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Hannah
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His Fake Fiancee Damien
THE WAY HANNAH paces in my office gives me the best view of her ass. "I cannot present with you, Damien. I'm serious." She whirls around, heading in the opposite direction, giving me another angle to admire. "Howcould you expect me to talk in front of all those people?"She might think she's being modest in her turtleneck top, but her skirtscreams otherwise. It's the same one she wore during her interview, black and tight in all the right places.She must know what it does to me."Because you can." I recline comfortably in my chair, stifling a groan. She doesn't have to work. I'd pay her to simply be in here. "It's not bad. There won't be that many people."She flicks her head at me, her pupils glaring.I'm lucky we're in my main office that has no glass for workers to see through. Otherwise, my employees might think my new personal assistant has lost her mind."I know what the Silicon Summit is." She pops her hip out, her hand snapping to rest on it. "There will be thousands in the
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
MY SUITCASE COULDN'T LOOK MORE WORN out. I heave my body on top of it, forcing the clothes further down. I try the zipper, but it gets stuck.Sofia sits criss cross on my bed, watching me with an amusing look on her face.She knows everything. I thought I'd keep my arrangement with Damien a secret from her, but I caved. We tell each other everything. It's been that way since we shared a dorm room in college.I'd feel bad for leaving, even if it's only for two months, if it weren't for Jenna moving into our spare bedroom next week.I glance up to find her sipping her blended beverage."It's not even Tuesday," I say.She raises her eyebrows. "Any day is a good day for a margarita. Notjust Tuesdays." Her blended strawberry concoction chills her glass cloudy. A tiny umbrella and a straw point out of the top. "You're still coming, though, right?"Practically belly flopping on top of the fabric, the zipper finally seals shut. God, it's going to be humiliating dragging this raggedy old thin
His Fake Fiancee Damien
I RELEASE her from my weight, my feet landing on the floor. Her hair sprawls out on the white cushion and her cheeks flush a bright crimson.She's dressed much more casually than when she left the office. Instead of a blouse and skirt, she wears tight jeans and a sweater. Even in less revealing clothing, she's still sexy as sin. Seeing her dress in something normal for a change gives me a glimpse at the true side of her, and it seems to awaken something carnal within me.She bristles and stands to her feet, frantically smoothing out her hair and struggling to look me in the eye. Actually, she's avoiding looking at my half-naked body altogether."I didn't expect such a warm welcome," she hisses, staring out the window with her chest heaving up and down.A dark contentment burns in my middle.I already informed my housing staff of her arrival, but they still need to see us together. I need them to believe we've been together for some time, and soon the world will think so too.A smug fe
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
I'M DREAMING.HANNAHI've never been a lucid dreamer who's acutely aware of the distinction between dreamland and reality. Every night, if I dream at all, I go about them blissfully unaware that my actions are anything but real.Except for one dream.One I wish would stop coming. I've learned to recognize its signs. An uneasy feeling prickling at the back of my neck, followed by loud blood pumping in my ears, until—The shed.I freeze in place, staring at the surrounding sunflowers and its rusted white paint.That's how it is. Average, pleasant dream, followed by a shed in the most peculiar of places. Sometimes it reveals itself while I'm walking the dreamlands of Central Park, or outside the office I work at, or in my very own living room, balancing atop the couch and coffee table.But tonight... tonight it seems to be where it truly lives, where it's always been.My family's farm.I approach it with caution, the backyard's overgrown grass brushing up against my shins. Over my should
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
I'VE BEEN in the same room with her for all of five minutes, and I already know Cyna is one of those types who thrives in madness.She doesn't have one assistant. Or two. She has five.They wrap yellow measurement ribbon around my waist, hem pantsuits and skirts on the spot here in the apartment, and refuse to slow down. No, anything below a brisk walk is positively unacceptable, like Cyna herself might pull out a ruler and smack them for slacking off.I hold my arms out as a tape circles around my breasts. I'm wearing nothing but a bra and underwear, staring into the keen pair of eyes behind round black spectacles. We're in the middle of Damien's penthouse in the living room, clean windows surrounding us on a beautiful sunny day.Anyone in Central Park or the neighboring buildings with a set of binoculars could see me right now. I chew on my bottom lip, trying to avoid the intense gaze Cyna's been giving me for the past ten minutes.She puffs on a thin cigarette held between her two
His Fake Fiancee Damien
I PINCH the bridge of my nose, my elbows jamming on top of my desk.I should've seen it coming. Typical of my father to propose one thing, and then ask for three times as much. The deal is simple, or should be simple—Bass Mobile gets exclusive rights to the Nano-X chip for onefiscal year, and I get Sterling's shares indefinitely. Not for an allotted time.Forever.The back-and-forth with their lawyer has been exhausting. Not that I don't have my team of lawyers scouring through their proposal. In the end, we'll settle on the version we originally agreed to, because my father's desperate. His company is in need of my company's chips for their cellphones, and they're in no position to negotiate.My father is only trying to drag this out, clinging to what little dignity he has left.A smile creeps along my lips, right as a knock sounds at my door. "Mr. Bass." Arthur pops his head in. "I hope I'm not intruding."My shoulders relax, happy to see a familiar face.Arthur is the epitome of p
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
BAD DECISIONS, bad decisions, bad decisions.I tap my heel in quick repetitions, sitting quietly at my desk.You taunted him. You taunted him, and now you'll have to endure sittingthrough a date with him... with him touching you in public.Burying my head low, I try to read the notes the engineers gave me today during their progress report. Even though Sofia was there to explain half of what they showed me, I'm still having a difficult time decipheringtheir jumbled-up, scribbled mess.Seriously, do any of them have handwriting that's half-legible?I exhale sharply, translating the notes to a pristinely organized report. Damien told me it's due within the hour, and it's proving very difficult to finish, given the flurry of thoughts arguing inside my consciousness.So, what, you have one little wet dream, and you go along and decide to try on lingerie in front of your boss? Seriously, who does that?It wasn't my idea, I counter, knowing this internal feud is pointless, and I'm screwed
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
TONIGHT WENT SHOCKINGLY WELL.It felt almost... real. Like we aren't playing a game, acting as a serious and happy couple, ready for photos to be taken of us at any second.As we're walking by the tables, that sensation creeps back in, one caused by the intense friction from the lingerie I'm wearing. Each step is torturous, lulling me into a submission in Damien's arm that loops around my middle.Maybe that was his plan all along. I manage to think through the clouds of euphoria, my sensitive flesh pinching between the two elastic straps. Flirt, don't touch me, but the moment I get up to leave, he knows I’ll walk myself into liquid putty for him.Damien's arm tightens around the small of my back, his thumb sweeping in a slow rhythm, tempting me to give in to him. He wants me to be easy for him. He wants—"Well, well, look who it is," a drunken voice slurs to our immediate right, followed by a high-pitched cackle.Oh, no.Damien and I both stop in our tracks at the same instant, becaus
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