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Fiancée for Hire
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Marry the woman I love? Not likely.
What kind of over-the-top crazy woman would fake her own death to trap a billionaire into marrying her? Well, that’d be my ex. And yeah, I know, my taste in women sucks.
Then again, the cocktail waitress at my party has every ounce of my attention, and I’m pretty sure she’d taste just fine. She’s got this nervous laugh and just the right amount of freckles. She’s the kind of girl you’d be proud to take home to your parents, but I’m just interested in taking her to bed.
But then my ex crashes my party.
So I do what any guy would do. I drag the cocktail girl into the pantry and get down on one knee. She gets a ring, a couple million bucks, and all she has to do is say yes.
What could go wrong?
**This is a full-length, standalone fake marriage romance. No cheating or cliffhangers, and a Happily Ever After is guaranteed!**
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I glance down at the giant honking diamond on my finger, and I instinctively arch my back for him.
Liam Lions’ strong, masculine hands grip my tiny waist. I look up and see the evening lights adorning the Eiffel tower shining brightly through the window, just like out of a dream.
“You’re wet again,” he murmurs.
I moan as I feel his rock-hard dick slap against my back.
“And you’re hard again,” I say, my voice heavy with desire.
He laughs, the throaty sound rising up from his chest, and I look over my shoulder at him. His perfect white teeth are exposed in the hint of a smirk, and his strong jaw and cheekbones are perfectly accentuated by the city lights spilling in through the window.
It’s hard to believe I’m getting paid for this. I feel guilty at the thought, because now that we are sleeping with each other…exactly how fake is this whole arrangement?
“Mmmm,” his voice rumbles, and his fingers dig into my flesh, claiming me even more fiercely than he did before. “You look so good in this light.”
I feel his thick manhood pressing heavily against me, and my lips begin parting for him.
How long can this last, I wonder? Will he throw me aside when he doesn’t need to keep up the act, or is this–like I have started daring to hope–something more than just an arrangement?
I slam a hand onto James’ shoulder and smile wide. “Ditch the ring,” I say. “Pawn it, do whatever. I don’t want to look at it.”
“But, there’s still twelve hours until–”
“I’m celebrating early, James,” I say. “I’m done living in Cynthia’s cold shadow.”
James sighs. “Fine.”
He’s the best assistant I’ve ever had, maybe even too good. “Relax, I’m clear. I get to stay a bachelor forever. No one to tie me down.”
“Gabriela is still scheduled to be here tonight,” he says.
“Tell her she’s done. She’s off the hook.”
“James,” I snap. “Come on, she’s dealt with this for long enough.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll call her.”
I paid Gabriela to stay close by–to pretend to be my fiancée, if needed. But Cynthia must really be dead.
“What’s so funny?” James asks.
“I shouldn’t laugh,” I say. “I’m not actually glad that Cynthia is dead…”
James shoots me a skeptical look.
“I’m not!” I say. “Really. I’m just laughing at how paranoid I was.”
“You can’t be too careful in this business,” James says.
“You really think she’d have faked her own death?” I ask. “Just to lock me into the contract?”
I scoff. “You need a beer, man. Or five.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” James says.
“Tonight, you do! I want everyone to let loose for my thirtieth. You’re not working for me tonight, man, so hook up with someone. You’re celebrating.”
“I’ll celebrate when the clock strikes midnight,” he says.
“Where are we with the bartenders? We have enough?”
“Twenty,” James says.
“Make it thirty,” I say. “Thirty for my thirtieth.”
James sighs. “Do you still want male bartenders?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Or plain-looking women. I don’t want all the women here to feel like they have to compete with the damn bartenders.”
“I’m gay, Liam,” James says.
“So? You seriously mean to say you can’t tell if a woman is attractive or not?”
James crosses his arms across his chest.
I mimic squeezing my breasts. “Big breasts, tight waist, long legs. Something special in her eyes and full, juicy lips. Nice silky hair…. Come on, man, you get the idea, just don’t hire any women like the one I just described and you’re good.”
“You’ll be perfect,” James says, smiling.
“Really?” I ask. “Me?”
I never get hired for these billionaire birthday parties. Hell, the millionaires don’t even hire me. I never in a million years thought the richest man on the West Coast would hire me to work his party. Liam Lions.
“Of course,” James says. “You’re very experienced.”
I bite my lip. “Great, well, should I wear a cocktail dress, or–”
He shakes his head and interrupts me before I finish my sentence. “We will provide a uniform.”
“It’s not–uh–like–kinky, right, ‘cause I don’t usually do–”
“No,” James says. “The uniform is…it’s very…baggy.”
James has a pretty thick British accent, so maybe I didn’t hear him right, or maybe he’s using some British slang.
“Baggy?” I ask. “Like…a bag?” I hold my hands several inches out away from my body to demonstrate, pretending as if I’m wearing a garbage bag.
“Yes,” he says. “Quite plain. Not the least bit kinky.”
Liam Lions has a notorious reputation as a playboy. I never would have taken him for someone who would hire an experienced bartender over a bimbo who lets guests do jello shots off her tits.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight then.”
“Brilliant,” James says.
I arrive at the Lions’ mansion twenty minutes early. I thank and tip the cab driver, and then walk up toward the impressive wrought-iron gate, which is wide open.
Shortly after I walk through, a man in a suit with a thick, muscular neck stops me.