Faking It with the Billionaire Next Door: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Jolie Day

  My dad decided to pipe in, instead.

  “Oliver is right,” he said. “She did have a way with you. Helen noticed, too. She certainly had you smitten, glancing her way just about every chance you got.”

  Oliver chuckled at that and looked at me for a moment.

  “What do you mean with that, Pops?” I decided to ask.

  “I don’t think you have a choice, son,” he said. “When a man looks at a woman that way, he’s either going to fight for her for life—or be depressed about losing her for life.” He shrugged, making Oliver chuckle once more.

  This was getting too close for comfort, and I needed to shut it down. Besides, I didn’t want to think about the future right now—or about breaking my parents’ hearts when it inevitably ended.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Look, I don’t wanna jinx it. I haven’t been in a serious relationship for a very long time, and I don’t wanna fuck it up. So, Dad, Oliver, just let it be.”

  “Watch your language, son.”

  “All right, all right… touchy,” Oliver said, winking at Damon.

  Damon gave a curt smirk, taking a sip of his wine.

  “Hey guys, I had this thought the other day,” I tried to change the topic. “About the company and expanding our contracts. I’ve been looking into different areas than we’re used to, like industrial areas that are being transformed into multi-use zones.” I paused to gauge whether they followed me.

  Oliver and Damon slowly nodded their heads while my dad frowned.

  “Where are you going with this, son?”

  “Don’t stress, Dad. I’m not making any moves yet. I’m just getting new ideas. There are a lot of old industrial warehouses and abandoned office buildings up for sale in a few months, I’ve noticed. I got a tip from a trusted source.”

  “Yeah? Who?” Oliver asked.

  “A trusted source,” I repeated. “If we were to focus on a specific area, we could create entirely new mixed industrial and commercial zones in those neighborhoods. By the looks of things, the residential zones in the surrounding areas are growing rapidly. I mean the workers have to live somewhere. How great would it be if they were living just a few minutes from work? And if my Magic 8-Ball is correct—and it has always been until now—the demand will begin to skyrocket by the end of this year.”

  “I’m not sold,” Dad said curtly.

  I lifted my hand, indicating that I wasn’t finished. “I know it’s risky, investing in something like this, but I think it’d be good for the city, you know? Using our resources and cleaning up certain areas, while saving people from sitting in traffic jams for hours just to get to work.”

  “All right,” Dad said, “how about you do your research and set up a concept to present to us? It’s difficult to imagine where you’re going with this now, but I can see you’re interested in it. Let’s see what you come up with.” He nodded at me, basically giving me the go-ahead.

  Good. This felt good. I had an idea, and I’d run with it.

  “Sounds risky on the financial front,” Damon said, “So cover all your bases. Do your analysis, on site.”

  “I’ll help out if you need,” Oliver said, and I nodded my head once, accepting his offer.

  “I was walking the High Line the other day,” Damon said, “and I liked how they used the old infrastructure to make something new and appealing. If we can afford to do something like that, I’d like to be involved.” As he was our CTO, I’d eventually need Damon’s help when it came to the concept plans and getting architects and engineers involved.

  “Great.” I just about cheesed at the guys.

  With all the criticism I’d been getting from all three of them recently, about how I lived my life, it was good to feel their support. I took a sip of my wine and quieted down while my dad struck up a conversation with Oliver about a meeting he had planned later. Not too long after, the food arrived, and we dove in while Giovanni sat down and chatted with us.

  Back at the office, I was at my desk, deep in thought, researching various zone-specific projects that had been done around the world. This would take years and a shit-ton of planning and management. Luckily, I knew we had the resources and contacts to pull it off. All it would take is someone like our team to push for this to work.

  My phone beeped with a message, and I picked it up.

  Brittany: Hey handsome, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. Are you up for another night of fun?

  It was one of the chicks from that night in the company helicopter.

  Sitting back, I ran my hand through my hair. I was surprised to find that I actually didn’t wanna see her, or Monique. Sure, it was a fun night, but at this point I was keener to get home and see what Rose was doing. Or what she was wearing.

  Hopefully nothing, the voice in my head said to me. What an asshole.

  Now that we’d added the “nothing physical” clause to our contract, I couldn’t touch her. She’d insisted that we include it. So we had. I’d more or less agreed not to read anything into the whole situation with her and fucking forget anything ever happened.

  My mind was reluctantly pulled back to my phone, and I started typing a reply.

  Miles: Sorry doll, I’ve got a girlfriend now.

  Brittany: So it’s true? Miles Humphries a taken man? I don’t believe that’s possible…

  Miles: Believe it. Thanks for the invite, but I’ll have to pass. Be well.

  Brittany: You know who to call if you change your mind. xx

  I already knew I wouldn’t change my mind.

  But why? What’s changed, man?

  I was so adamant that I wouldn’t change my lifestyle for my father, and here I was not even feeling like going out to clubs anymore. The thought of Rose’s naked body lying on my bed sprang to mind, and my dick jumped just from the thought. As the images flashed like a montage, I let my head fall back against my chair.

  Her body, her dripping wet pussy, her face as she moaned for me. Fuck.

  I became hard as a rock and decided to put an end to this train of thought. If someone walked into my office right now, I wouldn’t even be able to stand up.

  Just then, Oliver walked right in.

  Perfect.

  Doesn’t anybody fucking knock?

  I resisted the sudden urge to slam my laptop shut (probably a genetic impulse, or a left-over trigger from my youth), but instead, quickly pulled my chair in closer to the desk and cleared my throat.

  “Man, were you watching porn or something? You look rather… flustered,” he said, looking as if he was holding back laughter.

  I wanted to punch the smirk right off his face. But the whole situation was funny, I had to give him that.

  “Obviously not, bro,” I said, speaking the truth but still feeling like a fucking guilty teenager. “I wouldn’t do that at the office,” I added, making the whole matter worse.

  “Uh-huh,” Oliver said, not believing a word. “I’ll just throw this report over to you then.” He tossed a file onto my desk.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Next time, fucking knock.”

  “Sure, whatever. I’ll leave you to it. Have fun with your porn!” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of my office.

  I hoped to God that Gretchen didn’t hear him and leaned forward on my desk, sighing from irritation.

  This had to end.

  I needed Rose again.

  These thoughts and embarrassing midday erections wouldn’t stop until I dealt with my needs properly. Would that even be enough? One more time? I found it hard to believe.

  Damn, do I really like this chick? I had no idea what I was feeling, but I knew that if required, I’d be happy to sleep with only her for the rest of my life. At this point, I couldn’t see myself ever getting tired of her body.

  A thought bubble popped into mind: the promise I’d made myself in my freshman year that I wouldn’t trust another woman, that I wouldn’t ever love someone again.

  Okay, whoa there, Miles.

  Hold
your horses.

  No one’s talking about love, man.

  Needing Rose? Not wanting to sleep with someone else? What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I decided, that was it.

  There was no way around it: I needed to get her in my bed again, period.

  I thought about the damn new clause in the contract.

  No problem.

  She needed to make the first move. It needed to come from her side—like the other night. She’d have to make the first move.

  I would get her to make the first move.

  I just had to come up with a good plan. It wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be immediately. But I had no doubt in my mind—she’d be wiggling under my body, screaming my name before my balls fell off.

  A devilish smile spread across my face as I began scheming.

  The perfect moment would come eventually, and I’d be ready.

  27

  ROSE

  The days and weeks following the benefit were slightly difficult, to say the least.

  That night with Miles had been unforgettable—I kept finding myself thinking about it, imagining it, even daydreaming about what I’d do to him if I found myself in his bed again.

  Hypothetically, of course.

  I couldn’t be that weak ever again.

  Adding the “nothing physical” clause to the contract after our night had been vital. And helpful in that regard. Nothing could ever happen between us again. We were just friends.

  This was a contractual deal, and once it was over, I’d have to leave.

  I’d have to accept that I wasn’t, in fact, Miles’ girlfriend, and I would need to walk away. The thought was nerve-wracking, because I’d really begun to enjoy this setup. Living with Miles wasn’t nearly as awkward and weird as I thought it would be. It was actually easy, because—strangely enough—I never found myself irritated with him anymore.

  He was funny. Actually funny. Hilarious, even. And authentic. Real.

  What was difficult, however, was the way he dressed at home.

  The man walked around without a shirt on. Like, all the time.

  I don’t think it was intentional at all, but I had to keep reminding myself that it was his place. He was well within his rights to do so, and of course, he was used to living all alone.

  It just got me on edge.

  His body was so damn sexy. Every muscle was defined, and then he had those tattoos. I’d had time really to examine the one over his shoulder and biceps—it was an intricate pattern with various images worked into it. He had leaves and roses, and patterns of barbed wire running around him, drawn on his pecs and down his collarbone. There were wings that extended over his shoulder, turning into yet another tattoo of swirls on his back. And then of course, the mighty black wolf with piercing eyes graced his back.

  Then there were the scars. I’d noticed the big one above his ear near his temple a while ago, I’d even felt it when we made out for the first time and I’d slid my fingers into his hair. He had several ones that were bigger, on his collar bone, on his shoulder, on his back. They weren’t entirely noticeable because they were under his tattoos, but I’d seen some of them the first time I saw him without a shirt on—that night after the benefit.

  I really wanted to know what happened there, but I knew better than to pry. Not at first, anyway, but I’d ask him about it one day.

  Miles made coffee in the mornings with only his sweatpants on, and if I was in my room, he’d ask if he could bring my coffee in for me. Those moments were the worst—when he was half-naked in my room. His pants hung low on his hips and my eyes were always drawn to that sexy V and the line of hair leading my eyes right down to his bulge like an arrow. Now that I knew what that bulge could do, it was extremely difficult not to jump the man when he was right beside my bed.

  Sometimes I thought he might be trying to tempt me because he’d wink when he gave me the coffee or let his eyes blatantly roam my body. He must’ve known it was a turn on because he would look me over, then smile at me, and walk away.

  It drove me beyond crazy and had me feeling frustrated—all the time.

  Apart from the half-nakedness thing, Miles was just so accommodating. I’d never seen this side of him, only the side he’d shown me in the past—the life of a party and flirtatious heartthrob who brought a plethora of girls through that elevator. Now, he was bringing me a glass of wine as I watched TV. He planned meals around my diet as well as his—we were both rather health-conscious—and we took turns cooking dinner or sometimes breakfast over the weekends.

  Not to mention, he’d started feeding Daisy! One day, he said he noticed that she was looking hungry and filled her bowl. I just about died. How adorable was that? That’s how it started, and now the little traitor (Daisy, not Miles) always went to ask him for food, even if I was sitting right next to him.

  Then another endearing thing happened.

  Miles had a TV in his room. One evening, I was watching “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” for the fiftieth time, and crying my heart out.

  Miles stood to the side, hands in pockets, frowning at the screen, then at me.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m great,” I said in between sobs. “It’s just,” sniff, “so,” sniff, “beautiful!” I threw a tissue onto the table in front of me and reached for another.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You haven’t watched the whole thing. You need to watch from the beginning! And not just the first few minutes. Wait, do you want to? I’ll start it again. I don’t mind!” I even got excited, wanting to show him my favorite movie and explain it all to him.

  “Nooo, thank you,” he said, grinning with charm. “I wouldn’t want to end up sitting here crying too, now, would I?”

  I nodded, wiping my cheeks. “Not difficult to believe. If anything got a person to cry, it’d be this movie. Are you worried your tough bad boy image will take a hit?”

  “Oh, so worried,” he said.

  “It would probably never recover.”

  “Probably. So tell me, woman,” Miles started moving toward me and sat down beside me on the couch.

  I paused the movie.

  “Why do women like to cry?” he asked.

  “We don’t like to cry,” I protested.

  “I mean, you watch these movies that break your heart, but you love it? Why?” Miles seemed perplexed, staring at my tear-stained face with his forehead creased.

  I wiped my face clean one last time. “Because it’s emotional…” I said, “And we like to feel emotion. We’re emotional beings. Mind you, in these movies we always assume the couple will get back together, so when our heart is broken, we have the beautiful hope that it will be fixed again… real life isn’t like that.” I shrugged my shoulders. “These movies let us feel what the couple feels, the torment, the longing—and finally, finally, the love they have for each other.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, giving me a “does not compute” stare.

  “A girl just can’t get that kind of feeling on a motorcycle,” I teased him.

  “Excuse me,” Miles said, pulling back. “I’ll have you know that riding a motorcycle through the countryside is extremely emotional.”

  “Yeah? How?” I asked him, curious to know about his emotions and what made his heart warm.

  “It’s exhilarating. It’s like you finally have a moment to yourself where no one’s telling you what to do or how to live your life. There’s literally just you, your machine, the view, the incredible freedom, and the wind blowing all your thoughts away.”

  It actually did sound amazing. “I can imagine that… would you take me on a real long ride through the countryside?” I asked him. I figured that would be harmless, right? We were friends, after all.

  “Sure.” He gave me a nod. “This weekend, all right?”

  “Perfect.” I smiled widely. “Are we done? Paul is waiting…”

  Miles raised one brow, looking at my phone on the table and back at me.


  I laughed. “Paul Varjak, the guy in the movie!”

  “Right,” he chuckled, getting up, ready to flee the scene.

  “Hey. You can stay,” I said quickly. “I’ll explain whatever you don’t understand.”

  Miles fell backward onto the couch, mischief in his eyes. “All right,” he growled. “There’s one condition.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “What would that be?”

  “We watch ‘The Gladiator’ tomorrow night,” he said, picking up the remote to press play, and not waiting for an answer.

  I settled back against the seat, feeling happy.

  No worries. I was definitely aware—and wary—of Miles and the sweet way he was acting. I knew that I had to protect my heart. I knew I had to be careful. If I got comfortable around him and began falling for him, my heart would certainly break the day I had to walk out of here.

  Sigh. And that day was coming. It was a big black beast stomping in heavy boots coming closer and closer. It was in black and white on paper. It was unavoidable.

  However, I was enjoying it too much to deny myself whatever happened, thinking, at least I was happy for the moment. After we started watching movies together, we were spending more and more time together. It was easier when we didn’t have to talk or I didn’t have to sit closely behind him on the bike—because he was such a captivating, endearing, engaging man. But also just sharing a meal and a movie with him was bewitching.

  My worries were amplified the next day when Miles and I were sitting on the balcony after work, as we’ve done several days in a row. He was open and genuine. He talked about his family, Damon, and his plans, but he never talked about his past. Or his tattoos. Maybe today would be a good time to ask.

  “Hey, Miles.”

  “So, you got a good day at work?” He brought me a glass of wine and settled down with his scotch.

  “Yes,” I started, pulse racing. “I’ve been wondering, Miles…”

  “Yeah?” he asked, leaning back, and staring out over the city.

  “I’d like to know more about your tattoos.”