Page 82 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
26
Sin
Her shoulders stiffen and every part of her goes rigid. "You heard me." She pivots around.
I glare at her.
Her cheeks redden, but she holds my gaze. Impressive.
My little bird is trying to flex her fledgling wings, huh? Why should it matter to me the she’s dismissing this relationship as a pretense? It is, isn’t it? I was the one who’d initiated it, so why am I so angry that she’s insisting that it is all a fake, huh? Because that’s all this is ever going to be. Another lie in a long string of deceptions, which is what I excel at, after all.
I prowl over to her. Closer, closer. Her chest heaves; her breathing grows shallow. I pause when I am right in front of her. She tilts her head back, all the way back, to look at me.
"Actually, I don’t think I did." I raise my hand and she flinches. She’s afraid. Good. I drag my finger down the side of her cheek. "Say it again."
"You mean play it again, Sam?"
"Huh?"
"Casablanca."She gulps. "That scene where Ilsa—"
"Asks Sam to play 'As Time Goes By’?"
She nods
"You have it wrong."
"No, I don't." Her eyebrows knit.
I smooth the crease between her eyebrows, and she turns her head away.
"Listen," she huffs, "you may be the boss in the office but when it comes to movie trivia—"
"—I am always right." I curl my lips.
"You can’t be perfect about everything." She huffs.
"Oh?"
This should be good. "What will you give me if I prove you wrong?"
She sets her jaw.
"Well?"
"What do you want?"
"You."
"Excuse me?" She whisper-screams.
"You heard me."
"You already have me right under your thumb, agreeing to every sneaky plan you’ve no doubt spent the last many years—"
"A decade, actually."
Color smears her cheeks. "—thinking about. You made me agree to this pretend marriage—"
