Billionaire's Fake Fiancé (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #10)

by Claire Adams

  “That it is, my friend. That it is!”

  ***

  “One more glass, my friend, come on! It is the finest 40-year-old whiskey around! Surely, you cannot say no?”

  I drank the last sip of whiskey in my glass, the thumping bass from the music outside rumbling my insides with its volume. At least here, in the VIP room, it wasn't as deafening as it was in the rest of the nightclub.

  “I don't know, Anton. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow morning, and I'd like to visit a few museums, as well. Doing all of that with a hangover maybe would not, uh, be such a great idea, ya know?”

  Anton frowned as he drank the last of his whiskey. “My friend, when were you last in Paris? It was two years, no? Come on, it would be a sin to end the night this early. You cannot go back to your hotel now. Besides, there is someone I want you to meet.” He pulled out his cellphone and saw a message waiting for him. He read it and then looked up at me with a cheeky smile. “And she has just arrived here with her friends. It would be very rude to leave now, my friend, very rude, no?”

  I sighed. “All right, but seriously, just one more. That's all, one more.”

  Anton raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the resident VIP room waiter hurried over to our table. He ordered two more whiskeys in French, which the waiter hurried off to get. At that moment, the door to the VIP room opened, and a bouncer let in a bevy of stunning, young, French women. One of them caught sight of Anton and sent a sparkling smile our way. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

  “This is the girl I want to introduce you to. She is a model for lingerie. She was very, very eager to meet the young American CEO I have been telling her about. Look at her friends, too, Asher! Are they not sexy? All of them are models—and they are all very, how do you say, liberated in their attitudes about men and women, if you know what I mean.”

  “Aren’t all the French?” I joked.

  Anton grinned and clapped a hand on my shoulder as he broke into laughter.

  The woman who had smiled at Anton came over to us while her friends headed to the bar. She was drop dead gorgeous; she wouldn’t have looked out of place on any magazine cover. The revealing, white cocktail dress she wore left no doubt why she was a lingerie model. Long, silky, chestnut hair cascaded around her shoulders. She locked her stunning brown eyes on mine and smiled flirtatiously as she approached.

  “Anton, is this your American friend?”

  “This is him, Marie. Marie Thenaud, may I introduce you to Asher Sinclair.”

  She turned to me and took my hand in hers. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Asher,” she purred, her voice heavy with a French accent, but her English was flawless. “My friend, Anton, told me you were handsome—but you are, in truth, even more handsome than I could have imagined. May I sit with you and have a drink?”

  I was a bit taken aback with how brazen she was. It wasn’t what she said as much as her body language and tone of voice. Granted, in my experience, French women rarely had any apprehensions with being forward and, despite how interested she seemed in me and how incredibly attractive she was, I looked at her sitting across from me and I simply wasn’t interested.

  I smiled as it dawned on me: there was only one woman I was interested in and she was back in California hell bent on giving me the cold shoulder.

  I didn’t want to be rude to Marie or Anton by telling her to go elsewhere, so I shifted over on the plush sofa and made space for her. Plenty of space.

  “Please, sit down, Marie,” I offered. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she said with a wink and a smile.

  Her companions then showed up, carrying a number of cocktails, one of which they handed to Marie. Our waiter arrived, as well, bearing fresh tumblers of whiskey on the rocks for myself and Anton. The women sat down, one on either side of Anton, and he draped an arm over each of their barely-covered shoulders.

  “Now the party is about to get started!” he said with a wicked grin.

  He raised his glass, and the ladies all did the same. Reluctantly, I followed suit.

  “To Asher Sinclair, my good friend and business associate!” he roared. Then, in one gulp, he drained his glass.

  “Whoa, thanks, Anton, but that's not how a fine whiskey should be enjoyed! You know that as much as I do,” I declared.

  “I don't care!” he shouted. “Let's get drunk! Party! Have some fun!”

  The women next to him giggled and sipped at their cocktails.

  “Come on, Asher,” he said, “why are you drinking so slowly? Are you a man or a boy?”

  “Anton, remember what we said? I don't want to have a hangover—”

  “I said, are you a man, or are you a boy?”

  I shook my head and downed my whiskey—damned peer pressure. There didn't seem to be any point in resisting. Anton snapped his fingers and called the waiter over again. He shot off a rapid-fire order in French, and the waiter hurried off once more. In the meantime, Marie tried to make small talk with me while Anton flirted brazenly with the other two women.

  After a few minutes, the waiter returned carrying a tray with two fresh whiskeys and an array of shots.

  “Oh no, Anton. Come on, I did not agree to this.”

  “It is too late, Asher, my friend!” he said with a laugh. “Come now! The ladies are going to drink their shots, yes, ladies?”

  They all voiced their approval and giggled.

  “You see, Asher! It is only you who is being, what is the word? Ah, yes, boring! Come, it is Friday night in Paris! Have some fun, my friend, have some fun!”

  “All right, all right,” I sighed. The more I drank, the harder it was to resist.

  We downed the shots, and before long, I was starting to feel light-headed.

  “I want to dance,” Marie announced. “Come, let's go to the dancefloor!”

  The other ladies also seemed eager to dance, as did Anton. He stood and beckoned to me.

  “Come on, Asher! We cannot let the ladies down. It would be very rude!”

  I heaved myself up off the sofa, feeling weary and decidedly unenthusiastic. Marie, however, looped her arm through mine and all but dragged me onto the dancefloor. My vision was starting to swim, and I was losing my ability to maneuver and maintain control—a feeling I did not like at all.

  On the dancefloor, Marie didn't waste any time in making her intentions clear. She started dancing suggestively, putting her hands all over me and grinding heavily against my body, moving sensually to the music.

  I couldn't deny that I was starting to feel aroused and part of me was starting to really get into it. But, at the same time, despite the drunkenness and the gorgeous, scantily-clad lingerie model grinding her body against mine, I couldn't get the thoughts of Lilah out of my head.

  We weren't together. I didn’t owe her anything. Hell, we’d only shared one kiss that she had made rather clear was a poor judgment call—but even so, something inside me felt as if I was cheating on her. And that was something I would not do.

  I stepped away from Marie.

  “I really have to go to the bathroom, all right?”

  “Shall I come with you?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

  “No, no,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “I'll be back soon. You wait here.”

  I hurried off the dancefloor to the back of the club where the bathrooms were—but just before I got to them, I veered off to the right, and headed through to the storage area. I pushed through a door that said “Staff Only” in French—I could understand that much, at least—and hurried through the storeroom, surprising a waiter, who started babbling at me in French.

  “Exit?” I said in English, but he seemed to not understand me.

  I ignored him, and he ran off, presumably to fetch a bouncer or manager. I found a door at the end of the storeroom which led through a narrow passage, and then there, at the end of it, I managed to find an exit that led out into an alley.

  I breathed a sigh
of relief as I stepped into the dark alley and paused to inhale a few deep breaths of the cool night air before heading through the alley to the main street where I hailed a cab. I told him the name of my hotel, and we took off into the night.

  I pulled out my phone and texted a quick apology to Anton explaining that I'd become ill and had to rush back to the hotel. Yes, I lied. But it was a little white lie that would save a lot of hard feelings in the long run. I put my phone away and leaned back in the seat, watching Paris fly by my window as thoughts of Lilah swirled through my drunken mind.

  Chapter Ten

  Lilah

  Asher had been away in France over the weekend for a business trip and, to be honest, I felt a little relieved to have had some distance between us. I'd been doing my best to keep him at arm's length all week at the office—and succeeding. However, I felt that my strategy was backfiring big time. It seemed as though my attempt to avoid conversation with him left him more determined to get closer to me.

  A large part of me wanted him closer, but that wasn’t the part focused on keeping my job separate from my personal life. I was beginning to understand how the government felt when it tried to separate church from state.

  Keeping Asher Sinclair at arm’s length was definitely among the greatest challenges I'd faced in my life. I'd finally landed my dream job, and I was on track to make a name for myself. I had set up a career characterized by power and success—yet, coupled with my goals to make it in my field was a burning desire, a hungry yearning for another human being that I hadn't felt since my ex-fiancé had left me a month before our wedding.

  It didn’t help that this person was the CEO of my firm. He was the person who, quite literally, held the key to my career's success and failure in his hands.

  I knew that, eventually, he would respect my wishes to keep everything professional and put my career first. He was cut from the same cloth as me, even if our backgrounds were vastly different. What we did share was a driving ambition, tireless work ethic, and almost crippling aspiration for perfection.

  Since I have always been a rational person—who knows that mixing work and pleasure could easily turn into a recipe for catastrophe—I could see how things might end terribly if I decided to walk the path leading to a romantic relationship with Asher.

  But another part of me was wondering if it would be a risk worth taking. A man like Asher Sinclair didn’t come around often. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that, perhaps, a relationship with Asher was a bona fide, once in a lifetime opportunity. He'd already revealed, in a number of ways, that he was nothing like the billionaire playboy stereotype that others made him out to be.

  He was grounded in reality, even with his vast power and billions of dollars, was extremely disciplined, and surprisingly kind and gentle, despite his physical prowess and penchant for violent sports. He was, in many ways, a man of contradictions—an enigma, revealing small pieces of himself to me.

  But why me?

  That was the question I hadn't been able to shake.

  I mean, sure, I was a fairly attractive woman who knew how to work a sexy business suit, and he seemed to be impressed by my drive and creativity. But was he only pursuing me to satisfy his own ego, or was there something more at play? My gut kept gnawing at me that it was the latter.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the Sinclair Building and parked my car. A quick check of my watch confirmed that I was early. There were still a good 20 minutes left before I was required to be in my office.

  I'd only just gotten my car back from the mechanic, and since I had spent the entire weekend relaxing with Meg while trying to temporarily forget about work—going to the spa, getting a mani-pedi, treating myself to a massage, and eating at a couple of new restaurants we’d been planning to check out—I hadn't had the chance to give over the car the once over to make sure the mechanic had done a good job.

  “Well, there's no time like the present,” I said aloud, and popped the hood.

  I stepped out of my car and walked around to the front of it, raising the hood. I examined the motor just as my dad had taught me, checking over fine details that the average person wouldn't have thought to look at. It seemed, thankfully, that the mechanic had done a very thorough job. I was about to close the hood when I heard the deep, raspy rumble of a sports car booming through the underground parking lot.

  I looked up and saw Asher pulling up to park in a spot next to me. He rolled down his window and smiled.

  “Car troubles again, Lilah?”

  “Nope. Just giving the motor a once over to make sure the mechanic did what I asked him to do. So, you're in a Porsche today? Please tell me you didn’t get rid of the Maserati.”

  “I told you, I collect these things,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “Variety is the spice of life.”

  “Carrera GT,” I remarked, looking the car up and down. “Great car.”

  “I do like it, yeah. That's a decent Beemer you're driving there, too.”

  “It's been good to me. German engineering, you know.”

  He revved his Porsche and smiled.

  “Oh, I know, believe me.”

  He killed the engine and got out as I closed the hood of my BMW and locked the car up.

  “I'm surprised you're at work so early,” I said. “When did you get back from Paris?”

  “Oh, my private jet touched down at 2:00.”

  “This morning?”

  “Yeah. I tried to sleep some on the plane, but the time change is killer. So, I'm running on about three hours of sleep right now.”

  “Shouldn't you get some rest? I mean, I know how committed you are to work—as I am—but if you're sleep deprived, you're not going to get too much done.”

  “I know, I know. But there are things that really have to be taken care of this morning. I'm planning to take the afternoon off to get some rest, then come back in the evening to get everything else done.”

  Our eyes met, and I couldn't stop my gaze from lingering for a bit longer than it should have. However, he hadn’t looked away. What was happening? I broke the gaze first. It wasn't the time or place for moments. I needed to keep my distance until I could figure things out a bit better in my head.

  “We'd better head upstairs,” I said hurriedly. “There's a lot to get done this morning, like you said.”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Upstairs. After you.”

  We walked over to the elevator and rode up together in silence. As soon as the doors opened, I made a beeline for my office, mumbling a quick “See you later” as I left him behind.

  I was losing my focus, losing my edge. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was that handsome, rugged face staring back at me with an air of deep affection trumped only by desire. One thing I was certain of, it was going to be another long week of avoiding that handsome face.

  ***

  Friday afternoon didn't seem to be the best time for a meeting, but as the most junior member of the team, I wasn’t exactly in a position to complain. Instead, I went into the boardroom, took what had become my usual seat, and waited in silence for everyone else to file in. I'd made a few friends in the office, but I wasn't in a particularly chatty mood. It had been quite a tough, trying week with a heavy workload, and mentally I was all but spent.

  After everyone had come in and taken their places, Asher walked in with a broad smile on his face. Following him were a couple of waiters carrying boxes of lavishly iced donuts.

  “Take a donut or two, or three if you're not too worried about your waistline,” he joked. “Because this isn’t so much a meeting as it is a celebration.”

  When the box was presented to me by one of the waiters, I took a delicious-looking chocolate one with macadamia nut sprinkles and looked around the table, trying to gauge people's reactions to Asher’s announcement. Personally, it had altered my mood a bit. Where before I had been a little on the drab end of the spectrum, I was suddenly perked up and excited to hear what the celebration was all abo
ut.

  Asher shot me an intense glance, and then he dimmed the lights and turned on the projector screen.

  “All right, ladies and gents,” he announced. “Pay close attention to the screen. You will have seen these charts before, but I just want you to look at them again so that the images are cemented into your mind.”

  He brought up the sales charts for the Harry Winston athletic watches and gave us a few moments to peruse the less than stellar figures.

  “Now,” he continued, “if you all remember, a new member of our team, Ms. Lilah Maxwell, came up with a brand new strategy for marketing these watches a few weeks ago.”

  Murmurs of agreement flitted around the room.

  “I've been keeping a tight lid on developments, but over the past week, the executives at Harry Winston and I have been closely monitoring sales of these watches. Now, remember, this is just one week after implementing the new campaign. Are you all ready?”

  My heart was hammering in my chest. I wasn’t 100 percent sure it wasn’t about to jump into my throat and right out of my mouth. I hadn't been expecting this. I was utterly unprepared for the topic of this meeting or—as Asher had put it—celebration. Granted, the word celebration itself suggested success, but what if my ideas had bombed? I would look a failure, and a fool, in front of everyone on the team!

  I reminded myself that Asher had brought us here to tell us good news. Not bad. Which meant, maybe my ideas hadn't failed.

  There was no maybe involved, though.

  I gasped—along with everyone else in the room—as he brought up the charts that showed the sales figures over the past week.

  “Oh my God,” I murmured under my breath. “It worked. It totally, totally worked.”

  “When was the last time any of you saw a spike in sales this extreme?” Asher asked, looking calmly around the room. “Seriously, people, when was the last time you saw anything like this?”

  Nobody could answer. We were all dumbstruck, it seemed.

  Asher slowly brought the lights in the room back to full force.