Page 152 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“Okay, I don’t even know where to start,” I say. “You remember Noelle? Sweet, shy, plain little mail carrier?”

“Who never rode in an elevator until the age of twenty-seven?” he asks.

I snort. Rex has been fixated on that detail ever since Noelle confessed it when a bunch of us were out.

A waiter comes over with mimosas for us. We take them and clink glasses.

“So get this—Noelle got in to see that jackass this week,” I tell him, taking a sip. “Face to face. To plead for the building.”

“Wait, what?” He turns to me. “She got in to see Malcolm Blackberg?”

“Yes, the girl who never rode an elevator actually got in to see the big bad wolf.”

Rex narrows his eyes. “How? Do you know how hard I tried to get in there? Henry Locke was trying, too. Two billionaires tried to get to him.”

“Apparently she wore her letter carrier uniform. But here’s the crazy part,” I say. “I don’t even know whether to believe it—somehow Malcolm Blackberg’s people mistook her for his new court-ordered executive sensitivity coach or something like that. And Noelle just went with it.”

“What?” Rex nearly spits out his drink. “That little girl is impersonating Blackberg’s executive coach?”

“That’s what Jada said. Is that even a thing?” I ask. “Court-ordered executive coach?”

“People are always hauling Blackberg into court,” he says. “I could see a judge ordering some kind of training for him. The man’s a psycho. But Noelle? No way,” he says.

“Jada says they’ve barely heard from her ever since. Maybe Jada misunderstood. Maybe I misunderstood.”

“Maybe your mind is still melted from this morning,” Rex says.

My face goes completely beet red just in time for one of the party planners to appear and show me images of the way they’re doing the tables in the dining room.

“I love these glittery willow frond things. Can you have more of them? I just want these centerpieces so crazy bright.”

“Agreed,” Gail says, walking up. She’s in her signature black, her thick round glasses contrasting with the snowy white of her hair. “Unexpected shine, that’s our brand.”

The planner nods and walks off.

“I feel like we’re ready,” I say to Gail. Working with her has been a dream. She’s more than a partner—she’s become a friend.

“Ahead of schedule,” Gail says, settling in next to Rex, putting Rex in the middle of us. “Rex, nice to see you.”

“Likewise, Gail,” he says.

“Tell me,” she says, squinting at him. “You think they’ll throw the book at Wydover?”

“They got one of his own guys to turn state’s witness,” Rex says. “The man kept records. There’s no way Wydover doesn’t do time. He’ll take a deal, but it won’t be pretty.”

“I dodged a bullet,” she says.

“Good for all of us to have a man like that go down,” Rex says. We don’t mention Marvin. Marvin seems to have gone into hiding, which is probably for the best. Wanda heard he’s working handyman odd jobs down in Albuquerque under a fake name.

“You been watching what my in-house guys have been doing with our portfolio?” she asks Rex in her usual point-blank style.

Rex gives a half shrug. “Well…” he says. “I’m out there, so, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re being diplomatic. I bet you’ve got thoughts.”

I stiffen. Rex has a lot of thoughts about the team Gail chose. Namely, that they suck.

“I always have thoughts,” Rex says.

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