Page 5 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“Here’s where I kind of start…” I indicate the shape that works best with Rex. “See how…” I show her where I let the length come in.

“Right,” she says. “Got it.”

A top stylist like Amanda can tell a lot from the week-old haircut—enough that most mobile stylists might just send a substitute in their place without training them on the specific cuts, but I’ve been personally introducing her and giving her the lowdown on each person. I act like I’m all fun and games but I’m dead serious about quality. I don’t think my clients are even aware of it, but I am, and that’s what counts. So even though Amanda could probably get the cuts ninety percent right, I want my people to have a hundred percent with zero trial and error. I want my clients to experience seamless top quality. Especially Rex.

Half the battle of cutting hair is assessing somebody’s personality and what they want to project to the world and then making them look even more like that. Rex was easy. His message to the world is,I have this under control, so screw off!Brutal perfection wrapped in barbed wire. Keep out!

Not that he needs a haircut for that. I could do a clown bowl cut on him, and he’d still manage to project brutal perfection wrapped in barbed wire.

But I’d never give him a bowl cut. Rex gets this awesome long-on-top 1920s cut that looks as amazing when it’s perfectly combed back as when he’s all worked up and doing his hands-in-hair thing.

“I don’t have all day,” Rex barks.

Amanda stiffens. I don’t like him focusing so much on her.

Silently I indicate the other angle I want her to see. “So, in other news, remember how Stefano helped EJ kidnap Sami’s husband and put a lookalike in his place?”

“Did I just see that rewatch recap on your Instagram?” Amanda says.

“Wait, what?” Rex bellows. “Jesus Christ, it’s not enough of a waste of time to watch soap operas in the first place? You’re recapping old episodes on social media?”

“I certainly am!” I say brightly.

That’s one of the things I do with him—when he says something mean, I act like I think it’s a compliment. You can’t let a man like Rex see weakness.

“Soap operas provide amazing life lessons,” I add with a wink at Amanda. The menacing sound from Rex is beyond priceless. I can’t see his face, but I can practically feel his glower radiate through me.

Eventually it’s time for the beard trimmer. When I first came to Rex, whoever was cutting his hair was doing his beard in a full shape—so wrong! Shaping the beard is really shaping the face. Rex’s face is roughly sculptural, and the close way I do his beard enhances his looks.

“Amanda,” I say, “if you go slightly concave here, do you see the line that you create?” I indicate the sweep of the beard edge down from his cheekbones, hoping she sees it, how extra gorgeous he looks with the tight beard shape.

Amanda nods, but I think she really doesn’t see. People don’t really see him.

Doing facial hair is a very personal thing. Rex might not realize the magic that I work on him, but that’s okay.

Rex is an asshole who won’t miss me at all, but I’ll miss him.

“The line is here.” I slide my left hand down the side of his face, smoothing a swath from just below his cheekbone straight down to his jawline. That’s my absolute favorite part of his beard.

If my wrist doesn’t heal, I might never see him—let alonetouchhim—ever again.

Chapter 2

Rex

It’s Monday night,or actually just before three in the morning on Tuesday. The Shanghai stock exchange is about to close and I’m with my team on the quant floor—we’re huddled around a table filled with to-go containers in front of a wall of monitors. Our eyes are on a pair of charts at the center—diverging lines that say our new strategy has killed it.

The algorithm we developed based on our new strategy moves the dial just a fraction of a fraction of a point, but when you deal with the numbers we deal with, it’s enough to make or break a small economy, and the trend is holding for the sixth day straight when tested live, which means I’ll be giving each of them the kind of bonus they could retire on.

The trend holds. And holds. I can feel their excitement building. The clock turns over.

Somebody behind me sucks in a breath. That’s the only sound I hear. The dozen of them will hoot and dance and hug as soon as I’m safely out of earshot, but for now, there’s silence. Large displays of emotion annoy the shit out of me.

“There it is,” I say. “Nice job. Keep it up.” Without another word, I get out of there.

Up in my office, I grab a quick nap, and then I wake up just after six for premarket trading and new initiatives with London.

Clark walks into my office at around nine, coffee in hand. “Did you just get here or did you never go home?” he asks.

---