Page 14 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

So I smile, expertly putting Clark at his ease, demonstrating an important quality in a fake fiancée.

Eventually the contract is signed. And the check is in my hands. And I’m closing the door behind him.

I spin around and put my finger to my lips.

Jada grabs my arms and we wait for the elevator bell. And then a few more seconds for the thump of the elevator doors, and then we scream and dance and go change into cocktails-out outfits.

The first timeI went to cut Rex’s hair, I was really scared to meet the boogeyman of the financial district, really scared I’d screw it up. After the stories I’d heard about him from his previous stylist, who’d moved out to L.A., I was shaking in my pink boots.

I’d arrived early and an assistant with a cute bob and a hard stare led me through a maze of gatekeepers past floor-to-ceiling arched windows, flashing monitors, and brightly colored workstations. Finally we headed down his hall of toiling minions and arrived at his office.

The assistant pushed open the door and there he was, tie loose, shirtsleeves rolled up, surrounded by broker-type bros and techie-looking people. They were all staring at a monitor with total intensity, but none with the intensity of Rex O’Rourke. It was like he wanted to melt the monitor with the power of his mind.

Then something seemed to happen on the screen, and they all leaned in, and Rex placed his meaty fists onto the table. Like he wanted to shove the table into the groundandmelt the monitor.

“Friday haircut’s here,” the assistant called across to them. “I’ll have her set up.”

Right then, Rex glanced over.

And our eyes met. Something about him struck me deeply in a way that I can’t explain. His sooty hair twinkled; his lashes glowed black as night. And god, that stare.

He seemed so totally powerful, yet fiercely isolated. A man alone in a group. A man with his very own container, a titanium turtle shell.

And then somebody said something, and his attention was back down, glued to that monitor, shutting out the whole world.

I unpacked my stuff in the far corner of the office that the cute-bob assistant indicated I was to inhabit, arranging my things on a towel, quietly watching Rex scowl. And then something important seemed to happen on the computer, and Rex’s minions straightened, like invisible marionette operators suddenly pulled their strings tight.

Except Rex. He was still bent in, knuckles on wood, metal-melting stare. “There it is,” he growled.

Then some bell rang, and they all relaxed. And the people all left, except for my guide. Rex eventually stormed over, and she introduced me as Tabitha, the new stylist.

“Hello, Mr. O’Rourke,” I said.

“Haircut,” he said, seeming displeased. That was his hello. He sat on my mobile stool, and he barked an order, and the woman started reciting numbers off a pad like a strange alien communication.

“Excuse me, I’m gonna have you tilt your head back, and I’m going to put this relaxing, warm jasmine-scented cloth over your face for a moment,” I said.

The cloth-over-the-face thing is something I do to make my clients feel pampered and special.

Rex fixed me with a hard look. “If you put that thing on my face,” he growled, “I’ll rip it up and throw it out the door, and you along with it.”

The assistant stiffened and regarded me nervously, like maybe I’d freak out and run away.

I just smiled, becauseOMG, seriously? Who is so extreme? Rex is so extreme!!

But of course I didn’t say that.

“We’ll skip the cloth,” I said. Though I didn’t like it. This was part of my thing, and Rex was ruining it. Who doesn’t enjoy relaxation? He nearly lost his mind a minute later when I tried to do my special Tabitha Evans scalp-relaxing massage.

“Hey!” He pulled away and twisted around. “What are you doing?”

“A scalp-relaxing massage?” I said.

“No massages!” he snarled. “No. Massages. Ever. Got it?” This he snarled with extrarawr.

And I don’t know what rose up in me—some innate sense that he needed some pushback. Without even thinking, I looked him in the eyes and I smiled, and I whispered, “Rawr!” But my own fun version.

I could feel the assistant stiffen even more.

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