Page 32 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

Please, not my mother.

When I escaped the office mid-morning to come here, to the space that will house my new museum, it was with peace and quiet on my mind.

I didn’t tell my assistant where I was heading.

I turned off my phone.

And, for the past two hours, I’ve been blissfully lost in the surprisingly soothing task of packing up Historical Society displays.

But now, someone’s found me.

I whip around, fearing the worst (my petite mother, pantsuit, giant pearls, and all). But instead, I see Bella walking across the room. A slurping sound emanates from the plastic cup in her hands as she sucks down the last drops of whatever’s inside. Bo trots along at her heels.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask as she nears.

“Hello to you, too, Damian. Nice to see you and thank you for the strange note you left on my door.”

“Ah. You got the note.” The packing tape on my hands is being uncooperative again. The end of the tape keeps sealing down onto the roll, and I can never seem to find the end of it. I run my fingertips along the surface to no avail.

Without a word, she takes the tape from me. With one nail, she frees the end, stretches the tape out, and hands the section to me. Then she gestures with the roll to the room around us. “This space is gorgeous. Are you really putting a modern art museum up here?”

Despite the dust swirling in the air and the fact that half the overhead bulbs are out, the roomislooking good. I’ve been slowly, steadily, making improvements. It didn’t take more than elbow grease, and I’ve been happy to put in the hours. “That’s the plan.” I stretch the section of tape she handed me across the box at my feet.

She peers down at it. “What’s in there?”

“This box is all old newspapers from the sixties. I already packed up the thirties, forties, and fifties.” I gesture to a nearby wall, where I’ve stacked a dozen cardboard boxes.

She bites her lip as she looks at the stack. Then she rattles the ice left in her cup. “So, like, it’sonlynewspapers in those boxes? Or is there other stuff in there, too?”

Why can’t women ever be easy to understand?

I’d like to meet a woman who says exactly what she’s doing and why. Straightforward. Direct. These riddles confuse me.

“Can I return to my earlier question?” I say as I slide the box aside. It’ll have to go along the wall with the others, but I won’t haul it over there now. Right now, I’m talking to Bella.

Bella, who turned up out of the blue and interrupted my much-needed peace and quiet. Now that I have a permanent houseguest—her—my home is no longer my sanctuary.

Bella, who continues to rattle ice in her cup nervously.

Bella, who looks absolutely ravishing in her faded, hip-hugger jeans with holes at the knees, and a tank top that lets me see entirely too much of her bare skin.

I hope she doesn’t wear an outfit like this to my parent’s house. Then again, I want to look at her for hours, in exactly this outfit.

What is wrong with me?

“Oh, right,” she says. “You want to know how I found you here. Here’s a hint for you. You, your mother, and your father drive the nicest cars in Silver Springs. So, there I am, passing beat-up pick-up truck after beat-up pick-up truck, and then I see your brand-spanking-new hunk of metal parked on the curb. I didn’t know you were going to put your museum here, in this building.” She starts stretching out another section of tape. “You need more?” I check the box. “One more piece will do it.”

She hands me a long section and waits while I apply it. Then she hands me back the tape roll and wanders away.

And, heaven help me, I follow her.

Because even though she’s annoying and talkative and intrusive, I want to be near her.

She gazes out through the big windows that run along the east-facing wall and then lifts her fingertips to brush them across the glass. “Wow. This glass is cool.”

“Some of the windows are still original, from when the place was built in 1868. That’s table-rolled sheet glass. This window still has it, and so does that one, down there.” I gesture past her.

She looks that way, and her long ponytail sweeps over her shoulder.

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