Page 30 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

He nods.

“You said that.”

“Could you, for once, not remember every dumb thing I’ve said? Could you just believe me when I say that Icannotcrush on Damian Knight? You know the position I’m in, right?”

He sips his coffee thoughtfully. “Right. Maxine. The painting. He hasn’t caught on yet?”

“Nope. I keep all my art stuff in the billiards room, and I hung a sheet up over the glass-paneled wall so that even if he comes downstairs, he won’t see in. Besides, he said if I do this girlfriend thing—I mean,fakegirlfriend—if I help him out… he won’t supervise my work. I think he’s going to stick to his word.”

“Okay, but eventually, you’ll have to show him.”

“But by then, the painting will be done. I’ll be well on my way to artist fame and fortune.”

“You have it all figured out, then. Have funnothaving a crush on your new billionaire bachelor boss.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“The single women in this town would kill to be in your shoes, you know,” Fizzy adds.

“Believe me when I say it’s not an episode of The Bachelorup there. He actually told me when we had dinner together that he doesn’t want to get married.”

“Ever ?” I nod.

“That’s what he said.” My mind turns in exactly the direction it shouldn’t: toward the man of the hour. “Hey, I just saw his car on North Street, down by all the abandoned factories and the cured meats place. Any idea what he’s doing there?”

If anyone in town will know why Damian’s parked in a run-down section of town, it’ll be Fizzy. He makes it his business to know everything.

In most cases, he’s examined the situation from all angles, researched, interviewed key players, and written up the details in an article for hisFun Facts with Fizzyblog. It doesn’t matter if an issue is local or international, if there’s any sort of intrigue involved, Fizzy’s on it.

“Oh… he was parked there?” His eyes light up. “Fabulous. That means he’s probably clearing out of the Historical Society Museum space, so he can arrange his own stuff. I’ll update my fans. They want me to keep them in the loop.”

“Right!” I nod as a forgotten memory surfaces. “The Historical Society Museum was in that old factory building. Second floor… I remember going there once or twice with Mom when she volunteered.” Fizzy nods. “Damian bought the entire building and he’s re-purposing the upstairs. Soon, that floor will house the new Silver Springs Museum of Modern Art. I’ve heard rumors around town that the new Historical Society building will be on First Street, in one of those cute cottages down at theend. Which brings me to therealreason I invited you to have coffee with me…” He leans down and grabs his messenger bag.

I sigh. “Always, with these hidden agendas. Here I was, thinking we were here to catch up and hang out. What’s wrong with chatting?”

“We can chat. In fact, wemustchat. About this.” He pulls a manila folder from his bag and slaps it down on the table in front of me.

I blink. “What is this?”

“Evidence. It pertains to the Unsolved Mystery of the Midnight Move.” I groan. “Fizzy… Can’t we just sip coffee and talk about stupid stuff, like Damian’s hotness, or my runaway emotions, or… I don’t know… the weather ?”

“You brought up Damian’s’ car parked at the Historical Society. He’s probably packing boxes of old photographs, ledgers, and newspapers as we speak. I’ve heard that volunteers are supposed to cart all the boxes to the new location on First. They’ll probably get shoved in some back room and locked up for who-knows how long. However long it takes them to get the new museum up and running. It could be months. Years. I can’t wait that long. I demand answers.”

“Answers to what?”

He points to the folder. “You know. The Unsolved Mystery of—”

“Fizzy, that’s not a mystery. My parents packed up our apartment and moved—”

“In the middle of the night—”

“Yes, in the middle of the night, to California. They did a spontaneous, weird, abrupt thing. Sometimes people move on a whim. Maybe they felt stir-crazy in this town and needed a change of scenery. Who knows?”

“You had two weeks left of the school year. We were about to take our final exams and turn in term papers. Even if they feltcrazy, they would have had at least enough sense to let you finish the school year before up and leaving.”

“Maybe they were short on rent,” I suggest. “Times were tough back then. Their budget was always shoestring.” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter why we moved. It’s not a big deal. I got over it and you should, too.”

“It is a bigger deal than you think.”

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