Page 95 of Bonking the Billionaire

I was more nervous than excited.

I took a deep breath and slid up the plastic card.

I recognized my face in the picture.

Oscar Carrington.

The name sounded right in my head, certain. It wasn’t a fake ID. It was mine, and my name was Oscar.

I shoved the license back into the wallet, then slammed both it and the phone back into the glove box.

I still didn’t know what my baggage was, but I could feel the weight of it, the burden of my real life hanging over me like a noose. I couldn’t bring that back to Morgan. I’d been searching for my true name, and I’d found it. Everything could stay exactly how it was, at least for a little while longer.

I took a deep breath, not knowing what exactly I was protecting Morgan from, but knowing this was the only decision I could make at the moment.

The next time Morgan cried out a name in bed, it would be my real one.

THIRTY-ONE

MORGAN

I had no idea how Tristan had hacked his body into popping up out of bed in the morning, but I needed him to share his secret. It took me two full cups of coffee to feel like I was almost a real person instead of a human-adjacent zombie with brain slugs. And I was still dragging by lunch break.

Maybe my assumption was wrong. He definitely got up early every day, but maybe he needed to chug coffee to avoid the brain slugs, too. I chuckled to myself, imagining him sitting at the library, slouched in his chair, sipping his coffee, having dark circles under those ridiculously alluring mismatched eyes of his.

I popped an egg salad finger sandwich into my mouth and stared off into space.

Layana sidled up next to me. “Laughing at your terrible luck?”

“Twrrblle wuck?” Probably should have chewed and swallowed before responding. Smaller bites wouldn’t have hurt either.

“Because you were last to do confessionals and now there’s only egg salad, obviously.” She shot me a probing look. “Are you all right?”

I chewed, nodded, then swallowed the bit of pungent wet sandwich that had been lingering too long against my tongue. “Aces.”

She squinted again and leaned closer, making me wonder what exactly I was doing that made me suspicious.

Finally, apparently appeased with whatever she saw, she gave me a curt nod. “Got it. You’re just googly for that man.”

“Psh. What man?” I waved at her dismissively. “I am not.”

“Seems you already know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Tristan McHammerface?” Glitter joined in. “Whatever his name is, he’s hot. And the way you two look at each other—” She cupped her cheeks and batted her lashes.“Swoon.”

Layana laughed. “That’s the perfect impression.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Did we really look at each other like that? Didhelook atmelike that?

No. There was chemistry, that wasn’t up for debate. But no babydoll googly eyes were made in either direction. We were friends who were enjoying some really handsy friend benefits.

So why wouldn’t he let me touch him?

Gilbert pulled me out of my head with the sounding of Waylen’s air horn. And from there, everything moved so fast, I couldn’t think about anything but the task at hand. Thank goodness.

Production assistants hurried cardboard stalls around the room, enough for us each to get one. Each setup was painted in its own bright hue straight out of the rainbow. They looked like tiny colorful closets, except inside each stall sat a crate and a phone on a tripod. Most likely, they were meant as recording booths.

The overhead lights flared brighter and Waylen strolled on set to the sound of faux applause.

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