“Don’t be naïve,” Edward scoffed. “Billionaires are all about the transaction. Just present it to him as a business opportunity. Tell him he can have anything.”
“One of my big fake-relationship rules is no sleeping with the fake boyfriends.”
“He will be your fake fiancé slash fake husband,” Shirley reminded me. “You’re going to have to at least pretend you guys are doing it.”
“I can’t do this,” I groaned. “A fake prom date or a fake wedding date is one thing. This is marriage we’re talking about.” I wished I had stolen a bottle of liquor from Cassie’s condo. I could have used a drink.
“Ticktock,” Edward said. “Cassie cannot have that house. This is the moment your whole life has been building toward. This is your last chance to make your dreams come true and for all of us”—he gestured around the room—“to get the hell out of Manhattan.”
“We could make jam,” Shirley pleaded. “There are orchards and maple trees on that property. Think of the cute labels. Think of how nice the Instagram account will look.”
“You teaming up with the Weddings in the City girls,” Edward cajoled. “The magazine spreads, the publicity—all you need is one little fake marriage.”
I squirmed.
“It’s not like you would be lying to Blade. You would both be on the same page.”
“What if he says no and fires me?”
“What if he says yes?” Edward said. “Do it. When I see you this time next evening, you need to have that billionaire in a custom-embroidered wedding bag.”
I took a deep breath. I needed that house. Cassie would probably paint all the wood and glue carpet to the floors. I wasn’t doing this for me, I was doing this for the house. Besides, now that I actually had actual assistant experience on my resumé, I could find another job if Blade fired me.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Hell yeah!” Edward said, jumping up and almost hitting his head on the low ceiling. “She’s going after her fake fiancé!”
5
Blade
There was a certain type of man who allowed himself to become embroiled in a fake relationship. He was usually weak, indecisive, and beholden to the whims of family members. Fortunately, none of that applied to me—though we did need to win that Harris & Schultz contract. In the car on the way to the office, I listened to an interview with Chuck Schultz. He went on and on about how he liked doing business with family men and how all of these young tech CEOs needed to settle down. What if we lost the contract because neither Weston nor I was in a serious relationship?
Weston is going to procure a girlfriend. It is not any of your concern.But had Weston ever really had a girlfriend? He’d had flings, yes, but my brother was not known for long-lasting, monogamous relationships.
My phone buzzed as I parked in the tower garage. There was a picture of a blandly pretty young woman on the screen.
Archer:What about this one? She could be a good fake girlfriend. She’s a swimsuit model.
Weston:I am not getting a fake girlfriend, I don’t know what Garrett’s problem is. That man is insane.
Greg:You all cannot lose this project. Weston, you need to get a fake girlfriend now.
Weston:Make Blade do it.
Hunter:Maybe Blade should do it. He’s so secretive that it would be an easier sell. Everyone knows Weston is a playboy.
Archer:I can ask Hazel if she has any friends who would like to pretend to be the future Mrs. Svensson.
Greg:Maybe we could ask Meg.
I put my phone on silent as it blew up with profanity-laced texts from Hunter and walked out of the elevator, heading to my office. Avery was sitting at her desk. She was not wearing the Patek Philippe watch but some fake gold trinket instead.
“Good morning,” she chirped.
I narrowed my eyes. Normally Avery greeted me with a snarky comment. I had stopped wearing red ties because of a remark she had made on her second day at work. I almost looked forward to what would come out of her mouth. Once most people found out that I was a billionaire, they went into ass-kissing mode. Not Avery—she was always interesting. But now her greeting was bland and generic.
I waited a beat, frowned, and then went to my office. Avery followed me, closed the door, and perched on the edge of my desk as I sat behind the computer. It was a thing she did. She would always say she wouldn’t be long and didn’t need a chair.
