Page 149 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“I know,” he says, straightening. His eyes are a translucent gray in the streetlight. He looks how I feel—sad. Tired.

“So why are you here, then?” I ask. “I’m glad about what happened. It was like the universe reminding me, this is how it works. This is what happens.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, “it’s not how it works. It should never be how it works.”

Do better,I’m thinking.Please do better.Instead, I say, “I had a fun birthday anyway, so—”

He steps forward. I can feel his heat. His mouth opens and closes like he wants to say a million things.

I should turn and leave, but somehow I can’t. And it’s my birthday; I can stand here with the man I love for a few more moments, right? Pretend like things might be okay?

“This is for you.” He holds out a scrap of paper.

I take it. It’s a phone number and the words:Sydmore’s Café,1 p.m., Saturday.

I look up. “You’re looking for a do-over here?”

“It’s not from me, it’s from Gail. It’s her private line. She wants you to meet her at Sydmore’s tomorrow for a working lunch. She wants to do your business, Tabitha. Invest. Be your mentor.”

“You know I can’t work with her, Rex. Not with the fake fiancée thing hanging out there. That’s not me.”

“Gailknows,” he says. “I told her all about it. I told her how I pushed you into posing as my fiancée, that you really had no choice because of your wrist injury. I told her how much you hated lying to her, how uncomfortable you were with it.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Why would you rat on yourself? I thought you were going to try to get her account in the future. You were going to fight for it and all of that.”

“Well, funny story,” he says. “Long story. This came today.” He reaches in his breast pocket and pulls out some folded sheets of paper. “I thought you’d enjoy seeing these,” he says, removing the paperclip and handing them over.

I blink. The name of some lab is in the upper right-hand corner. The page is entitled “Avuncular DNA Report.” There are three columns. At the top of the first column are the words “mother” and “not tested.” The middle column says “child” and “John Doe.” The third column says “alleged aunt” and “Jane Doe.” John Doe and Jane Doe columns are full of numbers.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“John Doe is Marvin. Jane Doe is Gail.” Rex points to the blue box at the bottom, just above some signatures, where it says, “0.00015%.” He says, “That’s the probability of their being related.”

“Whoa!” I stare up at him. “He’s not her nephew?”

He shakes his head.

I’m in shock. I look back down at the sheet. “What the hell?”

“It’s real. My guy ran a redundant test that tells the same story.” He takes the papers and shows me another sheet full of numbers from another lab with the same general results.

Maybe I’m emotionally overwrought—that’s the only explanation I can think of for the fact that I’m just laughing. “Marvin’s a fake nephew.”

“Apparently they hacked the lab Gail used.”

I clutch them to my chest. “Oh my god!”

He shoves his hands in his pocket. “Right?”

“Did you show Gail?”

“So, yes.” Rex tells me the whole story—him racing over there to beat the deadline for the turnover. The details about Wydover, and how his PI traced him to Marvin. He tells me how Gail called Marvin into her office, and best of all, he describes Marvin’s reactions in precise and extremely satisfying detail.

“If it weren’t for you meddling kids!” I say. “Did Marvin say that? Please tell me that he did!”

Rex’s lip quirks at myScooby-Dooreference. And for a second, it’s like everything’s good with us, until I remember where we are.

I take a breath. “Did she give you the account back? Surely Gail can see that you were the one she should’ve gone with all the time. You were the one she wanted.”

---