Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

No matter how much I want to, I can’t avoid Beck forever.

Although, I do feel like I could stay cooped up in this room forever and be satisfied if I had food. I almost thought about choosing the smallest room up here just to prove a point to Beck, but after thinking it through further, I realized he probably didn’t care what room I chose. Choosing the smallest one would only end up biting me in the ass. He’d still have what I’m sure is the best room downstairs, making no difference to him what room I was in. After coming to the realization, I chose the largest one up here.

It feels more like a room at a luxurious hotel than a guest bedroom. I’m not complaining. The queen bed is larger than the full one I was used to sleeping on. I don’t know what the mattress is made of, but it felt like sleeping on a cloud.

I should’ve slept perfectly.

I didn’t.

Instead, I dreamed of the desire in Beck’s stupid gorgeous but cunning eyes. I dreamt about what his lips would feel like against mine. I even thought of all the dirty things that could happen on all the surfaces of his kitchen. As the sun peeks through the floor to ceiling windows of my bedroom, I turn into the mattress and groan. Where I should feel chipper and ready to experience New York again, all I feel is exhaustion and partially wound up.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Sighing, I push myself off the bed to grab it. The moment I swipe to answer, I can hear the familiar sound of my best friend’s arguing.

“Ask her if she boned Beckham.” I’d know Emma’s voice anywhere.

I also would recognize Winnie’s sigh of disapproval anywhere. Emma and I constantly get it from her. “Emma!” Winnie scolds. “He’s her boss. They can’t sleep together.”

“Shut up, they totally can and she totally should. Seeing that man in person, I’d honestly disown her as a friend if she didn’t let him give her the ride of her life.”

Smiling, I shake my head at both of them. It hasn’t even been a day since I’ve seen the two people I’m closest with in the world and I already miss them terribly. “Good morning,” I say.

It catches both of their attention, their arguing halting immediately. “Margie!” Winnie says excitedly, using a nickname she gave me the first time she ever smoked weed.

“Hi Win,” I respond. I sit up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest and putting the phone on speaker.

“Did you hear everything we just said?” Winnie asks cautiously.

“You know she did,” Emma pipes up. “I meant every word I said, Mar. You better be riding him like a pony the next time we see you. I want to hear all about how big his dick is.”

I snort, fixing my tangled hair into a bun on the top of my head. “I’m his assistant, Em. Not his sex toy. There will be no looking at his dick. Sorry to disappoint.”

I don’t have to be with Emma to know she’s dramatically jutting her lip out in a puppy dog face. She’s been using the face on us since we all met in college. It doesn’t work like it used to, especially since I can’t see her right now. “You’re no fun,” she draws. “I’m having a dry spell and wanted to live vicariously through you.”

There’s silence, and then a gasp is heard from the other line. “Winnie!” Emma shrieks.

“What’s going on?” I question.

“Winnie, you need to explain this text right now,” Emma demands. There’s rustling, a loud crack, and then the line goes dead.

I stare at my screen confused. “Hello?” No one answers. When I attempt to call Winnie again, it goes straight to voicemail. I try Emma’s number, but it only rings before a voice comes over the line telling me that Emma’s voicemail box is full.

“I’d like to think of myself as more of a stallion than pony.”

I yelp, almost jumping off the bed from learning I’m not alone.

“What the hell, Beck!” I shriek, throwing a pillow at him. He leans in the open doorway, completely unfazed by the feather pillow that hit him right in the abs.

Speaking of abs, I’m hit with the memory of seeing them on full display last night. I actually got to touch them, feel them tighten underneath my touch. It was hot as hell.

“I should be the one saying what the hell. Your friends referenced me as a pony.” He takes a few steps into the room, leaving the door to the hallway open behind him.

It’s only now that I’m struck with the realization that Beck is dressed casually. At least casual when it comes to Beck’s standards.

He wears a pair of dark navy blue chinos, a white-collared shirt with a sweater slipped over it. It’s not the most casual thing a man could wear, but for Beck, it’s basically like wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and an old T-shirt.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, changing the subject. He stands in the entryway of my room dressed like he’s about to go to Sunday brunch. Which I guess he might be. It actually is Sunday.

His eyes look over the space, almost like it’s his first time seeing the room. Maybe it is. He made it seem like his room was downstairs. It’s possible he never comes up here if there isn’t any need to. When I’d taken a peek around upstairs last night, I found two other rooms, both smaller than the one I chose, and then an office space that had floor to ceiling bookshelves on two of the walls.

“You’d slept long enough. We have plans, and since you weren’t going to wake up on your own, I had to become the alarm clock.” He steps over my suitcase that I’d left on the ground, clothes spewing out in all directions as I’d angrily looked for a comfortable pair of pajamas last night. “Except, it turns out you didn’t need an alarm clock. Your friends woke you up enough with references to my cock. Or excuse me, you riding my cock.”

I fall back into fluffy pillows with a mortifying groan. One day I might actually kill Emma for that big mouth of hers. Even from the side of the country her antics are getting me in trouble. Closing my eyes, I pull one of the pillows over my face. Maybe if I close my eyes hard enough and mutter some kind of prayer to the god of embarrassment or whatever, I’ll be able to disappear into the mattress and never look Beck in the eye again.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” he muses, his voice a little closer than it’d been before. “It wasn’t the worst thing to imagine.”

I groan again, shaking my head erratically underneath the pillow. I’m going to blast every single one of Emma’s embarrassing stories all over the internet. Even better, I’m going to paint a very detailed picture of the time she threw up all over the nice couple in front of us in Cabo. We’d all been entirely too hungover to go on an excursion, but we rallied and went anyway. At least, we attempted to rally. Emma ended up blowing chunks all over the twelve-passenger van—and its passengers—fifteen minutes into the ride.

I’m dreaming up all the other embarrassing stories I have on Emma to get back at her when I feel two warm hands over the top of mine. It makes me jolt. What is he doing?

“Margo,” he says, his voice steady. He pulls on my fingers, trying to unlatch them from my tight grip on the pillow. I dig my fingertips into the pillow with all my might, clutching it so hard to my face that I can barely breathe.

“No,” I snap, holding onto the pillow for dear life. I should’ve just looked Beck in the eye and told him there’s no way I’d ever ride him. I could’ve made a disgusted face and cracked some kind of joke to make things way less awkward.

“Why are you hiding?” He grunts, pulling on the edge of the pillowcase to slide it from my grasp.

I clutch it like a lifeline. “Because I’m busy planning the demise of my best friend. Leave me to it.” Unfortunately, Beck is relentless and much stronger than me. He pulls the pillow from my clutches with one easy tug.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling Beck’s presence looming over me.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. I feel the mattress dip slightly underneath my body. The asshole is making things worse by taking a seat and not disappearing.

“Go away.” My arm reaches out in an attempt to push him off the bed. I squeeze my eyes so tightly that I have to feel around for him. My fingers brush up against what I think is his thigh. I’m feeling around when I feel his large hand on top of mine.

“Woah there, Violet.” A low rumble of laughter comes from his chest. He gently guides my hand from what I think was the tip of him. Which would be wild because holy fuck if that was the tip of his dick, that thing is huge.

He’s right. Definitely less pony and more stallion.

The realization of what he’s packing between his thighs has my eyes popping open. He stares at me with a cocky smirk. My cheeks burn so hot with embarrassment that I do the only logical thing a hot-blooded woman can do when her ex’s older, way hotter brother, who is her boss and about to be her fake fiancé, is looking at her like that. I shove him off the bed, throwing my entire body into the effort.

Maybe now he’ll take the hint.

Except I throw too much of my body into it. Instead of Beck getting thrown off the bed while I stare at him triumphantly from the cozy mattress, the two of us both tumble to the ground.

Luckily, or somewhat unluckily depending on how you look at it, I end up landing directly on top of Beck. We hit the ground with a loud thud, despite the cushy rug underneath our bodies. My cheek presses into his hard chest. His hands gently press into my hips with just enough pressure to make sure I’m steady.

My hair creates a shield around as I stare down at him, mortified.

He only fuels the embarrassment as he carefully pushes me off him, my butt connecting with the floor. Beck stands up gracefully, straightening out his outfit. He looks down at me. His face is serious except for the slight raise of his eyebrows in amusement. “Trying to jump my bones?”

“Ew, no.” Although judging by what I just felt, jumping his bones would probably be a great—maybe slightly painful—time.

Except it’s Beck. This is Beckham Sinclair we’re talking about. Why can’t I stop thinking about his dick? Why am I wondering if it’d even fit inside me?

“The heated look in your eyes says otherwise,” he states matter-of-factly.

I push myself off the ground, grunting at him in annoyance as I stand up.

Beck smirks, tilting his head in my direction. “Your perky nipples especially say otherwise.”

Eyes widening, I look down at the evidence of the dirty thoughts I was just having of him.

“Traitors,” I mutter, quickly folding my arms across my chest and pinning him with a bored look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I lie through my teeth.

His returned smile lets me know he doesn’t believe a damn word I’m saying. Instead of doing what I expect and further pointing out that clearly my nipples get annoyingly excited around him, he drops it.

Just as quick as he swept into my room, he’s heading back toward the exit. Stopping in the doorway, he taps the doorframe with his knuckle two times. His face almost looks pained as he looks over his shoulder. “Get ready. Fast.”

“Why?”

“We have appointments to go shopping. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

He doesn’t leave any room for argument, or questions. He flies out of the room like his ass is on fire.

Two things I’ve learned in the last few minutes.

One, I think the impenetrable Beck just had a reaction to seeing my nipples hard after feeling him—and I liked it.

And two, apparently rich people need appointments to go shopping.