Page 39 of Fake Dating My Billionaire Boss

She definitely got a kick out of the fact that my parents own a grand piano and a harp. And now that she’s eyeing the extensive display of appetizers, I can tell she’s awed at the spread.

My parents have migrated toward the other side of the huge deck, and Addison’s nowhere to be seen—for once. Probably on the phone. She’s been trailing after me and Bella and we arrived, twenty minutes ago.

And before that, I spent all afternoon at the country club with her. As luck would have it, she “happened” to be at the greens at the same time as my father, his friends, and I arrived. My dear old dad invited her to play a round with us, and of course, she was more than happy to do so.

Golfing has never been my thing. It’s my father’s favorite pastime, but it’s never been mine. The only thing that I can think of that’s worse than playing through 18 holes with my father and his buddies is doing so with my ex-girlfriend in the mix. She kept climbing into my golf cart when it was time to move on to the next hole, as though we were a couple.

Hopefully, tonight will set things straight.

“Whatisall this?” Bella whispers to me, as her eyes rove the platters.

I could point to each item and list the key ingredients, but it would take too long. “Good food. Try something.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” She points to the oysters. “Are those raw?”

Before I can answer, she sniffs the air above the platter of cheese. “Oh boy. We have some stinky cheese here. Fizzy’s always telling me that when it comes to cheese, the smellier the better. You don’t believe that do you?”

I chuckle. “Actually, I like American cheese. The plastic-wrapped, comes-in-slices kind. Bright orange. Reminds me of being a kid.”

She rewards me with a little laugh. “Hey! Me, too.” Then she loops her arm through the crook of my elbow and tugs me toward the drinks. “Can you pour me a glass of one of these? I’m so nervous, I can’t think straight.”

“I hate to break it to you, but wine and champagne aren’t exactly brain-juice.” I lift a bottle from the silver carafe and scan the label. “Alcohol won’t help you think.”

“But maybe it will take the edge off my nerves. I swear, I break out in a cold sweat every time your mother looks at me. And what was up with Addison when we got in? She hugged you ‘hello’ for like one minute straight. She would not let you go.”

“I’m aware.” I was the one locked in her taut, wiry arms for sixty full seconds. I nestle the bottle of too-sweet champagne back into the ice and lift a second bottle. Ah, Sauvignon Blanc. Bella will like this.

“Maybe me being around isn’t helping, after all. Maybe it’s making things worse.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I expected this. They were bound to launch a rebuttal. We have to weather it, stay strong, and make surethey understand we’re infatuated with one another. It has to pay off in the long run. I think it’s a fail-proof tactic.”

“You sound like you’re a general in a war room.”

“That’s because thisiswar, Bella.”

“Okay, okay…. Infatuated. I can do that. Sheesh… this is stressful.” Her eyes swerve over to my mother. “I’m trying to remember everything I said when she was at your house. We said you call me Sugar and I call you… what was it? My Teddy Bear?”

“Smoochums. Huggy Bear. And we don’t have to bring that up. In fact, I suggest we steer clear.”

“Okay. Copy that. No nicknames. What should I talk about?”

“Talk about whatever you like. Be yourself.”

The moreBellaBella is, the more upset my mother will get. And that’s the point of our attendance. I want to shock my mother into realizing that she can’t control my life.

“It’s a little too late for me acting like me,” Bella says, as she picks up a bacon-wrapped fig. She sniffs it, does the cute wrinkly nose thing, and takes a bite. As she nibbles, she leans against the table. “I never feel like myself when I’m zipped up in a dress and wearing high heels. It feels like I’m in costume, you know?”

I pour wine into a glass and then pass it to her. “It’s Sauvignon Blanc, from the Touraine region of the Loire Valley, France. I think you’ll like it.”

She accepts the glass. “Thanks. What about you?”

“What about me, what?”

She reaches a hand up, tugs the side of my tie, and grins mischievously. “You must get tired of wearing a stiff-collared shirt and tie every day. So buttoned up. Don’t you ever feel like saying, you know, ‘screw it’ and just wearing a t-shirt and flip flops?”

“That depends. Are you sayingonlya T-shirt and flip-flops? Or does this casual attire include bottoms?”

She laughs. “Obviously shorts or something. I’m not saying you should run around town pantless, like Winnie the Pooh.”

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