Page 223 of The Rebel Billionaire

“Are you trying to tell me my creative director has been lying to me for months about what my PA has been up to?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then how was it?”

“I asked her not to say anything.”

“And she agreed?”

I rub my forehead between my thumb and forefinger.

Think, Brooke!

“I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression that I was only interested in you for my career,” I say.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back.

“I… It… Look. I can only imagine how it sounds.”

“Can you?” His lips twist.

“These are my designs,” I say.

He lets out a dry laugh. “Your designs. A twenty-four-year-old with no previous fashion experience, and you expect me to believe you designed and produced these?” he says, pointing to the sketches and detailed flats that Elise had me produce. “You may be great in bed, Brooke, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t take me for an idiot.”

I sigh.

“I’m not. I know it might seem far-fetched.”

“Far-fetched?” He shakes his head, letting out a harrumph. “Do you know, I anticipated a more convincing excuse. You expect me to believe a couple of months of night classes would have you producing designs like these, with this level of technical detail?” His eyes never waver from mine, his expression hardening. “How naïve and stupid do you think I am? Even raw talent needs to be trained and honed.”

A trickle of sweat runs down my back, and black dots appear in my vision.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve studied design,” I say, meeting his gaze.

He pinches the bridge of his nose hard.

“Not the first time?”

I sigh. “I completed the first year of an undergraduate fashion design course in the UK, before I came to New York.”

He grabs a piece of paper from the desk and waves it at me.

My made-up CV.

“So, you’re saying this is fabricated? Because I’ve read it multiple times this morning, and I don’t remember seeing a full- or part-time fashion degree course listed, or a gap in the timeline where it could have been omitted.”

Oh crap!

“It… I… Please believe me when I say it isn’t what it seems.”

“Want to know something else? I realised today that your CV is perfect. Too perfect.” His gaze never wavers. “No timeline issues, no missing months. Everything lines up perfectly. Does my mother know who you really are?”

I stare at him, watching his expression change as every half-truth and lie falls into place.

“Alex, I…”

“Get out,” he snaps. “I need to think.”