Page 15 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

“A whole month? Impossible.”

“Please.”

“I can give you four days.”

“That’s not enough.” I cross my arms over my chest.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, like I’m annoying him. Maybe I am, but I have to put my foot down about this or else the whole scheme is a lost cause.

“Bella, I’m paying you. I’m housing you. Unfortunately for you, I call the shots.”

“No.”

“No?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Damian, I can’t paint under pressure. And now that I think about it, even four weeks is optimistic, given the size of this piece. I probably need six weeks before I unveil it to you.”

“Six? You just went from four weeks to six. That’s not how negotiating works, Bella. You’re supposed to offer something closer to the terms I proposed.”

“But I don't like what you proposed. Four days is nothing. That’s the blink of an eye.”

“Okay, one week, then. That’s the absolute maximum amount of time I’m willing to wait before checking in on you.”

“Six weeks,” I insist. I’m on thin ice and I know it. I notice that a little vein has popped out along his left temple. It throbs a bit as he glares at me. The muscles of his jaw clench.

Then his eyes dart down the hallway, toward the windows that line the entryway.

I hear the distant thud of a car door closing.

“Is someone here?” I ask.

I swivel in time to see that a sleek silver sports car has pulled in next to my beat-up Camry. Two women are sitting in it. The older of the two is at the wheel, and the younger is applying lipstick in the passenger seat.

“That would be my mother,” Domain grumbles, as he looks out at the car. “She must have gotten tired of waiting for me to respond to her texts.”

“Who’s that with her?”

“Her sidekick, these days,” he says.

“She has a sidekick? What is she, a superhero?”

“A villain is more like it.”

I snort. He’s being so melodramatic. “Come on. I doubt she’s that bad.”

He doesn’t answer. He seems to be lost in thought as he gazes out at the driveway.

“Are they coming in here? Am I going to meet them?” I ask.

“They’ll use the front door upstairs,” he says.

I check back out toward the driveway and see that he’s right. The two women exit the car and without looking our way, traipse up the walkway that winds around the house to the front entrance. Damian’s mansion is built into a hill. We’re on the ground floor, and his front entrance is above us.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” he says quietly, more to himself than to me. Then he bows his head and scrubs his hand over his face. “Agh! She won’t quit.”

“Who? Your mother?”

His head snaps up. He looks me in the eye. “Hm. Maybe… maybe… you.”

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