Boardroom Bride: A Fake Fiance Secret Pregnancy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  I wonder what that would be like. To make a decision based entirely on how you feel at any given moment. It takes me months just to decide what color I want my hair. And even that breaks me out in hives sometimes. I’m definitely not a living-in-the-moment kind of girl. Losing my virginity was even a planned moment.

  “Hello, you did it again.” Ana gives me an exasperated look, waving her hand in front of my face. “Where did you go off to this time?”

  “Sorry,” I mumble again. “Professor Mason, is it?”

  Ana rolls her eyes. “Catch up, Tatum. I just asked you if you’re busy tomorrow night.”

  “Why?” I ask her, narrowing my eyes. There is no telling what she wants to drag me along to. I learned the hard way that I need all the deets up front.

  She smiles like she has the best secret in the world. “I may or may not have scored some backstage passes to the Gravity concert tomorrow.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say, dropping my fork. Then I look around in embarrassment when I realize how loud I was. More than one person is looking my way after that outburst.

  “Oh my god, Ana. How?”

  “Cydney’s friend that works at The Garden.”

  Ana’s older sister has the hook up with her friend that does VIP something or other at Madison Square Garden. We occasionally get the leftovers when she has extra tickets no one else wants. But Gravity? There’s no way there should be leftover anything when it comes to that band.

  Just the thought of the lead singer, Evan Anderson, is enough to send my pulse into overdrive. I’ve only been the biggest fangirl ever since I was fifteen. Well, at least in my own head. I don’t act like a fangirl. But inside I want to rip off those clothes and explore all that ink that covers his body, then lick him from head to toe.

  Ana laughs. “I know exactly where your head just went.”

  My face burns. So maybe a small part of me gets the allure of Ana’s sexcapades, but only in the context of Gravity, specifically Evan.

  “I am so there,” I say, a huge grin on my face. Day. Made.

  “Hang on there, babe.” She wags a finger in my face. “These passes are conditional.”

  I immediately go on high alert. This cannot be good. Like, at all.

  “How so?” I ask slowly.

  She sits back and purses her lips, folding her arms over her chest and studying me for a moment before she speaks. “If you have the opportunity to meet Evan Fucking Anderson, you’re going to make the most of it.”

  I’m not sure I like where this is going. “Again. How so?”

  “Do your damnedest to get him to take you home with him. Or to his hotel. Whatever.” She waves her hand like the location doesn’t matter. As if that would be what has me looking at her like she’s lost her mind.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Ana. Come on.” I know she’s joking. She has to be.

  But my friend looks dead serious.

  “Nope. That’s part of the deal. Take it or leave it.” To make matters worse, she emphasizes her point by pulling out two tickets and waving them in front of my face.

  This is the exact kind of thing I don’t do. Make crazy, impulsive decisions. The idea of just going up to Evan backstage and trying to seduce him has me practically spitting out the sip of water I just took to buy myself time before I answer.

  “Come on, Tatum. Live in the moment.” She says it like a taunt. Like she can goad me into it because she knows that I hate the part of myself that analyzes everything to death. Sometimes I wish I could live in the moment.

  “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she continues, still waving those tickets around. Then she plays dirty. She pulls out her phone and opens it up, tapping until she pulls up a picture that she turns to show me.

  It’s so ridiculous I can’t keep the laughter from bubbling out. It’s a glued together collage of a snapshot of fifteen-year-old me and a magazine clipping of Evan. I don’t know when she took a picture of it, but I need to get that off her phone the next chance I get. Like I said, closet fangirl right here.

  “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t like an actual picture of you and Evan.”

  Of course I would. If I’m being totally honest, I’d even go so far as to say that I’d be up for a night with him. The problem is that I have no clue how to go about that. It’s just so not me that even the idea of attempting it has my throat locked up with tension.

  “Don’t worry, Tatum,” she goes on, as if she’s oblivious to my torment, even though I know damn well she isn’t. “I’ll have your back.”

  I smile wryly. “Great. You for a wingman. Just what I need.”

  Ana claps, because that comment right there? She knows I’ve already caved.

  I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning. Totally mad. I have to be. Because the girl who deliberates obsessively over the smallest choices—chocolate or vanilla? I’m telling you it’s a debate of epic proportions—has just made the decision on a whim to seduce Evan Anderson.

  Oh god.

  Evan

  I strum the last chord on my guitar, the noise reverberating through the sold out arena as I wail the last angsty, screaming lyrics into the microphone.

  “Thank you and goodnight!” I thrust my fist into the air as the crowd goes insane, the noise level deafening. Pure euphoria riots through my body, adrenaline and the energy coming from the audience mingling together to for the best high ever.

  I fucking love my life. Why wouldn’t I? I’m Evan Fucking Anderson, lead singer of one of the hottest rock bands in the country. Shit, probably the world.

  I have money, looks, fame, and a line of girls a mile long waiting for me in every city. Just begging to fuck me. Doesn’t get much better than that.

  I give my signature cocky grin to the audience, then jog off stage with my boys, ready to celebrate yet another kick-ass show.

  We laugh and high-five each other, me and these guys that I’ve been with since we were practically kids, and amble into the dressing room to change out of our sweaty shirts before we head to the VIP meet-and-greet.

  I hate the damn things. But it’s all part of the gig. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a hot chick who’s interested in getting a little extra VIP attention.

  I chuckle as I pull a fresh t-shirt over my head and run my fingers through my mop of dark hair. The night is young, and the women are easy. At least around Gravity they are.

  The guys and I make our way to the backstage area where the meet-and-greet is set up, taking our place behind the ropes.

  “You ready?” the bouncer asks.

  I grin. “Send ‘em in, man.”

  Five at a time, he brings them in and lines them up, and we spend the next fifteen minutes signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. It’s not the highlight of my evening—at all—but I take my time, making sure I give each fan plenty of attention. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be where we are. That’s something I always try to remember.

  “Here’s the last group,” the bulky guy says, pulling the door open again.

  Only three file in this time, and my eyes roam over them, taking them in. A young kid that looks like he’s totally awestruck, and two girls.

  I try to give the kid my full attention, signing the guitar strap he managed to get in with and giving him some encouragement about keeping at it with playing, but I can’t seem to focus. My eyes keep returning to the girl hanging back behind the rope with the black and pink hair. Like I’m drawn to her. I can’t look away, hard as I try.

  It’s not just that she’s so fucking hot I want to know just what it would be like to sink inside her. Though she is, don’t get me wrong. It’s that she looks like she isn’t sure if she wants to run towards me or bolt in the opposite direction.

  I tilt my head, halfway listening to what the kid is telling me, but my eyes rake over her. Ripped black skinny jeans, tight gray t-shirt, the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the low neckline, and a cropped black leather jacket. And fuck me. Fu
ll, round tits I want to bury my face in and never come up for air.

  I mumble something to the kid, sending him on his way with some cliche words, then it’s her turn. She and the girl she’s with walk up to me, her friend gushing and smiling at me.

  “This is so great. I can’t believe we’re meeting you. We’ve been fans for so long. Well, I mean, Tatum here has been your fan the longest. And really, she’s the one who’s the real fangirl.”

  This chick continues to ramble on and on, but I latch onto the name like it’s gold. “Tatum.” I grin, turning the full force of my infamous cockiness on her. “Nice to meet you.”

  She looks at me, her eyes wary, still seeming like she’s debating making a break for it. Huh. That’s a new one for me.

  She’s still hanging back a bit behind her friend, so I reach for her hand and pull her closer, arching a brow. “Fangirl, huh?”

  Tatum glares at her chatty friend and says, “Not quite.”

  The sound of her voice hits me, and I’m instantly intrigued. Low and a little throaty, it’s sexy as hell. I can just imagine it screaming out my name as I make her cum and cum and cum and cum…

  I snap out of the fantasy when her friend snorts. “Not quite? Please. Tatum here has been practically in love with you since she was fifteen.”

  Tatum gives me a wry smile and rolls her eyes, mouthing, “Drama,” as she tilts her head toward her friend.

  My grin goes wider. “Yeah, you definitely don’t give off the typical fangirl vibe.”

  “Thank fuck,” she says, totally deadpan. “I think I’d die if I did.”

  I laugh. “I don’t know whether that should hurt my feelings or not.”

  She arches a brow, looking only slightly less likely to run out the door than she did before. I don’t know what to make of her. This is probably the first meet-and-greet ever where I’ve had to work to get a girl to smile.

  Her friend jumps in—and her? Total fangirl—and says, “Don’t listen to her. She loves you guys, like I said. See?”

  She shoves her phone in my face at the same time that Tatum gasps. Her whole body seems to heat, a flush creeping its way up her neck. Fucking adorable. I look down to see the cause of her reaction, then smirk.

  “Sorry, Tatum, I’m going to have to agree with your friend here. This picture is pretty damning.”

  “Oh god,” she says, covering her face with her hands and looking like she wants to melt into the floor.

  It’s so cute that I can’t resist. “Maybe we should recreate it? What do you think?”

  Without waiting for a response, I wrap my hands around her wrists and pull her hands away from her face. She looks absolutely mortified.

  “I will kill you for this, Ana.”

  But all her friend—Ana—does is smile and hold her phone up, ready to snap the picture. She nudges Tatum. “Go on. Get next to him. What are you waiting for?”

  I pull her toward me, still holding her wrists, and wrap her arms around my waist. She looks up at me in surprise as I tuck her against me. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I won’t bite.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes. Actually rolls her eyes.

  A laugh rolls out of me. This girl. I truly have no idea what to make of her.

  “Let me guess,” she says, mockingly. “At least not hard?”

  “Only if you want me to.” I lower my head to her ear, inhaling the cherry blossom scent of her hair as I do. The smell goes straight to my cock. “And definitely hard.”

  She stares at me like she can’t believe I just said that to her. But I don’t miss the flare of desire in her eyes. Thank fuck. I was starting to wonder if I had zero effects on this girl. Because she sure as hell is affecting me.

  “Smile for the camera, gorgeous.” Just because I want to know what she’ll do, I slide my hand down into her back pocket, pulling her even closer to me.

  A little gasp escapes her lips, and I want nothing more than to do things that make her make more of those little sounds.

  Ana snaps some pictures, and I know it’s time to wrap things up, but I can’t seem to make myself say goodbye, thank her for coming, or whatever meaningless nonsense I usually say.

  I turn fully towards her, still not letting go, and say the first thing that comes to my mind. “You want to go get a drink with me?”

  Tatum

  I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m not sure if it’s because Ana is gesturing obscenely behind Evan’s back or because he’s holding me so close, his hands on my fucking ass.

  I swallow and force myself to draw in a slow lungful of air.

  “Tatum would love to get a drink,” Ana exclaims.

  I glare at her over Evan’s shoulder. “Tatum can speak for herself.”

  Evan chuckles, the deep rumble sending a shiver through my whole body. “So what does Tatum say?”

  Everything about this guy exudes sex. His voice, his eyes, his mouth, his body, which—oh god—is unmistakably hard.

  I want to push away from him just so I don’t do something horrifically embarrassing like rub myself against him.

  I look up at him, clear blue eyes intent on my face. Here we go with the decision making. No wonder Ana felt the need to chime in. I debate with myself, knowing this is a chance of a lifetime. Drinks with Evan Anderson? I’d be an idiot to pass that up. But at the same time, I know I’m going to have Ana’s condition in my head the whole time.

  I mean, I know I don’t actually have to go through with it, but the thought will be hanging over me.

  Evan arches a brow. “Trying to find a way to let me down easy?”

  That’s almost laughable. Someone turning him down. But as I look at him, I see the uncertainty in his eyes. This guy is known for being the cockiest of them all, yet right now, he seems anything but sure of me.

  It’s kind of comforting. The idea of the full force of his over the top personality overwhelms me. But this? I can handle this. I smile up at him, the words slipping out easier than I expected.

  “A drink sounds amazing.”

  A huge grin takes over his face, and mine spreads wider.

  Giving me a little squeeze, he leans in close. “Give me a minute.”

  He steps away and chats with the other guys, and I turn to face Ana. “Don’t say a word.”

  She mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing a key over her shoulder, holding her hands up like she’s all innocence. I roll my eyes, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face. This didn’t go at all like I expected.

  Next thing I know, Evan has me tucked back under his arm, and we’re walking out of the arena and down the busy street. “Where to?” he asks. “You know what’s good around here?”

  “Yep. I know just the place.”

  It’s one of my favorite bars. An old warehouse turned into a brewery. The vibe is just the right mixture of fun and chill, and they typically have live music.

  We make our way there and find a spot in the back.

  “So, Tatum.” He says my name slow and smooth, that voice so, so sexy. Deep and scratchy. Raw and rumbling. I love the way it sounds coming out of that mouth.

  I arch a brow. “Yes, Evan?”

  He chuckles. “I got the distinct impression you weren’t sure you actually wanted to meet me tonight.”

  I shift uncomfortably. “Yeah, well.” How do I put this? “Fawning all over a rock star isn’t exactly my thing.”

  He nods like he gets it. Smiles like he likes it.

  “What do you do?” he asks, reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. The gesture I so casual, so relaxed and natural, but I feel his presences all around me, filling up the space between us.

  And that’s how it is all night. Easy conversation. Laughter over drinks. Subtle touches. And a vibe that makes it seem like we’re old friends.

  Other than the growing tension I feel every time he stops talking and stares at me for too long with a bit of hunger in his eyes. At least I think that’s what it is.

  I almost can’
t believe it when I realize that hours have passed. “Oh my god. I need to get home. I can’t believe it’s so late.”

  “Or so early.”

  He’s right. It’s three in the morning.

  “Let me take you home.”

  I pause, trying to decide what he means by that. Take me home or take me home? I’m equally unsure what I want him to mean.

  A fling with a rock star? Hello, isn’t that every girl’s dream? If not, it’s always been mine. But that’s exactly it. It’s always been a dream. Facing the possibility of it being a reality is a bit crazy. Okay, a whole lot of crazy.

  “Sure,” I finally say, because I definitely don’t want to ride the train all alone this late.

  We head to the station, and he slings an arm around my neck, singing one of their rock ballads as we walk. I must be half-drunk because I start singing along.

  This night has been amazing. I haven’t felt this carefree in a really long time, and I just let loose as I sing.

  He stops and stares, just at the top of the steps leading underground.

  “What?”

  “Your voice. It’s gorgeous.”

  I smile shyly. “Thanks.”

  I’m not even embarrassed like I normally would be at that kind of statement. I’m just so comfortable with him. It’s crazy. And that’s when I know. I want to do this. I want to spend one wild, crazy night with Evan Anderson. Just because I can.

  I take a step closer to him, fisting his shirt in my hands and rising up on my toes so I can reach his ear. “Take me home.”

  He has no trouble understanding what I mean when I say it.

  He just flashes me that cocky grin that I find so sexy and grabs my hand, leading my down the stairs to the train station.

  Evan

  We’re the only ones in the car of the train. It’s crazy. I’m not in New York a lot, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a common occurrence.

  Tatum sits beside me as the train lurches forward, her eyes wide as she studies me. “I don’t do this,” she blurts out.

  I laugh. “I know.”

  Her eyes narrow now. “How?”