Page 14 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

Thankfully, I don’t have to decipher Bella’s moods. She can be as mercurial as she wants. All I have to do is show her to the guest quarters and make sure she understands that this living arrangement doesn’t make us friends.

Chapter 6

Bella

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and hold back the obscenity that wants to part my lips. Did he just say he’s going to monitor my progress?

A muted “ding” comes out of Damian’s pocket. He pulls out his phone, grimaces, then stuffs the phone away. Then he turns and strides across the museum-like space.

The floor-to-ceiling windows nearby let in an abundance of light. I can see the long driveway outside, bordered in lush green grass. My rusty, clunky sedan is parked next to what I presume is Damian’s shiny new, monstrous SUV.

The sky was cloudy when I left the city at five this morning, but now it’s pure blue. It turned into a beautiful summer day.

Not that Damian seems to care about the sunshine. He’s in a dark mood.

And now, so am I.

“What do you mean, monitor my progress?” I ask as I hurry after him.

This house is so… big.

Big and cold. Not cold temperature-wise, but cold as insterile. It feels almost like a castle where a bad guy would hole up, tapping his fingers together and plotting ways to fill the dungeons below.

My sandals slap against the wood floors. The walls around us are a mixture of exposed cement, glass, and steel. My voice echoes off the walls.

Damian, far ahead of me now, doesn’t look back. He reaches a door and pulls it open. Through the gap, I can see a huge bed topped with a snow-white comforter.

“This is the guest room you can use,” he says when I near. “And let me show you where you’ll be working.”

“Wait,” I say breathlessly. I push a stray strand of hair from my face and try to gather myself, so I don’t sound crazy. “Back there, you said you were going to come down and check on me. How often? Because I don’t work well under a microscope.”

“Every couple of days,” he says casually like he’s commenting on the weather.

But he’s not.

He’s ruining my plans to paint a landscape. ‘Better to ask forgiveness than permission’ is my new favorite saying. I’m going to make this painting how I want to make it. If Damian loves it in the end, great. If he doesn’t, I’ll refund him, and he can get someone else to do it.

I’m sure this museum opening he has planned will be fine, with or without my work hanging on the wall.

But all this hinges on my ability to actually have time and space to paint. If I have Damian breathing down my neck—monitoring me—I won’t be able to pull it off.

“We’re not talking about a microscope, Bella. A little supervision never hurt anyone.”

No… No, no, no.

He strides away from me, toward a wall made up of square glass panels. This time, rather than opening a door, he simply gestures through one of the many see-through panels. The room on the other side looks expensive. I spot a black leather couch and a big screen television.

“You can paint in there,” he says. “You’ll have plenty of natural light, plus overhead options if you like. I planned it as a billiards room and then realized I hate playing billiards, so I never even put in a table.”

“Is there anything you actually like?” The comment slips out before I can stop myself.

“I like art. And, therefore, I’m looking forward to seeing what you’re capable of.”

I shake my head. “I really don’t work like that.”

“In this case, you’re going to have to put your creative preferences aside.”

“It’s not preference. It’s—it’s…necessity, Damian. I need time to work on this thing uninterrupted and unsupervised, for at least a few weeks. Four. Give me four weeks, and then I’ll show you what I’ve come up with.”

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