FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

New York wind whipped my hair across my face as I stood on the forty-seventh-floor terrace, watching the black helicopter touch down on the helipad. Simon Hart. CEO of Hart & Co. Billionaire. Confirmed bachelor. And... my boss. The kind of man who made stock prices jump just by walking into a room.

He climbed out of the chopper like he was born with a silver spoon permanently lodged in his mouth-Armani suit immaculate, sunglasses hiding those eyes I knew were a dangerous shade of blue.

"Counselor!" he shouted, that arrogant smirk firmly in place-the one that made half the women in New York go weak in the knees. "You look like a porcelain doll about to blow away."

"I'd rather look like a competent lawyer, Hart." I frowned. "Anyway, we have the meeting with the Chinese delegation in-"

He breezed past me like I was furniture, striding into the corner office.

"Later, later." He tossed his blazer onto the armchair and dropped into the leather chair behind the glass desk. "Sit. Catch me up on the Cavellier contract."

I launched into the exclusivity clauses, but he was distracted-phone in hand, eyes going wide.

"What?" I asked.

He shoved the phone toward me. The screen showed a photo of him on a yacht off the Amalfi Coast. A busty blonde perched on his lap, his hand... well, his hand was doing something that disappeared under her dress.

"These paparazzi are gonna make me go bald, Counselor." He ran a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair.

I zoomed in, arching a brow.

"Wow. You're not shy with those hands, are you, big guy?"

He snatched the phone back in one quick move.

"Don't stress about it." He rested his elbows on the desk. "Keep going."

I finished the presentation in five minutes, tucked the documents into my folder, and stood.

"I'm heading back to my desk."

"Counselor." His voice stopped me at the door. "Grab me a coffee? Megan called in sick."

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not your secretary, Simon."

"Please?" He pressed his hands together like he was praying, his expression somewhere between childish and... dangerous. "You know I only drink from that place on the corner."

I let out a dramatic sigh.

"Fine. But if the Chinese deal goes south because of you, I'm billing overtime."

I rode the elevator down forty-seven floors, the fresh city air hitting me as I stepped out. In line at the coffee shop, my phone buzzed.

My cousin, Vanessa.

"I'm at your apartment! Dropped off your wedding tiara. Oliver let me in, so I left it on your bed. Seven days, girl! I can't believe you're finally doing this!"

I smiled, typing back.

"Put it right in the center. Thanks, cuz. Love you!"

Seven days. After ten years of dragging his feet, Oliver had finally proposed. The perfect neurosurgeon. The Upper East Side townhouse. The planned-out kids. Everything in place.

Crossing the street felt like the last step toward perfection.

"Pretty lady..."

A wrinkled hand touched my arm. An old Romani woman in a flowing skirt, eyes black as coal.

"Let me read your palm."

"Oh, no. I'm way too busy today, I can't."

"Please, it won't take more than two minutes."

I'd always been skeptical of this stuff, but she looked so harmless. I gave in, holding out my hand.

She took my left palm, studying it with a furrowed brow.

"You will still fall in love," she said. "In six months."

"I think your timing's a little off. I'm getting married next week."

"No." She squeezed my hand tighter. "The man meant for you. He is..." She paused, searching for the words. "Powerful. More than you can imagine. Billions within his reach. But what he truly has goes far beyond money. He'll give you everything... fortune, happiness, pleasure, the..." Her voice dropped. "His soul."

I laughed, genuinely amused. "Well, my fiancé definitely doesn't have billions. He's a doctor. He does well. But the only billionaire I know is my boss, and the only thing that bastard loves more than money is swapping out girlfriends."

"Go home," she said suddenly. "Go home right now."

"Excuse me?"

"Before you make the mistake of committing to the wrong man. He doesn't love you. He's cheating on you. Right now. In your house."

The light changed. People surged past me.

"Ma'am, you're crazy. I've been with him for ten years. He loves me..."

"He loves what you give him. The stability. The reputation." She gripped my wrist. "Open your eyes, girl. The truth is in your own bedroom."

I pulled away, shaking my head. "This is ridiculous."

I started crossing the street, determined to leave that crazy encounter behind. But her words echoed in my head. Right now. In your house.

I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk.

Don't be an idiot, Jamie. She's a charlatan. A grifter.

My feet were already turning.

Oliver would never do this. Vanessa would never.

I quickened my pace.

They're my two favorite people. They love me.

Now I was running, covering the three blocks to my building in seconds. I burst through the doors, took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, and shoved open the apartment door.

The silence hit me first. Then the trail of clothes. A blazer-familiar, navy-abandoned near the couch. A pair of red panties I'd never seen before under the coffee table.

I followed the path to the bedroom. The door was cracked open.

I pushed.

And my world shattered into a thousand pieces.

Vanessa was on all fours in the middle of the bed. The crystal tiara-my tiara-hung crookedly on her head, the diamonds trembling with every thrust. Her red dress bunched around her waist. And Oliver behind her. Completely naked. Hands digging into her hips, bodies flush, the rhythm I knew so well.

The air left my lungs.

He looked up and saw me. Pulled back so fast he lost his balance, landing on his ass on the bed, his d*ck still hard and glistening.

"JAMIE!" His voice came out thin, almost childish. "WAIT!"

Vanessa scrambled around, yanking up the sheet. The tiara fell. She was pale, eyes red, lipstick smeared.

"It's not... I swear I didn't-"

"Swear what?" My voice came out dry. "That you slipped and fell ass-up?"

"It was one time, Jamie, just one time-" Oliver started.

I ripped off the ring. It hit the floor with a soft plink.

"Here." My voice shook. "You'll need it for the next wedding. This one's over."

That morning, I had a fiancé. A cousin who was my best friend. A whole life mapped out.

Before noon, I had nothing.

And I still had no idea that the worst was yet to come.

Overnight, I became the woman everyone pitied.

The wedding was canceled. My life derailed. I ended things with Oliver, and within two weeks, they went public. Within three months, they were married. Ten years together, and it was like I never existed. He moved on as if I'd been nothing. And all the while, people whispered about the jilted bride.

The gossip reached my office-I still don't know how people got the details. Six months later, no one seemed to forget.

"Jamie, are you okay?" Elizabeth from accounting hovered near my desk, her face pinched with pity. "You look... you know."

"Fine." I forced a smile. "Totally fine."

"I just remember last year and..."

"Different year. Different life." I turned back to my computer. "Thanks for asking."

She hesitated a moment longer before retreating. I let out a slow breath.

My phone buzzed. Mom.

"Hey, Mom."

"Sweetheart! How's my favorite daughter?"

"Your only daughter."

She laughed. "Listen, I have wonderful news. You remember Linda from my book club?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, her son just moved back from London. He's a lawyer. Very successful. Thirty-five. Handsome, if I do say so myself, and I know what you're thinking-"

"Mom, I don't want to be set up with anyone."

"Jamie, it's been six months! You're thirty-two. I don't want you to end up alone."

"I'm not going to end up alone. I'm just..."

"Just what? Bitter? Wasting your best years?"

"I have work. Can we talk about this later?"

"Fine, but I have something to tell you. Your grandmother is turning eighty-seven next week, and she really wants you there."

My throat tightened. Oliver and Vanessa would probably be there too.

"Mom, I'm not going."

"Jamie, listen." Her voice went serious. "Your grandmother has cancer. Advanced stage. The doctors gave her months. This might be her last birthday."

The world stopped.

"What?"

"I know it's hard, sweetheart. I know what happened. But she loves you. She's asked about you every day. Please come. For me. For her."

My heart split in two-one piece for my grandmother, the other pure terror at facing those people.

"Okay, Mom." My voice came out hollow. "I'll think about it."

I hung up. The tears came hot and fast, streaming down my face before I could stop them. I didn't know if I was crying for my grandmother or the humiliation waiting for me. Maybe both.

My office door opened.

Shit.

I turned my face away, yanking at my drawer for a tissue. My shaking fingers found nothing.

"Counselor?" Simon Hart's sardonic voice filled the room. "You're..."

He stopped. Those blue eyes scanned my face, the tear tracks, the red nose.

"Hold on." He tilted his head, a crooked smile on his lips. "Were you crying, Counselor?"

"Shit." I muttered, giving up on the drawer.

Simon walked to my desk and held out an immaculate handkerchief, embroidered with the initials S.H.

"Here."

I wiped my eyes, trying to salvage my dignity.

"Thanks." My voice came out hoarse. "I'll get this back to you, washed."

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, crossing one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world.

"Still the neurosurgeon?"

I swallowed.

"So you know?"

"Wouldn't know it if this company didn't talk about nothing but the lawyer who got cheated on seven days before her wedding by her fiancé and her cousin in her own bed." He propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me, the tiara story-is that true?"

I closed my eyes for a second.

"Yes. It's true."

"Damn." He let out a low whistle. "What a piece of shit."

I opened my eyes and stared at him. Simon Hart, the billionaire playboy who had a different woman at every gala, calling me Counselor and judging my ex-fiancé. The irony was almost funny.

"Want to vent a little?" He leaned forward. "Why are you crying?"

"It's nothing." I grabbed my tablet from the desk. "Let's talk about the contract with the-"

He didn't move. Just sat there, staring at me with those eyes that seemed to see right through me.

And I don't know why, but I cracked.

"My mom just called." My voice came out trembling without permission. "My grandmother has cancer. I have to go to her birthday party. And to make it worse, my ex and my cousin will probably be there. Newlyweds. Happy. And everyone's going to look at me with that poor thing face I already get here every single day."

Simon tilted his head.

"Got it." He ran a hand through his hair. "So you're crying because you have to face your ex and your ex-best friend on the battlefield while your grandma's dying. That it?"

"Pretty much." I let out a bitter laugh. "And the worst part is my mom wants to set me up with her friend's son. Some lawyer from London. Like I'm a dish that needs to be served up."

"Your ex was an idiot." Simon shook his head. "Ten years and didn't marry you? That says it all."

"And you're different?" I raised an eyebrow. "How many women have you had in the last year? Eighty?"

He let out a low, genuine laugh.

"First of all, I've never cheated. Second, if I stayed with a woman for ten years, I'd have married her in the first one." He leaned in. "And third, my girlfriends are all consenting adults who know exactly what they're getting into. I don't fool anyone."

"What a gentleman."

A smile escaped my lips.

He held my gaze for a moment.

It was enough for reality to crash back in like a punch.

"You know what's worse?" I kept going, letting the mask fall completely. "People looking at me with pity. That's what's killing me. And this birthday... my mom wants me to go, but I don't know if I can handle it."

Simon stood, walked to the window, and stared down at the city below.

"Find someone else."

"Like that's easy?"

He turned to face me.

"It's hard if you don't put in the minimum effort."

"I don't want to find anyone, actually." I crossed my arms. "After ten years down the drain, the last thing I need is another man."

"Do something." He shrugged. "Find a guy. Pay him, I don't know. Figure it out. Don't let them drag your name through the mud, Jamie Collins. You're my favorite lawyer. Don't disappoint me."

He headed for the door.

"Wait!" I stood. "Aren't we going to talk about work?"

"Leave that for the end of the day." He glanced back, that dangerous smile on his lips. "In the meantime, think about it. You deserve more than being the poor thing in the story."

And he closed the door.

I stood frozen, his handkerchief still in my hand. The faint scent of his cologne-wood and something citrusy-lingered in the air.

I took a deep breath.

How am I supposed to find a boyfriend in a week?

I grabbed my phone, staring at my mom's message with the contact info for that London lawyer.

I shook my head.

"No chance."

The image of Jamie Collins with her face streaked with tears wouldn't leave my head. Not because I cared-God forbid. It was because I'd never seen that woman lose her composure.

Three years at Hart & Co., and she was a precision machine: flawless reports, arguments sharp enough to cut glass, that calm voice that made even the most senior partners sweat in their thousand-dollar suits. And there she was, falling apart over some neurosurgeon who'd been banging her own cousin.

Jesus Christ.

I dropped the bar and sat up, wiping my face with a towel.

The glass door slid open.

"Brother."

Stephen. Of course. He always showed up when I wanted solitude, always with gossip I never asked for.

"You're weak today." He grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell. "Weak."

"I'm training, not gossiping." I dropped the weights to the floor. "What's the bullshit today?"

Stephen settled onto the bench next to me.

"People are asking if you're going to the class reunion. Everyone wants to see the billionaire."

"Not going." I grabbed the bar, starting my presses. "Class reunions aren't my thing, you know that."

"Come on, Simon. People want to see you."

"Tell them to check Forbes."

Stephen laughed, but I caught the glint in his eye. He was hiding something.

"You heard Abby split from her husband, right?"

My hands stalled. The bar hung in the air for a second-long enough for Stephen to notice. I racked it, sat up, my heart beating harder than any set could justify.

"What?"

"Here." He held out his phone. "Her Instagram's clean. No photos with the husband. None. All gone."

I took it. Scrolled. She was beautiful-she always had been. Dark hair, green eyes, that smile that made me believe in love when I was eighteen. But the wedding photos, the trips, the couple shots-all deleted.

I handed the phone back without a word.

"Knew you'd like that news." Stephen pocketed the phone, that shit-eating grin on his face. "Always knew you never got over that breakup."

"I got over it."

"Sure." He laughed. "But don't get your hopes up, brother. Already talked to her. Tested the waters."

My eyes narrowed.

"What did you say, you son of a bitch?"

"Relax, man." Stephen raised his hands. "Just said: 'Abby, since you're single now, you should give my buddy Simon a shot.' It was a compliment."

"And what did she say?"

Stephen hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. I knew that hesitation. It was the same pause executives made before delivering bad news.

"She said: 'Stephen, you're sweet, but Simon's an amazing man. I just don't think we're in the same place. I have three kids now, a whole life, routines, responsibilities. And from what I hear, Simon's still pretty attached to the bon vivant lifestyle.'"

Translation: she thought I was a player that no sensible woman would take seriously.

The silence hung heavy between us. My hands were clenched, knuckles white.

"Hm." I stood, tossing the towel over my shoulder. "Heading to the office."

"Simon, it was just her opinion-"

"I know what it was." I was already at the door. "Later."

I strode down the marble hallway, into the penthouse. The glass wall dominated the room, Manhattan sprawling at my feet like a concrete jungle.

I pulled out my phone. Opened Instagram. Typed her name.

Abigail Lancaster.

The photos were there. Her at a café. Her at a park. With the kids. No ring. My chest tightened in a way I hated.

She was still fucking beautiful.

"What did you expect?" I whispered, forehead against the cold glass. "That I'd turned into a saint all these years?"

Maybe Abby was right. I was a dick.

Then why did her opinion still bother me?

Because you're dying to be a stepdad, you idiot.

I laughed to myself, bitterly.

Me, Simon Hart, the guy who'd never slept with the same pair of legs two nights in a row... wanting to step up for a freshly divorced mother of three.

I looked at her photo again. The kids. The missing ring.

And there I was, mentally calculating how I was going to win over three little brats who'd probably hate me on sight.

"Pathetic," I muttered.

But I didn't turn off my phone, which immediately started buzzing.

The name on the screen raised an eyebrow.

Jamie Collins.

I answered, putting it to my ear.

"Counselor." My voice came out rasps than I intended. "What happened? Did the building catch fire?"

"Almost." Her tone was professional, but I caught the exhaustion underneath. "Cavellier's legal team sent a last-minute amendment. They want to renegotiate the indemnity clause. Need your authorization to respond before nine, or we lose the twenty-four-hour window."

"Send it over email." I rubbed my face. "What time is it?"

"Eight PM, Simon. Are you in the middle of a date?"

"No." I laughed softly. "Just working out. But tell me something, Jamie." I glanced at my watch. "Are you still at the office?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I'm worried. Don't want my favorite lawyer burning out."

She let out a dry laugh.

"Keeping my head busy has been doing me good lately."

I grabbed a water bottle, took a sip.

"And the decision? Going to your grandmother's birthday?"

She took a deep breath.

"I don't know. Haven't decided yet."

I set the bottle down, an idea forming.

No fucking way.

Jamie was my lawyer. She'd tell me to go to hell before I finished the sentence.

Which was exactly why it would work.

She needed a man to take to her grandmother's birthday. I needed a woman who looked serious enough to take to that goddamn alumni event-and hopefully make my ex finally see me differently.

"Jamie-"

"I'm hanging up, Simon. Bye. Don't forget to check the email."

"Wait!" I cleared my throat. "How long are you staying at the office?"

"About thirty minutes. Why?"

"Stay there." I looked at my sweaty reflection in the window. "I'm gonna take a quick shower and I'll be right there."

"Simon, you don't need to come, just do it through the email-"

"Yes, I do. Twenty minutes."

I hung up before she could argue.