MY FAKE HUSBAND IS MY BOSS

Chapter Four

JEALOUS

The Worthington meeting went perfect.

$40 million deal. Signed.

Victor shook hands, did the CEO smile, and the whole time his eyes kept flicking to Ella.

"Good job in there," he said in the car back to the hotel.

Ella was still buzzing. "You said I was 'an asset to the company.' In front of them."

"Did I?" He looked out the window. "Must’ve slipped."

It didn’t slip.

And they both knew it.

Back in the suite, Ella kicked off her heels. 12 hours in them. Her feet were dying.

Victor was on a call in the living room. Voice low. Serious.

When he hung up, he was frowning.

"Problem?" Ella asked.

"My grandfather. He saw the gala photos." Victor loosened his tie. "He wants to have dinner. Tomorrow night. Here in Chicago."

Ella’s stomach dropped.

"Oh."

"He’s testing us." Victor looked at her. "If we mess this up, he won’t sign over the company."

"Then we won’t mess it up," Ella said, and she sounded braver than she felt.

Victor nodded.

"We’ll go shopping. You need something better than that red dress."

"I—"

"My treat. Contract clause 3: Public appearances. I pay for your wardrobe."

Ella didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

The next day they went to Michigan Avenue.

Victor walked 2 steps ahead, hands in pockets, like he was bored.

But every time Ella tried on a dress, he’d pause.

Black.

Too revealing.

Blue.

Too boring.

White.

She came out in a white slip dress. Simple. Elegant. It hit just above the knee.

Victor stopped walking.

For 2 seconds he just stared.

Then he cleared his throat.

"It works."

The saleslady beamed.

"That’s $2,800."

Victor didn’t blink.

"Wrap it."

In the car, Ella held the bag on her lap.

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me. You’re an investment."

Right.

Investment.

Dinner was at 8 PM in the hotel restaurant. Private room.

Ella’s hands shook as she did her makeup.

White dress. Hair down. Simple earrings.

When she came out, Victor was waiting.

In a navy suit.

He looked up.

And froze.

"You look..." He stopped himself. "Appropriate."

"Thanks."

They walked in together.

And there she was.

Olivia Chen.

In a red dress.

Sitting next to Victor’s grandfather.

"Victor! Darling!" Olivia stood up and hugged him. Her hands lingered on his chest. "What a surprise."

Grandfather Hale was 80. Sharp eyes. He looked Ella up and down once.

"So this is her."

Ella extended her hand.

"Mr. Hale. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ella."

He shook it.

"We’ll see."

Dinner was torture.

Olivia talked the entire time. About college. About "that summer in Paris with Victor."

About how "Victor hates white wine. Remember, babe?"

Babe.

Ella’s smile hurt.

Victor didn’t correct her.

Not once.

But his hand, under the table, found Ella’s knee.

And squeezed.

Once.

Like: I’m here.

Ella nearly dropped her fork.

After dinner, Grandfather Hale pulled Victor aside.

Ella and Olivia were left alone.

"So," Olivia said, sipping wine. "How did you two meet?"

"At work," Ella said.

"Right. Accounting." Olivia smiled. "Victor goes through accountants like socks. You’re the first one he married though."

Ella’s jaw tightened.

"We’re very happy."

"Are you?" Olivia leaned in. "Because Victor doesn’t do happy. He does business."

Before Ella could answer, Victor was back.

He put his arm around Ella’s waist.

Possessive.

"Grandfather wants to see us at the house next month," he said. "To finalize things."

Grandfather Hale nodded.

"She’ll do."

Just like that.

She passed the test.

In the elevator up, no one talked.

The second the suite door closed, Ella dropped the smile.

"That was awful," she breathed.

Victor poured himself whiskey.

"You did good."

"Olivia called me your accountant."

"I know." He took a drink. "I should’ve said something."

"Why didn’t you?"

Victor looked at her over the rim of his glass.

"Because I wanted to see if it bothered you."

Ella froze.

"What?"

"If you were jealous." He set the glass down. "Are you?"

The air went thick.

Ella crossed her arms.

"That’s not part of the contract, Mr. Hale."

"No," he agreed. "It’s not."

He stepped closer.

"So why did your hand shake when she touched me?"

Ella looked up at him.

He was so close she could smell his cologne.

"I don’t know," she whispered.

"Liar."

Victor’s phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

Then back to her eyes.

Ella’s breath caught.

This was it.

This was the moment in every romance book where—

Knock. Knock.

Room service.

They both jumped back like they’d been burned.

Victor ran a hand through his hair.

"That’s my dinner."

"Right." Ella grabbed her dress bag. "I’m... I’m going to bed."

She went to her room.

Locked the door.

And pressed her back against it, heart racing.

Down the hall, Victor stared at the closed door.

Then at his phone.

12 missed calls from Olivia.

He deleted them all.