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

by Hayson Manning

  “Suite seventeen is one of our favorites.” The smiling attendant pushes two keycards across the polished desk. “There’s a bottle of champagne chilling, fresh flowers, and our most requested item, body-friendly chocolate sauce.”

  Wait.

  I cock my head to the side. “Sauce? Chocolate sauce?”

  Amused green eyes hold mine. “For when I lick it off your body, babe.”

  “Oh right,” I squeak out, mortification dripping through me.

  Nerves kick in, and a fun fact pops into my head.

  “Did you know you can mail a coconut from Hawaii to anywhere? No wrapping needed. Just pretty it up and take it down to the post office.” I beam up at Holden, who stares at me.

  “It’s a fun fact.” I worry the edge of my cotton shirt.

  There’s no point telling him that a fun fact pops into my head then out of my mouth when I get nervous. Thanks to an annoyingly photographic memory and being a voracious reader topped with being a bit of a nerd, fun facts pop out of my mouth at random, unpredictable moments. A habit that started when I tried to make friends at another new school, hoping to charm my classmates with my wit to cover my nerves, which met with varying levels of success.

  “I don’t suppose you’re interested that the twenty-ninth of May is put a pillow on your fridge day.”

  I sneak a peek at Holden, who gives me a look like he’s hooked up with a crazy cat lover.

  Well… Hello Kitty.

  For just over six months now, I’ve been working at Franco Security. It’s one of the places I’ve stayed the longest, and the urge to move on hasn’t struck yet. Harlan Franco recruits the best in the business. Harlan–one of the busiest bounty hunters in Colorado and beyond, could find God. Zeb, tall, dark, and delicious, could find a speck of dirt in a hermetically sealed room. Israel, also known as Thor, could tail POTUS without his surveillance team knowing. They’d attended boarding school together and were tight.

  If you’re looking for someone who knows languages, then I’m your girl - all the usual suspects along with Russian and Samoan (I’m determined to have a one on one with The Rock), and I have a grasp of pretty much every language. I’m also nifty with a computer having a Masters in both Computer Science and English. I’m pretty handy hacking into things that don’t want to be hacked. Holden’s gift is surveillance. He is apparently a chameleon of disguise and convinced we’d met before.

  I’ll deny it to my dying day.

  I’ve been Arabella for a while now. Before that, Zana, Yvette. X had been tricky. I’ve only been Xena once, and not the warrior princess variety. It’s easier to keep it alphabetical. I always had a hiccup when I came to M, but using your own name in witness protection isn’t allowed, so Mia was skipped for Michelle.

  But underneath, I’m still the same girl, no matter how many names or identities I’ve had. I always keep the bulk of the stories the same. It’s easier to remember, and it’s also easier to lie when it’s the truth.

  I left Witsec eight months ago, determined to live my life. No handlers, no more running, just me living my life how I want to, by myself, because when it comes down to it, there’s only one person I can rely on, and that’s me.

  I touch the locket on my neck, a locket I never take off, the only reminder that I had a family who’d loved me. My initials are carved into the swirling loops. Admittedly, they were a family that whacked people for a living, until they were sent to their graves minus one little girl, but hey, you don’t get to choose your DNA.

  I startle when Holden, who I internally call Aaron, grabs my hand. The kitten heels I’ve practiced walking in click across the marble. Sneakers and flats are my preferred mode of transport. I pull on Holden’s hand to slow his ten-foot stride, which makes no difference at all.

  “Are we being pursued? Are there people with hatchets chasing us?” I glance behind me.

  “No.” A statement, not a sentence, as I slam on the brakes and tug my hand free.

  “Haven’t you heard of smelling the roses?” I bend and inhale a flax bush that doesn’t have a scent, but I’m making a point. My wedding band twinkles in the sun.

  “We’re supposed to be honeymooners eager to get to our room,” Holden says in a low, gravelly voice. It causes stupid goosebumps to scatter across my neck, which is plain embarrassing.

  “Right, I can see that, but you don’t have to go all caveman and drag me around.”

  His fathomless eyes regard mine, and a slight smile tilts his ridiculously full lips.

  “Do you want me to pick you up and go all caveman and throw you over my shoulder?”

  My cheeks are now on fire. “Try it, and I’ll take you down in a karate move,” I say in a low and what I hope is a menacing voice. Holden shakes his head, a full smile tilting his mouth. A smile that outshines the sun, and I hitch in a breath.

  I bet that smile drops panties.

  My heart is a disco beat, and clamminess coats my skin like it has been left out in the rain and doesn’t quite fit my body.

  Holden retakes my hand, and I don’t protest because there is no way I’m going to be thrown over his shoulder.

  I face facts and not fun ones. Carbs and me are besties. My curves have curves. I’ve tried every diet on the planet and have invented my own–only eating boiled eggs and ham every day–a big shout out to the incredible Dr. Seuss, which didn’t diminish my curves at all. Having Holden try to fireman lift me over his shoulder would lead him to fall to the ground groaning about tearing an ACL. My spine straightens.

  I keep pace with Holden and turn my head when I pass a tall, gorgeous blond speaking Russian in hushed tones. Her overpriced perfume could knock out a swarm of killer hornets.

  I shake my head to clear my sinuses.

  I lift the hair off my neck, and a cool breeze whispers across my skin.

  If only.

  The game I sometimes play sneaks into my head like a thief.

  If only I’d had an average family.

  If only I hadn’t seen what I did.

  If only…

  Nope. Not today.

  If only is not going to pass Go or collect two hundred dollars.

  I inhale jasmine flowers that spill from terracotta urns. Overhead fans push humid floral soaked air around the open pavilion. Lazy turquoise waves kiss talc sand. With Holden’s hand still wrapped around mine, we walk in silence along a winding path lined with crushed white shells toward our suite. Laughter turns my head to where children of all ages jump and shriek in the sparkling freshwater pool. Cries of ‘pick me’ pepper the air.

  The resort is split into two areas. Honeymooners on one side, families on the other. Probably good to know what you’re getting into after the honeymoon wears off.

  “All good?” Holden looks down at me. His bourbon-soaked-in-gravel voice momentarily throws me.

  Damn, he shouldn’t sound as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

  Possibly after rolling off a woman, or women.

  I clear my mind of the image.

  “Everything is peachy,” I answer because I’m on my first assignment, and I’ve never been to Hawaii, and I’m going to ace this.

  Holden inserts the card into the slot on the heavy mahogany door. A giant love heart with the initials L and A forever together is drawn in a fancy font.

  I stare at the door until comprehension hits. “Hey, that’s our letters.” I tilt my head to the side. “Except for the forever together.”

  “Or the L and A.” He stares at me. “Everything about us is manufactured.”

  “Of course it is. I’m getting into the spirit.” I return his stare with a beaming smile.

  “Are you always sunshine and optimism?” His stormy eyes lock onto mine with hypnotic intensity.

  A barb scratches my heart. I fight every day to find something happy and positive. It’s easy to slip into gloomy, and I know how easy it is to stay there, so every day I paint on a smile and look for a smattering of happiness in the world - a dewy flower, a child
clutching her dad’s hand, a perfect latte with a love heart drawn on top.

  Puppies and sloths.

  I smile to myself because nothing can beat puppies or sleepy sloths.

  I tilt my head. “Yes, I do. Gotta find your happy where you can.”

  His eyes cloud for a second, and I’m left wondering if I imagined it.

  I pluck at the love heart. “Do you ever do anything for fun? A spontaneous trip to the nail salon to get a mani and a pedi? Wander around a mall and make a mental list of the clothes you can never afford but dream about anyway when you’ve lost those stubborn pounds. Do you ever wonder what small Pacific island you’ll buy when you win Powerball and stock said island with Vikings wearing leather skirts carrying trays of margarita, who love to give a pedi?”

  “Vikings don’t give pedicures. It’s a known fact. They employ Hobbit’s for the job.”

  Unexpected laughter shoots out of me. He gifts me with a smile that does indeed suck the oxygen out of my lungs. The man is gorgeous when he smiles and flashes those white teeth, and on top of a killer body and rugged good looks, it is a beautiful out-of-bounds package.

  His smile dies when I finish laughing on a snort.

  Again, I blush, laugh-snorting not being my most endearing of traits.

  “Wow!” I breathe out and walk into the most breathtaking room I’ve ever seen. I avoid the king-sized bed—time enough to talk about that pink elephant later.

  I push open doors to a balcony, toe off my shoes, and breathe deep.

  A line of green spotted turtles sun themselves on the Kona shoreline, ignoring the line of curious human onlookers. Pairs of tanned feet stick out of white cotton cabanas that puff like sails in the breeze. I turn my head at the distant thwack of a golf ball and the whine of electric carts. Not a cloud in the endless blue sky. The scent of magnolia threads through the dense, shimmering air.

  The tension that’s been keeping my muscles hostage melts away. After an eight-hour flight from Denver, where I’d forced myself to watch a movie I can’t remember. Claustrophobia hits me at unexpected and always unwelcome times, but I made it through the flight without my head between my knees or breathing into a brown paper bag. I take that as a win. I want a shower, clean clothes, and something that starts with the letter N. I look longingly at the bed. A nap is not in my future.

  Holden sits on the loveseat, a folder in his hand, ankle over knee, already in work mode.

  In jeans, a polo, and boots, he looks like he’s about to step onto the plane, not off it. I bet if I get close enough, he’d smell all showery—a porny thought of Holden soaping himself lands in my brain. My nipples, the traitors, harden in response, and my breathing becomes a bit scratchy.

  God, what is wrong with me?

  God doesn’t answer and is probably scowling down at me, having zero interest in my non-existent love life, what with wars, famines, and megalomaniac leaders stomping around.

  Holden’s gaze hits mine. No emotion on his gorgeous face.

  Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any emotion on his face in the week he’s been at Franco.

  “Are you set up?” he asks.

  “I will be.” I pull my computer out of my backpack.

  He nods. “We’ve got a day before the couple we’re guarding arrive. This job has to be seamless.”

  “Seamless it will be.”

  Those stormy eyes again hold my blues. “There’s a lot of people who’d love nothing more than to hold the only daughter of a Russian billionaire for ransom.”

  “Not on our watch,” I say, plugging in my laptop.

  “The client is used to having guards, but for their honeymoon, they asked for a couple posing as honeymooners so we’d blend in and can do the same activities.”

  “Which is us.” I beam and take in his blank face. “Another fun fact. Did you know there are nineteen types of smiles, but only six are for happiness?” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I shoulder bump him. “Come on, you know you want to.”

  “I smiled two years ago.” He deadpans.

  “I am a woman on a mission.” I open my laptop and log on, hiding my grin.

  No new emails have popped up since I last checked. I jump online to see the chatroom empty and drum my fingers on my knee. I’m always available to the kids I help online, trying to find any family before they get kicked from the system and into the adult world. These kids mean the world to me. It’s hard going through life on your own with no real friends, no one to lean on. If I can help one kid find stability, I’ll do anything to bring them happiness.

  I pull up the case notes for this job for the millionth time. I’ve spent hours poring over this surveillance case and know everything backward, except I know nothing about my partner for the next ten days. Well, I’ll never give him the memory of when we met–the look of horror and revulsion on Holden’s face as clear as the summer day in California years ago.

  I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eye when we were introduced at Jason Johnson’s wedding, but when I next glanced at him, it was gone.

  My suitcase has magically appeared while I’ve been soaking up the rays on the balcony, and I drag it to the wardrobe. Harlan had taken me aside and advised that my faded Levi’s and my much-loved T-shirts in neutral colors, definitely no Barry Manilow T-shirts from eBay, would cut it. He’d asked me if I had clothes for a high-end resort, which I did not. He’d then asked if I’d like a budget or if I’d prefer a personal shopper. Having no idea what to buy, I’d opted for the individual shopper. Charina had arrived at the office and taken my measurements. The detail so personal I wondered if we were on a date and should I bring flowers. I’d picked up the suitcase on route to the airport, not knowing the contents.

  Small confession. I have a thing for lingerie. It’s not like anyone sees me in it, as in ever, but I love the feel of silk against my skin. It makes me feel pretty, wanted, and a wee bit sexy for those nights when I imagine hands on my body, and Buddy, my silicon boyfriend, comes into play.

  I pull out a lavender silk, ankle-length nightgown with a plunging neckline followed by a white silk baby doll nightgown and matching underwear. I pluck out three plunging bras in black, red, and white. I’m catches rubbing the fabric between my fingers when I catch Holden’s gaze. Amusement and something else burns behind his eyes.

  Should have bought granny panties.

  I stuff the rest of the clothes into drawers with my face on fire, sorting them as I go. What I would leave behind is stacked on the bottom, favorite items on the top—a lifelong habit.

  I hang summery dresses I’d never buy, alongside swishy skirts and colorful tops. A stunning strapless blue sheath dress I hang carefully. The closet is bigger than my apartment back in Denver.

  I quickly stuff a turquoise bikini at the bottom of a drawer, and the tension biting into my shoulders eases when I hold up a black one-piece, cut so high I’ll need to hit the waxing salon. I smile, holding up a strapless nylon swimsuit. Not ideal, but I’ll take it. Nothing clear my head more than following that relentless black line in a steady freestyle until exhaustion eats into my thoughts. Even though my swimming career was cut short, it’s something I carry through to my adult life.

  “I want to do a recon. Meet me by the main pool in ten. We’ll start there and circle the property.” Holden’s voice is gentle. “We’re honeymooners, Arabella. You’re going to have to work on not flinching when I touch you. Or jump when I grab your hand.”

  The tips of my ears burn. I turn my head and stare at the crystal waves, and a tiny pit of despair opens in my heart.

  How to play loved-up honeymooners when I’ve never been in love.

  Not a fun fact I want to admit, but I nod because he’s right. I flinched. I’ve never had this level of intimacy and actively avoid it.

  It’s how I live.

  It’s how I’ve survived.

  “I’ve got it under control,” I murmur and hammer resolve into my heart. I shoot him my pra
cticed sunny smile.

  He stares at me for a second. “That’s your fake smile.”

  I resist the urge to gulp. It’s so manufactured and comes with a warranty.

  “I’ll meet you at the pool in ten.” He gives me a puzzled look as he heads out the door.

  “I’ll see you in five,” I say to the door, letting out a big breath.

  Harlan had requested me because of my language skills. I’d overheard Holden and Harlan debating the fact I was ready for this. Harlan had been sure, Holden had not, and had asked for additional information on me, which I got to say stung. I’m good at my job and will be professional, and so good at being a blushing bride, I’ll be all over him. Like. A. Rash.

  Flinching at his touch is a thing of the past. I will positively melt into the man.

  Yes, he unsettles me. Yes, those stormy eyes are unnerving, but we’re both professional. Besides, with a better skill set, I can help the kids desperately looking for their families.

  I pick up a pair of denim cutoff shorts a tweenie would love, which I pair with a pale purple camisole. After a two-minute shower, I pull my hair into a messy ponytail, slap on sunscreen, and push my feet into flip-flops decorated with pink and yellow daisies. I grab sunglasses and head out the door, snagging the room card.

  I spot Holden leaning against a pillar by the main pool with his trademark aviator sunglasses. His head turns at my approach. He seems to freeze for a moment.

  “Wife,” he murmurs when I arrive at his side.

  “Hubs.”

  I still when he plucks a pink hibiscus flower and tucks it behind my ear. Unexpected and very unwanted goosebumps trail down my neck.

  “Did you know broccoli is actually a flower?” I press my fingers against my burning neck, trying to quieten my pulse. “Don’t know how you’d go arriving for a first date clutching a vase of it, just quietly.” He flicks the glasses onto his head.

  He grins, and I wobble at his smile.

  I did not wobble.

  I wobble some more when his laser-focused eyes stare down at me.

  I did. I wobbled. Holy hell. I’m going to need a walker if he smiles like that.