Page 19 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“She hits the items on my list?” I ask.

“Definitely.” He regards me nervously. “Maybe you should’ve signed off.”

“I hardly have time to sign off on every random person who takes a minor role in my organization. My fiancée is nothing more than a paid prop. This trip is already wasting enough of my time.”

“She’ll be portraying your romantic partner,” he says. “It’s not so minor. In terms of a role.”

“She’ll be my partner for all of the two minutes I plan to be on deck per day.”

Just then, a black car comes into view. The car pulls into the hangar and up behind the car we arrived in. The driver goes around and opens the door.

And Tabitha steps out.

I straighten. Blink.

“Wait a minute,” I say, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. “Hold on a moment. What?”

Tabitha waves at us from across the tarmac.

I suck in a breath as she approaches. My mind reels at her transformation. She’s in a brown jacket and skirt set. Her thick, dark curls are tamed with clips, smooth and sleek, and her tan high heels make her legs look…very long.

“No,” I say.

“She fits the list,” Clark says. “Perfectly.”

“Tabitha. Thehairdresser. Is the lynchpin to rescuing our billion-dollar account?”

Clark frowns. “She’ll do a good job. Gail will love her. You know she will. You said somebody who irritates you. She irritates you.”

“What were you thinking?” I gust out. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t Jesus Christ me,” Clark says under his breath. “She hit every item on your list.”

“Maybe so,” I say, trying to process all of this. “But I didn’t mean…to actually hireTabitha.”

“Why the hell not?” Clark asks.

I don’t know why the hell not. The truth is, she’s convincing when you get her out of her boots and bangles and Hello Kitty T-shirts.

Beyond convincing.

She’s more of a handsome girl than a classically pretty one, with strong features and a sturdy build. But all put together like this, she looks…convincing. Possibly even compelling. Or something.

“Picking her was a stroke of brilliance, and you know it,” Clark says.

“I thought she was going to Japan,” I mumble.

When she’s a few yards away from us, she puts down her small suitcase and her purse, plants one hand on her hip, and flings the other up into the air. And there she stands, beaming at us, all dimples and sparkling brown eyes. “So we’re doing this!”

Clark laughs. Something churns in my gut. Of course he’d find her amusing.

“Hilarious,” I mumble under my breath.

She picks up her stuff and comes up to join us.

“Hey, Tabitha,” Clark says when she reaches us.

“Hey, Clark,” she says, smiling conspiratorially, and then she turns to me. “Hello, fiancé!” she says. “We need nicknames. Like, babe or something. But not babe, because that’s totally unimaginative.”

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