Page 68 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

I straighten. “Marvin’s driving it? They said that specifically?”

“No, it was subtle. Marvin at one point asks me if you were preparing for it. I, of course, acted clueless. Then Marvin turns to Gail and he’s all, ‘we should establish a timeline for that review, let him know the timeline he’s working with,’ something like that. And Gail turns to him and she’s all, ‘I’ll decide on the timeline when I decide on the timeline.’”

“Really.”

“Yeah. He acted like they were a team on it, using the pronounwe, and her communication to him seemed to be, you’ve reached the limit of how much you can push this thing. And she stressed thatshewill decide—not them together, but her. Do you see how the two pieces of information work together? If he is driving the review and has some reason to want you to lose out on her business, the last thing he’d want is for her to be having a magical time with your fiancée, which for the record, we were having a magical time. I think she’s really interested in making him welcome in their family and she’s tolerating the review that he’s avidly pushing for, but I think he’s really pushing it.”

“You’re sure…”

“Yeah. And it’s not only what they said; a lot of it was nonverbal. I know how to read people. I’m in the people business. I’m telling you—Marvin was pushing, and she was drawing a line.”

I brush another droplet off her shoulder. “And you think he’s driving the review. And she’s humoring him.”

“Why else discuss the timeline? My theory is that she’s really going to pick you in the end, but she’s doing the review to humor her new nephew. What kind of position does he have in her company?”

“Something vaguely vice presidential. A firm like hers has lots of vice presidents, though.”

“You don’t find this all in the least bit suspicious?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Even if Marvin is behind the review, what possible reason could he have for steering the Driscoll portfolio away from the person who’d get them the best return? He’s not entitled to any of that money, so it would just be him making a shitty recommendation.”

“Mmm,” she says.

“So then, what’s in it for him?” I ask. “Nothing at all, unless he’s financially associated with my competitor. And I guarantee you, the first thing Gail would do would be to look at that.”

She pulls herself up out of the tub and onto the edge, water dripping off her, except for the few droplets that remain behind, quivering on her sexy skin like diamonds. Her black one-piece hugs her breasts deliciously. “I’m telling you what I heard.”

Is she annoyed that I don’t seem to believe her? Some kind of retort forms in my mind, and just as quickly it floats away—up, up and away like a balloon.

“Don’t believe me at your own detriment.” She stands up.

My vision fuzzes at the edges as she grabs a towel and begins to rub it over her long legs, her stomach, her arms. And then she turns to grab her robe, and I see how the suit clings to her ass, and all thought drains from my brain.

“I’m thinking croquet requires sunscreen and a costume change,” she says, putting it on. “We should go get ready.”

Going back to get ready requires crossing the main deck, and everybody seems to want to talk to her, to the extent that she has to tell everybody that we’re rushing back to change for croquet. And suddenly there are more people wanting to play. What is happening here?

It’s not like I haven’t noticed her laughing with people during mealtimes, but I wasn’t thinking about it too hard; usually I’m hiding with Clark or talking to Gail or the adult children during meals. They’re the ones who matter.

Finally we’re heading down along the walkway to our door. “Somebody’s the social butterfly,” I say.

“Your kitten is a super-fun person who can get along with everybody. It’s why you worship the ground I walk on.”

“Is that how our engagement goes? I worship the ground you walk on?”

“Oh, yes,” she says.

I open the door to our suite, still stuck on the way her suit clung to her ass when she emerged from the hot tub. The image is burned into my brain.

“What?” she says. “You don’t agree?”

I close the door behind us, back up against it. The idea of wet black nylon cupping her ass somewhere under that terrycloth robe she’s currently swaddled in has pushed all other conscious thought from my mind.

In a matter of moments she’ll head into her bathroom, take off the robe, and then peel the damp suit off of her perfect ass, and then she’ll get under rushing water, let it pour all over her perfect little body.

She throws a towel over a chair. “And FYI, when I tell you a thing, you completely believe me, because you know how good I am with people. How tuned in I am to people. And if you were a proper fiancé, you’d be suspicious, too. Because isn’t that so weird that Marvin said that? What is he up to with that review? Because you know he’s up to shenanigans. I’m not saying he’s for sure a fake nephew…”

“Good god, you’re still on that thing?” I move near her. I can feel her heat all over my skin—it’s as if she radiates heat.

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