Page 11 of Fallen Heir
This time, it was me who looked confused.
He knows her personally?
My thoughts must’ve been written all over my face, because he answered before I could even ask.
“Millicent and I have known each other for years,” he said, casually draping one arm over the side of the chair. “I don’t exactly have the best reputation when it comes to women. None of it’s true, but the tabloids cling to anything they can spin.” He shrugged, as if this kind of damage control was just another Monday.
“I haven’t been in a relationship in years, but I also don’t attend public functions alone. The media sees me with a different woman and assumes the worst. I’ve always had a ‘let them talk’ kind of mindset.” He paused, eyes glinting with something between amusement and annoyance.
“A few weeks ago, Millicent thought it’d be hilarious to set me up by flirting with a married woman. Her husband didn’t find it nearly as funny—I got a black eye... and a front-page feature onPage Six.”
I leaned back in my chair, arching a brow. “Page Six, huh? A black eye sounds like amust-see.I’m guessing it pairs well with the tailored suit.”
He smirked, like he wasn’t sure if I was mocking him or flirting. Truth was, I wasn’t doing either.
“Quite the reputation,” I added, pulling up my browser and typingJaxson Westbrook black eyeinto the search bar. “Let’s see what kind of PR disaster I’m walking into.”
The image popped up in seconds. Sharp suit. That damn crooked grin. And a nasty purple bruise under one eye, spreading like war paint. He did indeed have the aftermath of someone that had clocked him—and somehow, it only added to the appeal.Of course he made a black eye look sexy.
I clicked to enlarge the photo, trying to stay focused, but the way he leaned back in the chair—so damn composed—was irritatingly distracting.
“I mean, I can see why they write about you,” I said, tone light but edged. “You’ve got the whole...hot, brooding billionaire with baggagething going for you. Very headline-friendly.”
My fingers paused on the trackpad, and I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the heat in the room—or maybe just in my face.
“But that’s why I’m here,” I added, redirecting. “To clean up the image. Smooth the edges. Make the headlines boring.”
I tapped the keys absently, pretending to read while my mind spun faster than I wanted to admit.
The truth was painfully clear.
The only real solution to his PR nightmare wasn’t just scrubbing headlines—it was giving them a new narrative. Something clean. Consistent. Believable.
What he needed was a woman. Not a revolving door of arm candy, but one woman. Someone who could attend every gala, charity event, launch party, and board dinner without setting off alarm bells. Someone attractive enough to fit the role, smart enough to play it well, and—most importantly—discreet enough to sign an NDA and keep her mouth shut. She’d need to understand the assignment. No strings. No expectations. Just appearances.
Out loud, I kept it clinical. “Honestly, the easiest way to shift public perception is consistency. If the narrative keeps changing, the media will keep chasing it.”
Jaxson tilted his head, arms crossed, listening intently.
“You need one woman,” I continued, voice steady. “A constant presence. Someone who appears with you regularly—enough to squash the ‘womanizer’ storyline and replace it with something that feels… stable.”
He didn’t interrupt, which made it worse. He just watched me, eyes narrowed hanging on to every word.
“You may have to pay her,” I added, a little more bluntly than I intended. “And whoever she is, she’ll need to be okay signing a non-disclosure agreement.”
And for a reason I didn’t want to name, I hated the idea ofanyonestepping into that role.
He was silent.
Too silent.
That same unreadable expression lingered, but now there was something new in his eyes. Sharper. Calculating.
My words hadn’t just landed; they’d struck a nerve. A challenge I hadn’t meant to make.
And in that instant, I knew two things:
One, he was in trouble.
