Page 6 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Oh god, she’s going to do it.

No Tatiana, no.

I will her to back down, but I already know it’s too late. If she’s flashing those stubborn eyes, she’s committed.

Sure enough, Tatiana grabs one of the vials from Leo’s hand.

“Tatiana!” Amara gasps.

“When in Vegas,” Tatiana says. She uncaps the tiny container and tips the clear liquid into her mouth in one smooth motion.

Rossi’s eyebrows shoot up before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well played, Tatiana Cole. I was actually teasing... normally I wouldn’t touch this stuff with a seven foot pole... but now...” He takes a vial for himself.

“That’s the spirit!” Leo says. He looks at me expectantly.

I sigh, then grab a vial from Leo, trying to project a confidence I absolutely do not feel. “Shit. Tatiana.”

I uncap the tiny container.

Jess and Amara exchange tentative glances before following suit. Leo looks delighted, like he’s just successfully corrupted a convent.

Which he essentially has.

“To temporary insanity,” Rossi says, raising his vial in Tatiana’s direction.

I lift my vial at the same time as everyone else.

But instead of drinking it, in a move smoother than any PR spin I’ve ever executed, I let most of it dribble down my chin and onto the front of my bikini top as I pretend to swallow, simultaneously turning my head slightly as if coughing. A faintly salty, chemically sweet taste slides across my tongue.

Gross.

I wipe my chin discreetly with the back of my hand. Hopefully, the damp spot on my top just looks like spilled water or sweat in the dim cabana lighting.

Beside me, Leo seems none-the-wiser. If anything, he looks delighted, like a wolf who just convinced a sheep to try on a straightjacket.

Meanwhile, my heart is hammering.

Why did I even pretend? What am I trying to prove?

Well, first rule of personal branding: control the narrative. At least now I’ll have full control of my sense and won’t do anything stupid.

Or that’s what I tell myself, anyway.

I still have to act the part. Shouldn’t be hard. A little extra laughter, maybe stumble slightly, widen the eyes…

Method acting, Sabrina. You got this.

Except… Leo is sitting beside me again on the plush cabana couch. His thigh is warm against mine, sending an unexpected jolt through me that has nothing to do with fake drugs.

“Feel it?” he asks, his voice a low murmur.

“Oh yeah,” I say, widening my eyes dramatically and injecting a little wobble into my voice. “Wow. Everything’s… sparkly.”

He laughs, a genuine, warm sound that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Damn him. “Sparkly? That’s a new one. I think you’re faking it.”

“I amnot,” I reply, feigning righteousindignation.

He shrugs, then leans closer, invading my personal space in a way that should be alarming but is instead weirdly thrilling. I should move away. I should make an excuse. I should remember every cautionary tale my mother ever told me about smooth-talking men who disappear.

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