Page 17 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

“Sorry,” I said lamely. After what seemed an eternity, Fitz started speaking again.

“Obviously, her involvement in the organization is going to make it impossible for her to be your fake lover.” Fitz shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I vetted those candidates myself. I had no idea they had so many skeletons in their closets.”

I started brainstorming as Fitz and Evan rattled off a bunch more candidates that would never work for this, that, or the other reason. As they wound down, I found the courage to speak.

“So, ah, why is it so hard to find another celebrity bride, not from your list? I mean, there has to be someone willing to go for this, right?”

Fitz pushed his glasses up and gave me a look like he was trying very hard not to be annoyed with me. Jenna, Evan’s assistant, turned a cold-blooded glare my way.

“You don’t understand how rigorously these people have their lives scheduled. It’s not as if we can simply call them up on the telephone or shoot them a text. We have to go through their agents, their lawyers, and probably their agent’s lawyers and their lawyer’s agents just to reach the actual celebrity in question. We simply do not have the time for all of that. We need to pull the trigger on this fake wedding soon, or millions of dollars and many man-hours of prep time will be wasted.”

“I don’t get it. You could still postpone for a little while, right?” I shrugged.

“Because,” Jenna said with ice in her veins and her words, “our marketing department has already secretly leaked the date of the wedding to the press. We need to either cancel the wedding or go through with it. There will be no postponement.”

Evan tightened his hand into a fist. When he spoke, his voice was equally tight.

“Canceling is not an option.” His voice brooked no debate, and his cold gaze dared anyone to question him. “I want those projected profits. I want that wedding. We are going to make it happen. Period, end of story.”

The room fell silent as everyone struggled to brainstorm an idea. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I looked around at the room and tried to gauge their reactions.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” Fitz said, slapping his hands together withglee. “Why didn’t I see it before?”

Evan gave him a withering look, and Fitz seemed to lose a lot of wind from his sails.

“What have you got, and it had better be good, Fitz.”

“Um, two words. Redemption. Arc.” He moved his hands across the air as if they were up on a marquee. “Redemption arc. Everyone loves a good redemption story. We pick one of our starlets who’s had her public persona besmirched. Then we have the two of you meet and spin it that you fell in love due to a happy but unexpected circumstance, and now you’re helping her to be better.”

Evan scowled, drumming his fingers on the table again. His reflection showed on the highly glossed table, and his distorted features almost made him look like a demon. I knew that Evan was one of those kinds of guys who wanted results, and he wanted them right now. The only problem was, he may have been trying to grasp too much.

“How is that going to work? Isn’t one of those women in rehab?”

“Well, we could have you check into rehab, and it would be a double redemption arc story.”

“Check into rehab?” Jenna scoffed. I was glad to see her ire directed at someone else for a change. “Are you insane? The boss can’t be seen as having any form of incompetence or it’s going to tank stock prices and decrease net value. You know, the exact opposite of what we’re trying to achieve?”

“I agree with Jenna,” Evan said, ice in his tone. “No rehab for me.”

“Then maybe we could say that you were going in there as, I don’t know, a counselor or a sponsor or something.”

Jenna shook her head.

“It’s too off-brand for Evan. He’s not likely to do something like that unless it’s the most glamorous rehab center in the world.”

Fitz slapped his hand on the phone in his pocket.

“If you give me ten minutes and a web search, I’ll find you that super glamorous rehab center. I’m telling you this idea has legs.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Evan glared him to silence. “Because I’m cutting it off. Next.”

It took me a moment to realize he meant ‘next idea’. The silence stretched out to very uncomfortable levels. Evan shot glares at his people, as if accusing them of the worst sins imaginable because they didn’t have fresh ideas ready for the grinder that was his brain.

“What do I pay you people for?” he growled.

Because I felt bad for them, and because I wanted to put an end to the uncomfortable silence, I blurted something out that I maybe shouldn’t have.

“Why does it have to be a celebrity, or an influencer, or a professional athlete?”

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