Fake: A Fake Fiance Romance

by Rush, Olivia

  I had to make a conscious effort to stop mentally ogling him and get on with the story.

  “There was a guy in there with you…?” asked Bess, guiding me to continue.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Guy in there with me. Handsome guy. Really handsome guy. Strikingly handsome.”

  “And you fucked?” she asked.

  “What?” I shot back, a little shocked that she’d go there. “No! Why would you think that?”

  “Because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you’re so focused on how hot he was.”

  “Just…painting a picture,” I said.

  A fitting turn of phrase—the man in the elevator had a face so stunning any artist would kill to paint it.

  “Anyway,” I went on. “We got in the elevator, and all of a sudden, the thing stopped.”

  “Oh god,” said Bess. “That’s happened to me. So freaking annoying.”

  “So it’s just me and the guy in there. He made some small talk, and at first I was too annoyed to want to say anything. But I dropped that I was new, and he went with it.”

  Bess raised an eyebrow.

  “And I might’ve…kind of…gone off about the company, and how I ended up here.”

  Bess let out a chiming laugh.

  “You spilled your guts to the random in the elevator?” she asked. “What, our drunken bitch-sessions weren’t enough for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I normally wouldn’t have said anything, but I was frustrated as hell about the elevator. Then I spilled my coffee all over my shirt, and that was enough to push me over the edge. But that’s not the worst part.”

  “I was wondering about that abstract-art-looking stain. But there’s a worst part?”

  “Yeah. He was dressed in a suit that you could tell was made for his body, and his body only. And he was going to one of the top floors.”

  Bess tilted her chin up and down in a slow nod of realization.

  “So, not only did you run your mouth, you ran your mouth to some guy who could make or break your career here.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “He’s probably upstairs right now, letting all the other execs know about the new troublemaker in the tech department.”

  “Did he seem put off?”

  “No,” I said. “Actually, more than anything, he seemed really interested. In a genuine way.”

  “Then don’t worry about it,” she said. “You don’t get that high up in a company like this by snitching on every underling that throws a complaint at you.”

  When she said “like this,” Bess gestured around to the sleek, enormous cafeteria in which we sat.

  “‘Underling,’” I said, bristling at the word. “I still can’t believe I’m in a place like this, my fate being decided by a bunch of rich penthouse owners on the top floors. Not why I got into this business, not at all.”

  “I know, I know,” said Bess, with a supportive tone. “But I doubt he cares. You vented a little bit, and that’s human.”

  She was right, but I still didn’t like how I’d behaved.

  “Watch me bump into this guy again, only this time he’s ready to use my bitchfest as some kind of blackmail. Because things like that are what you have to worry about when working for a company like this.”

  Right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out and saw that it was a call from Melanie, the receptionist in my section of the department. It read: “Big call in your office, ASAP 911.”

  I scrunched up my face, knowing that this meant it was no small matter.

  “Shit,” I said, packing up my salad. “I have a call in the office.”

  “Good luck,” said Bess, turning her attention back to her lunch.

  With the rest of my light lunch packed up, I headed out of the cafeteria and down the well-appointed, ultra-modern hallways of the tech department, hurrying back to my office.

  “What’s the story?” I asked Melanie as I took out my keycard.

  “Don’t know for sure,” she said. “Someone from the top floor wants to talk to you. And that’s all they’ll say.”

  My stomach felt like someone had slipped an ice-cold shard of glass into it, and my eyes went wide. Was I already about to face consequences for my slipup in the elevator?

  I unlocked my office and stepped inside, setting my purse and food down on one of the nearby chairs, my eyes fastened onto the blinking red light on my phone that indicated a call on hold. I filled my lungs with a full, calming breath and answered.

  “Chelsea Lane,” I said, affecting a chipper tone.

  “Good evening, Ms. Lane,” came the prim female voice on the other end. “I’m Eleanor Sykes, the personal secretary for Mr. Carver.”

  It didn’t sink in right away just whom she was calling on behalf of.

  “Mr. Carver?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” she said. “As in, the CEO of the company.”

  My body tensed up, and my breath quickened.

  “I see,” I said. “And what is this regarding?”

  “I wish I could tell you, but all he said is that he wants to speak with you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  “Oh, OK,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be right up.”

  “Very good. I’ll let him know.”

  Then the line went dead.

  I’d figured there’d be consequences for what I’d done, but I didn’t in a million years think that they’d happen so soon. It’d been less than forty minutes since the incident in the elevator, but my rant was evidently so egregious that I was about to be dragged in front of the freaking CEO of the company and chewed out. Or worse.

  There was no sense in putting it off, even if I’d had the option. I took one more deep breath and left my office.

  The elevator ride up to the top floor was, thankfully, less eventful than the one earlier. I rose silently up the dozens of floors above my department, the doors eventually opening to reveal a gorgeous officescape.

  The lobby was massive, with dark leather couches here and there. Natural sunlight that poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the place, and the view looked out onto the sweep of San Francisco and the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

  Men and women in expensive suits darted around, each of them wearing the same purposeful expression on their faces. A massive desk of smooth, black wood was ahead, a trio of receptionists behind it, and the word “Carver” written in big, intimidating letters above them.

  The three pairs of eyes locked onto me in unison, all three receptionists wearing the same skeptical expression, each of them with beautiful but severe faces.

  “Hi,” I said, instantly feeling as though I didn’t belong.

  None of the three said anything. I cleared my throat and straightened my back, eager to get on with what was ahead.

  “I’m here to meet with Mr. Carver.”

  The three women shared glances, as though their first instinct was that I was lying.

  “Eleanor called me just a few minutes ago,” I said.

  “One moment,” said the receptionist in the middle.

  She snatched up her phone and made a quick call while the other two receptionists continued to watch me. After a moment of speaking, the receptionist in the middle hung up and gave a quick, assenting nod to the girl on my right.

  “Karen will lead you back,” she said.

  The receptionist moved to my flank.

  “Right this way, please.”

  She led me through the long, straight halls of the executive floor. I glanced around as we walked, taking in the stylish wealth on display.

  “Do you know what this is about?” I asked.

  “Mr. Carver will answer all your questions,” she said, her tone prim and a little curt.

  We arrived at a huge set of double doors, the black wood so glossy and polished I could see my reflection staring back at me. Karen nodded to another secretary who sat near
by, then quickly left my side. The new secretary picked up her phone and made another call.

  “Please,” she said after hanging up. “Go on in.”

  I hesitantly placed my hand on the huge door handle, part of me wondering if this was all some kind of trick. The door clicked opened, and I stepped inside.

  The office was just as impressive as the rest of the floor. The ceiling was at least a dozen feet high, the walls were adorned with massive pieces of abstract, modern art, and a huge black desk dominated the space. The windows looked out onto what was easily the most impressive view of the city that I’d seen since moving here.

  And behind the desk stood a man, his back to me, his hands clasped together.

  “Mr. Carver?” I asked, stepping slowly into the room, my shoes echoing in the vast space.

  “Ms. Lane,” he said.

  His voice struck me as instantly familiar. But I couldn’t quite place it. The closer I moved, the more familiar he seemed. That expensive suit, that auburn hair…

  I made the realization as soon as he turned around.

  It was the man from the elevator.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, flashing me a smile of perfect, white teeth. “Please, have a seat.”

  Chapter 3

  Bryce

  Her jaw dropped, just like I’d been expecting.

  “Wait, what?” she shot out. “You’re not seriously the CEO of the company?”

  “You think I’m squatting in here?” I asked with a wry smile.

  “No,” she said, her milk-white skin turning a deep shade of red. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

  “You weren’t expecting the man who you’d been ranting to in the elevator to be the owner of the company.” Then I raised my finger, remembering her exact words. “Wait a minute—the ‘heartless CEO’ of the company.”

  She let her head drop in defeat, and I decided that I’d let her squirm enough—I wasn’t a sadist.

  “Did you bring me up here to fire me in person?” she asked, that fire from before returning to her eyes. “If so, just get it over with so I can start putting my résumé together.”

  I gestured to one of the high-backed chairs in front of my desk. “A seat, please.”

  She regarded me skeptically for a moment before sliding her slender body into the black leather chair and folding her hands on her lap.

  “I didn’t bring you here to fire you,” I said.

  I could see the tension melt out of her shoulders.

  “Then just to chew me out, to teach me a lesson about running my mouth? I have to say—lesson learned.”

  “Damn,” I said. “You’re really ready for the guillotine blade to drop, huh?”

  “I acted like an idiot,” she said. “I’ve barely been here half a day and I’m already putting my foot in my mouth in front of the CEO. Maybe that’s a sign that this place isn’t for me.”

  I walked over to the other side of my desk, unbuttoned my suit jacket with a deft motion, and took a seat on the edge.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “I didn’t bring you here to fire you or scare you or put the fear of god into you or anything like that. I brought you here to make a proposal.”

  The last word of my sentence forced a small smirk to my lips. I hadn’t intended it, but my word choice had been quite literal.

  Chelsea shifted in her seat.

  “A what?”

  “But you know what?” I asked. “I haven’t even introduced myself.”

  I rose from the desk, made my way over to Chelsea, and extended my hand.

  “Bryce Carver, CEO of Carver Holdings. Soon to be Carver Conglomerates.”

  She glanced at my hand for a moment, as if this was another trick. Then she took it and gave it a quick shake. Her skin was warm and soft, and I felt my cock twitch in my trousers at the feel of it.

  “Chelsea Lane,” she said as I released her hand. “But you already knew that.”

  She sat back and crossed her legs, giving me a glimpse of the ripe flesh of her thigh. I knew she was a stunner—it was part of the reason why I’d chosen her for what I had in mind—but I wasn’t prepared for exactly how distracting she was going to be, seated in my office. My mind filled with images of her bent over my desk, that round, perfect ass bare in front of me as I shoved my cock into her again and again.

  I shook my head, bringing myself back to the moment. “Chelsea Lane,” I said. “Anyone tell you your name sounds like a reporter’s?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first,” she said. “It’s the ‘Lane.’ Gets people thinking about Lois.”

  I smirked. Now that the initial shock of it all was beginning to settle, I could see that her sharpness and quick tongue was coming back. “Anyway,” I said. “You didn’t recognize me when I was in the elevator with you.”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I mean, I know you’re the CEO of the company and all, but I’d never seen your face before.”

  “That’s on purpose,” I said. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile for the last year or so, staying out of the spotlight.”

  Her face lit up. “Wait a minute,” she said, sticking a red-nail-tipped finger in my direction. “I have seen you before! Not in person, but on all the tabloids.”

  I winced at this reminder of my past. “I’m a little surprised to see that you’re the type to read those things,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t,” she said. “But the girls in the office—the old office—did. I heard your name all the time, but I’d only seen your face in passing. You were quite the ladies’ man, if the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors” had to be my least favorite word in the English language.

  “Some are, some aren’t,” I said. “That’s how those things go.”

  “And let me think—the last one I heard about was you and Felicity Hargrove, that British actress. Then nothing.”

  And now she was talking about my sort-of-ex-girlfriend, the main reason I decided to drop off the radar.

  Chelsea was controlling the conversation a little more than I liked. I decided to get it all back on course.

  “I’ve been making a special effort to stay out of the public eye for a while, which is why you didn’t recognize me right away.”

  She scrunched up her pert nose in a mildly adorable way. “Because of that actress?”

  “That, and I’ve been focusing on business matters.” I gestured to the building around us. “Towers like this don’t get built in a year if the CEO of the company is spending all his time at the places where the paparazzi are taking pictures.”

  She sat impassively, waiting for me to go on.

  “But now I think I’m ready to be back out there, but without my old reputation dangling like an albatross around my neck.”

  “Is that so?” she asked. “And why’s that? Just a change of heart? Is the playboy CEO ready to turn over a new leaf?”

  She leaned forward in her seat, the single undone button of her blouse giving me a tantalizing hint of her cleavage. Damn, this girl was a magnet for my eyes.

  Then another curious expression played on her face. “And why are you telling me all of this?”

  I figured at that moment it was time to get right to the heart of the matter. “If you’ll be patient,” I said, raising a finger, “all will be revealed.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts again, causing them to strain against her blouse. As much as I loved the sight of Chelsea in her sexy business wear, she sure as hell was making it hard to stay focused.

  “Carver Holdings is in the middle of a major expansion, as you can see. We’ve strained ourselves a bit buying up smaller companies in the city in an attempt to diversify.”

  She scoffed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Very familiar with that part.”

  I went on, not wanting to get bogged down in a fight.

  “My long-term plan is to make this company into a true conglomerate, with a tech division rivaling Apple, a pharmacy division t
hat’s the cutting edge in medical research, and a manufacturing and distributing base to put it all out on the street.”

  “Very capitalist of you,” she said.

  “I do my best,” I retorted. “Right now our company is one of the biggest in the city, but I want to make it one of the biggest in the world. And that’s going to take planning on my end, but what’s more, it’s going to take money.”

  “If you’re looking for a loan,” she said, crossing then recrossing her legs, putting the other thigh on display, “then I’m sorry to let you know that I’m pretty stretched right now. Rent’s not cheap in this city, you know.”

  She finished with a sly smile, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “No, Chelsea,” I said. “There is something I want from you, but it’s not money. Are you familiar with the name Damien Winter?”

  She tightened her face into a thoughtful expression.

  “Sounds vaguely familiar. One of those old-money rich people, right?”

  “Very, very old money,” I said. “And very, very rich. So rich that it almost beggars belief. See, there are plenty of rich tech-types in the city, but if you’re looking for the big money, guys like Damien are who you want.”

  She said nothing, apparently very curious where I was going with this. My eyes did a quick sweep of her mile-high legs, the imagined sound of those pantyhose being ripped off playing in my mind.

  Focus, focus, I told myself.

  “The thing with these old-money guys is that they’ve got old-fashioned values to go along with their fortunes. They’ve held onto their money by being conservative in just about every way you can be.” Now it was time to cut to the heart of the matter. “And conservative men don’t do business with single playboys. They do business with stable, married men.”

  Chelsea sat back, her eyebrows furrowing. “But you’re not married, right? You’re not even engaged. Hell, I don’t even think you’re dating anyone.”

  “And that’s why you’re here, Chelsea.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Not even a little.”