Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance

by Hayson Manning

  My jaw tightens. The good old Johnson way. Avoid the subject by changing it. I hate that I can’t talk to her about James. The one person I can swap memories with is a closed shop.

  “No.” I sample the frankfurter, but my stomach has shrunk to the size of a pea lined with barbed wire.

  My grandmother smiles. “She’s good for you.” She now stands by me. “I’m glad you came home since you’re at peace with your past.”

  Never have been, never will be.

  I can’t help the spasm that twists my face.

  “I don’t like deception, Jason. I won’t give you this house before I see you settle down. Really settle down. With Asia.” Her voice hitches. “It’s vitally important, in fact.”

  I frown at her cryptic comment but let it pass.

  She squeezes my shoulder, which is about as affectionate as the Johnson family gets. “It’s time we all moved on, and this house is holding me hostage. I think it will be an asset to a local charity.”

  My stomach rolls at her words. “Why would you want to gift it when your daughter and grandson’s ashes are here?” I grate out.

  “I need to be at peace, something I’m not convinced you are, either.”

  Jesus, Asia and I are going to have to be convincing if I want this tomb of a house, which I love and hate in equal measure.

  I stand and wander into the kitchen to find Asia eating a sandwich, sitting beside the blond help Cynthia has hired. Annika, I believe is her name. Both Asia and Annika are being thoroughly chatted up by one of the gardening staff, who is grinning at them. Then he lifts his shirt and scratches his stomach like a threesome is in his cards.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “Asia, a minute,” I say, going to grab her plate.

  Narrowed hazel eyes harden. “I’m at lunch. I’ll see you later. Much later.” A snorting bull is in front of me. “I’m making friends.”

  I can either make a scene or leave her to calm down while I work out how to apologize. I nod, and instead of wandering the halls with ghosts following me, I make my way out to the garage to check out if my grandmother has added to her vintage car collection. To my delight and surprise, I find a friendly face.

  “Dear God, Angus, is that you?” I grin at the old man in front of me.

  “Aye, laddie.” He wipes his hand down on an oily rag. “You’ve gone and got yourself all grown-up.” He puts down a spanner. I hold out my hand, but I’m pulled into a hug. He smells of oil, grease, and cold coffee, just as I remember him. I hug him back.

  He’s been the family mechanic since I can remember. He used to let James and I have races on the ride-on mowers.

  “I don’t suppose you want to race them now.” I follow his gaze and stare at the mowers of our past.

  Something scratches my throat. “You kept them.” I push my hands deep into my pockets, hating the emotion swimming in my eyes at the memory.

  “Aye. Thought one day, you’d have boys of your own. You could teach them a thing or two when you take over this place.” He hands me a wrench. “I hear you’ve got yourself a bonny lassie. Saw her stomping around earlier, looking utterly furious. Kept muttering about someone being an a-hole who needs to Google psychiatric facilities. Excuse the language, laddie.” Shrewd blue eyes cut to mine. “I suspect that might be you.”

  “Got it in one. I’ve got the perfect apology on its way here now by a special courier. If that doesn’t fix it, nothing will.”

  His hand clamps on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve got it sorted out. Complicated things, women, which is why I never married. Never cracked the code.” He straightens. “Now, laddie, have you got a spare hour or two for an old man? I need to strip the ride ons and grease and oil them.”

  I smile, awash in happy memories of Angus and me talking all things cars and engines for hours while James would have his head in a book. Tolkien probably, while I’d sneak out here to be with Angus.

  “Lead me to them.” I’m already rolling up my sleeves, grinning like I haven’t done in a long time.

  “I remember the time you lost control and ran over the roses. James, hot on your heels, mowed down the jasmine.”

  I laugh. “I remember. We pretended we were in the house the whole time.” I swallow over a big lump in my throat. “James had his book upside down, and I pretended to be reading Great Riverboat Cruises of the World. It was so heavy I couldn’t hold it up. I dropped it and got a nosebleed.”

  I swipe at the pollen that must be in my eyes. “Thanks for sharing.”

  “She means well, your grandmother, but sending you away before the bodies were in the ground, that had to be tough.” He nods in the direction of the house.

  Tough? It was hell. After a few whispered phone calls, I was sent away to boarding school three days later.

  My grandmother came screaming from the house on the fateful morning when James and my mother died. My dad arrived white-faced with a phone in his hand. He just stood there while my grandmother shrieked. I ended up inside, taken by who, I don’t know, and given brandy. When I woke up, their bodies were in the morgue. The last image of their faces—complete terror.

  “Worst day of my life watching James and your mother go in the ice,” he says quietly, then his voice hardens. “Watching your father run away was a kick in the guts.”

  “Yeah.” Again, in true Johnson style, we have never discussed it. The first time my father contacted me was when I was in my late teens, and stupid me thought he wanted to have a relationship with me. Turns out, he wanted a relationship with my bank account. When I was younger, I used to ask my grandmother if she’d heard from him, but her face hardened, so I stopped asking.

  “I always knew it was you two who turned the swimming pool blue.” Angus walks toward the mowers, and I follow.

  A little balloon inflates in my chest. I take a deep breath. Deeper than I’ve taken in years. Finally, I have someone to share James’s stories with. My heart lightens. I think I might have just skipped.

  “We thought it would be the easiest way to see what it would be like to be the blue people from that movie. We stole blocks and blocks of blue stuff you throw in toilets. We snuck out at night and piled it in. Man, that stuff took forever to scrub off.”

  Hours later and happier than I’ve been in for-freaking-ever, I leave Angus with another hug and a promise to return. I’m covered in grease, oil, and grinning like I’ve cracked Amazon’s algorithm and am going to sell it to the world.

  My world comes crashing down when I walk into our room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Asia

  “What’s going on?” Jason says as I smack the box against his chest. He’s covered in grease and the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

  “I don’t want this.” I smack the box again. When he refuses to take it, I let it fall to the floor. Handmade chocolates scatter across the carpet like wounded warriors. They were accompanied by the biggest vase of Stargazer lilies I’d ever seen. They are exquisite and drench the room in their scent, and I have no idea how he knows they are my favorite.

  “You don’t like chocolate?” Jason frowns, scooping the chocolates off the ground and putting them carefully back in the box. He places them on the bed.

  I love chocolate. I could eat my body weight in its decadence and have done so on many occasions.

  “Yes, I like chocolate, but it isn’t what I want.” I all but stamp my foot. “This is what you do, Jason, you send a gift instead of saying the actual words.”

  “No, I don’t,” he shoots back. “I apologize when I’m wrong.”

  “Did you apologize to me for earlier or send a gift which you think covers everything?” I tap my foot. “You have a habit of thinking money and gifts can fix everything. I’m giving you a clue here. It doesn’t.” I place the box in the trash. “And you acting like a caveman in the kitchen with Javier and Annika. Just stop it. As you pointed out, we are here for our own agendas, so I expect you to stick to yours.”

  I know there’s
more to the man than he lets on, but I will not be the one to blast through his granite exterior to find his marshmallow heart, if in fact, he has one.

  “Asia, I apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier. I woke in a foul mood and took it out on you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, my heart squelching a little bit at the remorseful look in his eye. I mean, I get it; the man was raised without affection. He shakes his grandmother’s hand after not seeing her for years. Who does that?

  “What’s with the chair?” He walks over to where I’ve made a bed for myself. Admittedly, it won’t be the best night’s sleep I’ll ever have. The chair is made to be looked at only. I like my chairs comfy and spongy. This chair is harder than bricks.

  “It’s where I’m sleeping tonight.” I thump the seat, hoping it will ease up a little. Since it’s the millionth thump and nothing has changed, I’m sleeping on concrete.

  “Why?” Dark, troubled eyes meet mine.

  “Because I must be the cause of your bad moods since you wake up thoroughly pissed off.”

  He sighs. More hand pulling through hair ensues.

  “It’s not you,” he mumbles, crouching down as he lights the fire. “It’s being back here after so long.” Flames flicker and his face in profile is one of sadness, and if I had my Dr. Phil hat on, I’d say grief.

  “If anything, you being here makes it a little easier.”

  “Oh.” Not something I’d expect from him, and I’m surprised. I think nothing I do makes his life easier on a personal scale. Well, apart from ordering gorgeous Tiffany jewelry and writing notes to the women he ghosts.

  “Please don’t sleep in the chair.” He pushes a hand against it. “You’ll end up with a spinal injury, and I’ll have to foot the chiropractor fees.”

  I shake my head.

  “Besides.” He looks thoroughly troubled. “They aren’t so bad when you’re around.”

  “The demons riding your soul to hell?” I chance.

  He smirks. “I don’t have a soul, but if I did, yes, it would be where the demons would take it.”

  “Of course you’ve got a soul, everyone has. Well, maybe with the exception of Satan and serial killers.” I twist the ring on my finger. “Have you ever sought help for the nightmares?”

  He glances at me, then back at the fire crackling in the hearth. “I don’t come from a family who talks about feelings or emotions.”

  You don’t say.

  I wait for him to continue, but his lips are a thin line, his eyes blank.

  I sigh and pat the pillow of my makeshift bed.

  Snow flurries are dancing against the window.

  Oh my God, it’s snowing.

  I open the doors to the balcony and step outside. The air freezes in my lungs, but I can’t help but stick out my tongue and collect icy droplets.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jason barks from beside me.

  “Go away. This is the first time I’ve seen snow, and you are not going to ruin this memory.” He’s silent. He turns on his heels, and before I know it, he places his leather jacket across my shoulders. His woodsy smell invades my senses, and I wobble, literally wobble, like I’m at a boy band concert in the mosh pit and I’ve just locked eyes with the guy I’m crushing on. His warm hand catches mine. I turn to thank him, but I’m stopped by the almost tender look on his face. Well, I think it’s a tender look. For all I know the man could have had a bout of the squirms and is now better.

  My feet are numb, and my skin is on fire from the cold, along with chattering teeth. I go inside still clutching my boss’s hand.

  Ugh. My boss.

  What is wrong with me?

  I am about to say thank you when his warm hand cups the side of my face. I lean in for an illegal second for warmth purposes only. His hand disengages and pulls me in close. Before I can protest, his mouth brushes mine gently, like he’s savoring me for the first time. My arm somehow ends up clutching his muscled shoulder. His hand on the bottom of my spine draws me in until we are flush together. His lips aren’t gentle anymore. He’s hungry, and I’m ravenous like I’ve never been kissed before. I haven’t. Not like this.

  I climb onto his feet, trying to get closer. His arm flexes around me, then lands on my ass and squeezes.

  Jesus.

  If I could climb him, I would. My heart is doing cartwheels. My nipples tighten painfully, which I’m putting down to temperature fluctuations and not the man kissing me like he’s a condemned man and I’m his favorite fried chicken with all the fixings.

  I can’t help the groan when his hand flexes on my ass again. Heat hits my core. I’m wet. No, I’m practically dripping. I’m squirming, trying to get closer to relieve the pressure on my aching clit.

  Jason pulls away suddenly and stares at the open door where Annika stands with a smile on her face.

  “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. I tried knocking…”

  I close my eyes. That’s because we were making out like horny teenagers.

  The door closes on a click.

  “It’s a shame it wasn’t my grandmother—she’s been watching us like hawks. We’re going to have to be on our game at the ball.”

  My blood that had been sizzling is now icy cold. Again, I’m reminded why we’re here. Me for the money and Jason for the house. My lungs crumple and dread cloaks my skin. What if we’re not convincing? What if I can’t get my sister the help she needs? The promise to my grandmother on her deathbed.

  Resolve cements my bones. I’ve got this.

  “I’m going to have a shower.”

  I nod, noticing he’s covered in grease and what looks like motor oil. I’m walking in circles like I’m a bit lost, because I am.

  “Asia.”

  Once again, I look into stormy heated eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”

  I try to erase the fizzing in my lips, the SOS of my heart, and the neediness assaulting my body.

  “Worst kiss ever,” I whisper.

  He raises his eyebrows, smirks, then closes the door.

  “Not,” I say to the empty room. I chance a glance in the mirror and stare in shock. My traitorous nipples are tight and painful and so on display I’m sure the international space station can see them. My face is flushed, my lips pinker than they’ve ever been, and they’re swollen. My eyes are hazy like I’ve just come out of anesthetic.

  I shake my head to rid my gaze of the ‘lusty’ look.

  Nothing.

  Again. Harder this time.

  Still nothing.

  A muted ‘fuck’ comes from the bathroom, and I swear I hear a groan.

  Don’t even think of Jason, your boss, naked, having just made himself come.

  Not going to. Not going to.

  Damn. The image is front and center in my pervy mind. His hand will fist his hard cock, which will be large, but not porn star large. Water is sluicing from his head as he looks down. The motion of his hand is getting faster, his knuckles whiter as he grips the wall.

  Dear God, I need to sit down.

  I collapse on the bed, my mind locked on the image. His back arches, his hand now a fist on the wall. He’s going to come in three, two. My insides clench, and I grip the quilt. I’m a second from coming by the image alone.

  “Asia.” My eyes open to find the man of the hour with a towel wrapped around his hips, staring at me with fire in his eyes. One arm is gripping the top of the doorframe. Heat is pouring out of me. My arousal stains the air between us. Dear God, I can smell myself. I’m horrified. I look down to see if I’ve left a stain.

  Oh, God, this is not happening. Lusty thoughts about my boss. Ugh.

  “What are you thinking about right now?”

  I clear my throat, which only makes things worse when I see the flare in Jason’s eyes.

  “Well.” I stall, trying to get my galloping heart under control, and not let my eyes stray to the towel around muscled hips. Who knew hips have muscles? Mine don’t. I try not to let my
eyes steal up his muscled abs. Damn. His six-pack has a six-pack. A smattering of dark hair on his chest. I’m not going anywhere near the dark line, which travels from an innie belly button to disappear into the towel, or the ‘Praesidio’ tattoo on his right hip, written in a sweeping font. That alone needs exploring with my tongue. The word means protect. What Jason is protecting, I don’t know.

  I gulp and turn my head away. My fingers itch to pull the towel down an inch or a foot.

  “Asia?” His voice is deep, growly, and commanding. Exactly what I imagine him to be in the bedroom.

  Another gulp.

  “I was thinking about knitting coats for the stray cats in the neighborhood in case they get cold over winter.”

  “Really.” He smirks.

  “Absolutely.” I smooth my hand down my mess of hair. I hop off the bed on wobbly legs and slide past him into the bathroom.

  Stop smelling so delicious.

  I make a mental note to take a photo of his shower gel so I can buy some when we’re back in California.

  I turn to look into his stormy eyes. “I’ll be ready in ten. Got some pressing issues to deal with.” His eyes flare, and I shut the door on his growl.

  Thirty seconds into the shower, my pressing need is met with a gasp and a groan. As I’m getting dressed, my phone pings. It’s a text from Jason—he’ll meet me in the dining room. I let out a long breath. I need space from the man before I climb him and beg him to do me. Ugh. I imagine my shame and his horror when he reminds me I’m his personal assistant only, which he has a habit of reminding me. This kicks my resolve into gear.

  Think of the money, finding Jamaica and opening your dress shop.

  I’m mentally counting the days until we’re back in California and I’m away from the man who is creeping into my life more than he should.

  I square my shoulders, enter the dining room, and come to a dead halt.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jason

  “What’s this?” Asia asks, stepping into the vast dining room that, thanks to my grandmother, now has a cozy setting for two on a tiny table. For the first time I can remember there is no dining at the actual table.