FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

CHAPTER 5

~ SIMON

For a moment, I just stared at her. Jamie Collins—my by-the-book, rule-following, never-breaks-a-single-regulation counselor—standing in my office at seven in the morning, agreeing to fake-date me.

I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to live a little."

"Don't make me regret this." She dropped into the chair across from me, crossing her arms in that defensive way she always did. "And don't think I'm doing this because I actually want to spend time with you."

"Of course not." I opened my laptop. "You're doing this because you're tired of being the victim. Admirable, actually. A little pathetic that it took my brilliant idea to get you there, but—"

"Simon."

"Okay, okay." I held up my hands. "Let's get down to business. Your grandmother's birthday is tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. Saturday."

"Perfect." I pulled up my calendar. "And my reunion is next Friday. So here's what I'm thinking: we do your event first, see how we work together, and then tackle mine. Like a dress rehearsal."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dress rehearsal?"

I closed my laptop.

"But first we need to iron out the details, Counselor."

"What kind of details?"

I stood up, rounded the desk, and leaned against the edge, right in front of her. Close enough to see the tiny gold flecks in her brown eyes.

"First things first." I tilted my head. "What are you going to call me?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"At the party." I kept my voice casual. "How are you going to refer to me? What pet names are you going to use?"

Her eyes went wide. "Pet names?"

"Cute names. You know. Babe. Honey. Sweetheart. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"I don't do pet names." Her voice was dry. "Never have."

A surprised laugh escaped me. "What do you mean you've never? Not even with the neurosurgeon?"

She looked away, something passing over her face. Pain, maybe. Or embarrassment. "Oliver and I… we weren't like that. He was very… formal. We never had nicknames for each other."

I frowned. "Ten years and no pet names? That's…"

"Not everyone is a hopeless romantic, Simon."

But that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was the slight shift in her posture, the way she seemed to have shrunk a little. Like she was used to being diminished.

"He's more of an asshole than I thought," I muttered under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." I shook my head, filing that information away. "Okay, no pet names. But there's one more thing we need to discuss."

She eyed me warily. "What?"

"Physical affection. Couples touch each other. Hold hands. Put their hands on each other's backs. They—"

"I know how couples act. I've been in a relationship before. Where exactly are you going with this?"

"When we're at your grandmother's party, I need to be able to put my hand on your lower back. I need to touch your arm when I'm talking to you. I need to stand close enough that people actually believe we're together. And if necessary—" I cleared my throat. "—we might also need to kiss."

She blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain clearly short-circuited somewhere between hand on lower back and kiss, because she just sat there staring at me like I'd suggested we rob a bank together.

Then she completely ignored it. "I'd prefer no kissing. Oliver and I—" She stopped like she'd just walked into a glass door. Her cheeks flushed pink. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Oliver and I…" I repeated. "What happened with Oliver?"

"Nothing. He just… he didn't like kissing." Her voice dropped. "Said it was for teenagers. That mature couples only showed love in bed."

I stared at her. For five full seconds, I just stared.

"Let me get this straight." I kept my voice controlled. "The man who cheated on you with your cousin, who strung you along for a decade, who broke your heart a week before the wedding… he didn't like kissing?"

"No, he—"

"And you accepted that?" I couldn't keep the edge out of my voice. "You just… accepted that he didn't want to kiss you?"

"He said it was more mature to show affection in other ways."

I closed my eyes, counted to three, and opened them again. That bastard. That complete, absolute, total bastard.

"Well, let me tell you something, Counselor." I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping. "Couples who are actually together… real couples… they kiss. A lot."

Her eyes went wide. "We're not a real couple."

"Obviously." I straightened up. "But for the sake of our performance, we need to be convincing. So when I lean in to kiss your cheek, or when I put my hand on your face and look at you like I want to devour you—"

"That's a very specific look."

"I'm a very specific man." I smiled. "The point is, I need to know where your boundaries are. What are you comfortable with?"

She thought, biting her lower lip in a way that was distractingly… distracting.

"Hand-holding is fine," she said slowly. "Touching my back, my arm—that's fine. But kissing…" She hesitated. "I don't know if I can pretend to kiss you. It feels too intimate."

I let out a long breath. "Fine. No mouth kissing."

"Now for my conditions." She lifted her chin. "Don't tell anyone at the office about this. I have a reputation, and I'm not letting office gossip spread that I'm sleeping with my boss."

"Strictly confidential," I agreed. "My lips are sealed."

"Third." She paused, and something shifted in her expression. "When this is over—after both events—we go back to exactly how we were. Boss and employee. Nothing changes."

I met her eyes. "Nothing changes."

She held my gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of deceit. Then she nodded, satisfied.

"Great," she said, standing. "Then we have a deal. Tomorrow before noon. You pick me up."

"Where do you live?"

"I'll text you the address." She was already walking toward the door. "Don't be late, Hart."

"Jamie."

She paused at the threshold, turning.

I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face.

"Wear something stunning. I want to make that bastard suffer."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she walked out.

And I sat there, in my empty office, staring at the door she'd just closed, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.