FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

CHAPTER 14

~ SIMON

"Finally. We can leave. I'm so tired of pretending." Jamie stretched her arms over her head as she sat up in bed.

I groaned from the floor, pressing my palm to my lower back. "You're tired of pretending? I slept on hardwood and woke up feeling like a truck ran me over."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "I offered you the bed. You're the one who moved to the floor in the middle of the night like a Victorian gentleman."

I sat up slowly, wincing. "I moved because you take up too much space. You're a sprawler, Counselor. And honestly, your nighttime noises were… disturbing."

"My nighttime noises?"

"You were starfished. And you made little sounds." I waved vaguely. "It was embarrassing."

She tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Embarrassing? Or were you getting hard again?"

My jaw tightened. "That's not—"

"Oh my God." She laughed, genuine and bright. "You were! You got hard just from sleeping next to me?"

"Jamie—"

"What's wrong, Hart? Only you get to make jokes and embarrass me?" She was clearly enjoying this way too much. "Look at you. Wall Street's king of one-night stands, all flustered because he got a b***r sharing a bed."

I stood up, shaking out my wrinkled shirt. "We should go downstairs."

"Are you running, Simon?"

"Strategic retreat." I headed for the door. "There's a difference."

Her laugh followed me down the hall, a sound I was already starting to hate for how much I liked it. My hand found the dark wood banister as I descended the stairs of that old house.

Her grandmother was already in the kitchen when we walked in, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet hanging in the air like a hug.

"Simon, sweetheart!" She set down her mug and came toward me with open arms. "Did you sleep well? Is the guest room bed comfortable?"

"Excellent, Grandma! Jamie was a perfect hostess."

Her grandmother cupped my face, studying me like I was already her favorite grandson. "Such a polite young man. Jamie, why did you wait so long to bring this one around?"

"Grandma—"

"He has such honest eyes." She winked at me. "I know a good one when I see one."

Jamie made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "We're just grabbing a quick coffee, Grandma. Then we have to go."

"Of course, of course." Her grandmother waved a hand. "Sit at the table. Eat something. You're both too thin."

Jamie and I walked to the table, where Vanessa and Oliver were already seated.

"Huh. I thought the doctor had already left," I teased, looking at Oliver.

"My husband had an upset stomach after lunch," Vanessa explained. "We ended up staying in the back guest room."

"Upset stomach, Doctor?" I tilted my head, smiling. "Hope yesterday's conversation wasn't the cause."

Oliver let out a humorless laugh.

"Of course not. But you might want to watch your own stomach this morning." He held my gaze. "You know what they say… today's hunter, tomorrow's hunted. Things can turn fast, my friend."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Jamie's grandmother set another plate of cakes on the table, the pastries still steaming. "Eat, eat. These are orange with honey glaze. My great-grandmother's recipe."

I grabbed one and bit in. The cake melted on my tongue, soft and fragrant. "This is divine, Grandma. Seriously, best cake I've ever had."

She smiled, flushed. "Oh, sweetheart, you're so kind."

I looked at Jamie, who was staring into her mug. "Jamie must have inherited her cooking skills, right?" I turned to her, a smile on my lips. "I still remember the first time I went to her apartment. She made this mushroom risotto. Holy s**t, it was good. I was practically praying over it, it was that perfect."

The whole table stopped.

Vanessa's fork froze halfway to her mouth. Jamie's dad, who was reaching for the newspaper, stopped mid-motion. Even her grandmother, who was turning to grab more coffee, went still.

Jamie's face had gone white.

Oliver tilted his head, a slow smile forming. "Strange. Jamie can't cook."

The silence was deafening.

I looked at Jamie, and she looked back with an expression that clearly said: we're screwed.

Suddenly, she laughed nervously, slapping my shoulder harder than necessary. "Baby… I have to tell you something. That risotto… I actually bought it."

My eyes widened. "You bought it?!"

"At the bodega near my building." She gave a forced smile. "They had a special: two for one. Mushroom and four-cheese."

I let out a laugh—loud, nervous—while running a hand through my hair. "You had me believing for months you were some kind of chef and I just didn't know? Jesus, I told everyone I knew about that risotto."

Everyone burst out laughing. Her grandmother was laughing so hard she had to grip the table. Vanessa was wiping tears with her napkin. Even Jamie's dad, a man of few words, let out a grunt that sounded like a laugh.

Only the doctor didn't laugh.

His gaze was fixed on me, that smile on his face, but his eyes cold. Slowly, he stood, still holding his mug.

"Excuse me."

I watched him walk away toward the hall. Something about that exit didn't sit right. My gut said something was wrong, but Jamie had already pulled a chair next to mine, her arm brushing against me as she sat.

Breakfast continued with random chatter, old family stories, and Grandma's comments about how I was too polite to be dating someone as stubborn as her granddaughter.

When we finished, I stood and laced my fingers through Jamie's.

"I think it's time we hit the road."

"Already?" her grandmother complained.

"I've got a stack of contracts waiting for me in New York," Jamie answered.

We said goodbye to her parents and walked toward the living room.

We were a few steps from the door when Oliver's voice stopped us.

"Leaving without seeing my surprise?"

I turned.

He was kneeling in front of the TV stand, fiddling with some cables.

"Doctor, if that's a slideshow of your wedding, I'd rather gouge my own eyes out."

Vanessa let out a nervous laugh.

Oliver finished connecting the cable and stood slowly, the remote spinning between his fingers.

"Ah, no. This is much better than wedding photos."

He positioned himself next to the TV and opened a satisfied grin.

"Ladies and gentlemen… Simon Hart."

Before I could open my mouth, he hit play.

In the center of the screen, a grainy image stabilized. Amateur footage, the kind that looked like it was shot on a phone.

But the face on screen was unmistakable.

It was me. In Ibiza. f**k. This is going to end very, very badly.