Page 1 of The Billionaire's Obsession

CHAPTER1

Riley

Ichecked my lipstick one last time before getting out of the cab. Troublemaker Pink; my favorite.

The Camelia was the hottest place in town for dinner, or so I’d heard. I was more of a three-day-old left-over chow mein out the fridge kind of girl, unless I was working. Tonight, I was most definitely working.

In L.A, everyone had a side hustle. Some sold stuff online, or reviewed movies and made millions. Others were skilled in programming or gaming, or something useful. I had no skills. I’d found out the hard way, so my side hustle was a little unusual.

I was a fake date, available for hire to the worst family dinners, thanksgiving meals and ex-partner’s weddings. Tonight, however, I was having my arm twisted into doing something entirely different, and out of my remit. Admittedly, I’d done it for her a few times before, but it made me nervous every time.

“Please, Riley, I’m begging you. I can’t go on another of these dates. The guys hear who my father is, and they are always interested before they even meet me. I won’t marry some random who is half in love with my father, and not me. I’d rather die!” Ella, my very best friend in the world, an award-worthy drama queen, announced before flopping down on my bed. She was using her helpless damsel in distress tactic to get me to agree to impersonate being her on another stuffy, mismatched blind date her father expected her to go on. It shouldn’t work, except the tech valley type of guys he usually set her up with weren’t the sort to read society pages, and Ella was one of the most reclusive billionaire’s daughters in all of L.A. She could be unrecognized in most places she went, since she took her online privacy seriously. Stepping in as her for a blind date had worked for us a few times in the past, but that didn’t mean our luck would hold.

“I have another date tomorrow at the same place, and you know that’s against my rules,” I reminded her.

“Whew, if you can’t break the rules now and again, what’s the point of being alive?” Ella grumbled with the perfect confidence of someone who didn’t have to hustle every damn day just to keep her head above water.

“It’s not a rule that’s fun to break. It’s about self-preservation. I’ve yet to be recognized mid-date, and I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, I have a packed week ahead with the exhibition.”

While I might not like my side hustle, it was an absolute necessity for me, as it gave me time to work on my pottery the rest of the time. Yep, that’s right, I was a twenty-five-year-old starving artist, who slaved over a potter’s wheel the morning, and ruined dates on request by night. The cliches wrote themselves.

“So what? You’re the queen of tanking dates. You’ll be in and out of there in half an hour–if you like the food, ten minutes if you don’t. Please, please do this. You know I’m a terrible people-pleaser, and I’ll just smile along, and he’ll think I’m into him. Please, get me out of this one. It’s my last request!”

I sighed, already knowing I would give in. I could never say no to my best friend. “You’re not dying.” I rolled away from her on the bed before standing up. “Fine, but I’m borrowing your clothes and keeping the outfit, and you’re buying me that new clay I wanted.”

“Done! I love you!” Ella cried and squirmed off the bed. “Let’s pick something out.”

Now,walking into the elegant, understated Camelia, over on 3rd, I felt the usual pinch of nerves I always felt when doing my job. Despite what my clients might think, lying didn’t come naturally to me, and it did leave its mark.

In two years of the job, I’d only once had a problem with one date who had recognized me the next day at the grocery store. It had been unnerving, and I couldn’t wait to give up my little side gig. It might earn well, but it was only a matter of time before it caught up with me somehow. Ella made fun of my little rules, but they were the only thing standing between me and total humiliation sometimes.

Inside The Camelia, understated French jazz played, and the soft murmur of conversation held that feeling of wealth. Even the poorest person in here was probably about a hundred times wealthier than I was, and I felt it at moments like these.

“I’m here to meet Mr. Preston,” I said, quietly checking Ella’s message with the blind date’s contact details.

The hostess smiled warmly at me. “Of course, Mr. Preston is already here. Please follow me.”

Already here?Damn, I liked to get there early to feel more settled.

I followed the hostess through the restaurant, and toward a table in prime position, on a slightly elevated level. I’d been to enough fancy places through this job to recognize the best seat in the house. It looked like Ella’s father had pulled out all the stops this time with his arranged date. The man was determined to get his heiress daughter married this year.

A man sat with his back to me. Broad shoulders, clad in a dark gray suit, and dark blonde hair, precision cut. The back of his neck was tanned. Hmm, maybe this was a date Ella would have actually enjoyed? Well, it was too late for that, seeing as I was about to impersonate her.

I rounded the table and stopped as I met the most piercing set of blue eyes I’d ever seen. He stood, unfolding to a towering height. He was built, and fit as hell, and his face was the kind to make a girl do a double take in the street. Golden skin and slashed eyebrows, with a hint of stubble, just enough to take the edge of a jaw line you could cut rocks on. His mouth tightened disapprovingly, as he inspected me just as thoroughly as I did him. I was staring. I knew it, but honestly, it was hard not to.

“Mr. Preston?” I got out, recovering first.

He inclined his head regally. “Miss Clarke, I presume.”

“You presume right. I mean, yes, I’m Ella.” I stammered. Crap,Riley, get a grip. He had his hand out to shake, and I quickly shoved mine into his. His skin was hot, and his grip strong as his huge palm enveloped mine. The touch sent a shock through my entire body.

“I suppose you should call me Cole, since we’re about to eat together.”

“Cole. I’m Ella,” I said, remembering to play my part just in time.

“So, you said. Well, Ella, shall we?” he prompted, when I stood there, still as a statue, and stared at our joined hands a moment too long.

“Right, of course,” I muttered, blushing furiously. What was wrong with me? I was a professional at this. I’d never felt so much like a stumbling ingenue, as I did right now, and I didn’t like it one bit.

---