the law. And that’s what I have to do with this woman. I have to give her some rules if we’re going to survive the summer.

It’s a relief when I step out into the bedroom.

And yet—this won’t do, either. My bed’s right there, still mussed up from last night’s sleep.

I can’t talk business while she’s taking note of the color of my sheets.

“You’ll be staying downstairs,” I repeat, as I usher her through the room and out into the hall. “There’s a guest room and adjacent game room where you can do your work. The area has a private entrance as well. You can go in and out that way. That will give us each some space.”

“Ah ha. You like your space. Got it. I won’t bug you too much. I’ll only track you down in your closet if there's a real emergency. Like I run out of butter for my toast and need to borrow some. Or I can’t open a jar of olives.”

Even the thought of that kind of intrusion makes my skin itch.

“I’mteasing, Damian. I won’t pop in on you at all, even in the direst of circumstances. How’s that?”

Better. “Let me show you downstairs.”

I maintain silence as I lead the way through the house. I can hear her footsteps behind me, along with her dogs. He better not be drooling on my floors.

“Did you really design this place?” she asks, as our steps echo on the metal stairs that lead the way to the ground floor. It’s a wide staircase, and the stairs are wrought iron. Windows to our right shed light on the paintings displayed on the wall to our left.

“I did.”

“Cool. Bo’s freaked out by these stairs, but he’ll get used to them.”

“He won’t have to travel this route. As I said, there’s an outdoor entrance that you can access from the yard. And when I want to check on your work, I’ll come down to you.”

“Check on my work?”

“Of course. Now that you’re staying here, it will be convenient to monitor your progress.”

For the rest of the descent, she’s mum.

I face her when we reach the bottom of the stairs. Her expression, so cheerful earlier, has gone stony.

Women. They’re a mystery I will never, for as long as I live, solve.

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