Faking it with the billionaire

Are you Ready to Fake Falling in Love?

Izzy Hart stared at the bill in her hands like it might change if she blinked hard enough.

$28,746.13.

That was the updated total of the hospital fees and medication. Tests her mother needed weeks ago but had delayed, hoping the last fundraiser would cover more.

Her hands trembled as she folded the paper in half and shoved it beneath the takeout menus on the counter.

A sharp cough came from the bedroom. It was her mother. Lately, getting sick has gotten worse and if care isn't taken, it could get far worse.

Izzy pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She needed to find a way to sort this out. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and stared at the screen.

Sophie:

There's an emergency. A wedding planner quit on Davis Stark. It's a huge job with high pay. You want in or not?

Her eyes bulged out of her sockets. This was exactly what she had been praying for, a miracle. He couldn't afford to be picky.

Izzy:

Where and when?

Sophie:

It's in the Starks' estate tonight. Be there by 6. Wear something that says competent, not desperate.

Izzy threw on the best thing she owned that didn't have coffee stains, clipped her hair back, and ordered a rideshare with the last of her credit limit.

She didn't even have cab fare home. But she'd deal with that later.

The Starks' estate looked like it belonged on the cover of a bridal magazine. White stone, winding drive, valets in uniform, champagne fountains, and guests wearing more money than Izzy had seen in months.

She stepped out of the car, pulled her shoulders back, and walked in as she belonged.

A gasp escaped her lips as she took in the sight before her. The flower arch had collapsed. A violinist had vanished. The lighting technician looked like he might cry.

Izzy didn't wait for permission. She snapped on her headset, gave instructions like she'd been on this job for weeks, and hunted down the missing musician in a linen closet having a panic attack.

She rerouted the arch with floral tape and brute force. Reprogrammed the lighting board, swapped out a ruined cake tier before anyone noticed.

By the time the first guest was seated, everything looked perfect.

"I said no carnations. If I wanted filler, I'd shop at a grocery store."

The voice was deep, cold, and authoritative.

Izzy turned and her gaze fell on a man. He was tall, dressed in a black suit, standing over a young assistant who looked two seconds from tears.

"Try asking nicely," Izzy said, walking over before she could stop herself.

He turned slowly, looking her over like he wasn't sure if she was real.

"Do you work here?"

"Do you always talk to people like they're beneath you?"

The assistant quietly disappeared.

He stepped closer. "I asked you a question."

"And I gave you an answer," she said. "Isabella Hart. Emergency planner. You?"

His gaze sharpened. "You really don't know who I am."

"Should I?"

Before he could respond, a man in a headset ran up, out of breath. "Mr. Blackwood, they're ready for your toast."

Izzy blinked rapidly. Blackwood?

Her stomach sank.

She'd just called out Alexander Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. Billionaire. Reclusive tech god. One of the wealthiest, most untouchable men in the country.

He didn't look angry. He looked amused.

"For the record," he said, stepping closer, "it's Alex."

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Izzy just stood there, heart pounding.

Well, she thought. If I'm getting blacklisted, at least I looked good doing it.

She stayed behind after the reception, triple-checking inventory, making sure the crew got paid, and ignoring the ache in her feet.

She was halfway out the side entrance when a voice stopped her.

"We meet again, Miss Hart."

She turned to stare at the familiar voice. It was Alex. He stood near the balconies his shirt sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets, hair slightly out of place now less like a billionaire, more like a man.

"Didn't know you were still here," she said, not trusting her voice.

"I was waiting."

"For me?"

"You're not like most people," he said. "And I don't like most people."

She crossed her arms. "You planning to insult me again or just ruin someone else's night?"

He didn't smile. He just stared at her like a meal he was ready to devour.

"I have a proposition."

"I don't plan weddings for clients twice," she said. "Especially not ones who insult the florals."

"Not a wedding," he said, reaching into his pocket. "A role."

He handed her a simple white card.

Alexander Blackwood

Direct Line.

"No assistant?"

"This isn't an assistant-level offer."

She looked up. "Okay... what's the offer?"

He didn't hesitate. "A fake engagement for three months you and me. Public appearances, paparazzi shots, and

zero real emotion. You help my image, I help your bank account."

She laughed. " You're joking. That's not a job."

"It's a contract," he said calmly. "With legal protections. Boundaries. A generous payout."

"And why me?"

"Because you're not afraid of me," he said. "And I need someone who doesn't flinch."

Izzy stared at him. She could still hear her mom's cough from this morning. Still see the number at the bottom of the hospital bill. Twenty-eight thousand, seven hundred forty-six.

She turned the card in her hand.

"This is crazy," she muttered.

He stepped back toward the door but paused.

"I'll give you one night to decide."

He reached for the door, then looked over his shoulder.

"One last thing, Isabella."

She met his eyes.

"If you say yes... are you ready to fake falling in love with me?

Three months of pretending, how hard could it be?"

Izzy didn't sleep. How could she? She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it clicked with every turn. The billionaire's card on her nightstand seemed like a ticket out of this hell she was in.

A fake engagement. With Alexander Blackwood.

It was absurd and insane. The kind of thing rich people did in soap operas or scandals. Not in real life. Not in hers.

And yet...

She rechecked her phone. Three missed calls from the billing department. One polite voicemail that barely masked the urgency. A note from the pharmacy: her mom's latest medication wouldn't be released until payment was made.

She stared at the card Alex had left behind.

It didn't feel like an opportunity, it felt like a trap. But so did everything else these days.

By 7 a.m., she was already half-dressed and pacing, the card clenched in her hand tightly. Sophie called right as she was slipping on her coat.

"You look like you didn't sleep," Sophie said the second she answered the video call.

"That's because I didn't."

"You're not thinking of calling him."

"I'm thinking of surviving," Izzy said. "There's a difference."

Sophie frowned. "Izzy, you're the most resourceful person I know. But this? This sounds like something out of a tabloid disaster. You fake-date a billionaire, then disappear under suspicious circumstances."

"I don't have to disappear. I have to fake it."

Sophie groaned. "Promise me one thing?"

"Maybe."

"Don't sign anything until I read it."

Izzy hesitated. "Fine."

She hung up, pocketed the card, and left before she could change her mind.

Blackwood Enterprises looked even more intimidating in daylight-a steel-and-glass giant among Midtown's chaos. The lobby was silent, sleek, and smelled like Roses.

"Izzy Hart," she told the receptionist.

Without blinking, the woman said, "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

Of course, he was.

The elevator shot to the top floor. The only thing audible was her racing heartbeat.

When the doors opened, Alex was already there, no assistant, no laptop. Just him, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows like a scene out of a billionaire's revenge fantasy.

He turned when she stepped in.

"You came," he said, like it was inevitable.

"I haven't said yes."

"Yet."

She followed him into his office. It was larger than her apartment. Probably twice as expensive, too. Dark wood, green leather sofa with a fireplace. It was a kind of place where deals happened and people didn't leave quite the same.

"I drafted the contract," he said, gesturing to the document on the table.

"You don't waste time."

"I don't have time to waste."

She picked it up. Three months, no intimacy. Public appearances only. Confidentiality clause. Clear payment schedule. Final say on media coverage.

And tucked at the bottom, a small clause that caught her attention.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing.

"If the arrangement ends early," he said, "you keep a percentage. Unless you breach confidentiality or appear in any unauthorized press."

"So if I so much as sneeze in the wrong direction, I'm screwed."

"If you sneeze while leaking proprietary business information, yes."

She raised a brow. "Do people really do that?"

He looked at her like he'd seen worse.

Izzy set the contract down. "Why me?"

"You embarrassed me."

"Most people don't offer jobs to people who do that."

"I'm not most people."

He walked to the desk, pulled out a sleek black folder, and placed it in front of her.

"That's your media profile," he said. "We had to update it."

"You had someone dig through my life in twelve hours?"

"Twelve hours is generous."

Izzy opened the folder. A summary of her business. Her degree. Mentions of her mother's medical fundraising page. Even a quote from a Yelp review where someone had praised her centerpieces.

"You're thorough."

"I'm cautious."

"You mean paranoid."

"I prefer prepared."

Izzy closed the folder.

"My mom's treatment is in two weeks," she said quietly. "The hospital needs payment by Friday."

"Then I suggest we agree then."

He pulled out a pen.

"Isabella," he said calmly. "Are you in?"

Her name sounded strange in his voice. It sounded foreign and she couldn't help that she liked it.

She looked at the contract again and then signed.

The second the ink dried, she felt it: not excitement, not relief, something else.

As she'd just handed over a version of herself she might not get back.

Alex stood and opened a drawer. He brought out a small, velvet box. He opened it to reveal a ring.

It wasn't overly flashy, it was small perfect, and beautiful.

"For appearances, to make this look real," he said.

She held out her hand and he slipped it on. Izzy stared at the ring, it fitted her perfectly. Wait.. how did Alex know her ring size?

"There's a press interview tomorrow," he said, pulling her from her thoughts. "You'll be briefed."

"I know how to talk to the press."

"Not like this, you don't."

She sat back in the leather chair. "So what exactly are we supposed to be?"

"Happy," he said flatly. "Committed to each other and lovable."

"Sounds exhausting."

He smirked. "It will be."

Before she could answer, the door opened.

A tall man with a chiseled jaw and a smirk that said trouble stepped inside.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said, already looking Izzy over like he was trying to solve her.

Alex didn't flinch. "Nathan, this is Isabella Hart."

"The Izzy Hart?" Nathan said, stepping closer. "The one who made my inbox explode last night?"

He extended a hand toward Izzy.

"COO," he said. "Blackwood's cleaner and fixer. Also, the guy who'll be cleaning up whatever mess this arrangement makes."

Izzy shook his hand warily. "Nice to meet you... I think."

Nathan turned to Alex. "You really went through with it."

Alex's tone went cold. "Do you have something to say?"

"Just surprised," Nathan said, still smiling. "You usually see through people faster than this."

Izzy straightened. "Excuse me?"

Nathan held up his hands. "No offense. I'm sure you're great at pretending. That's why you're here, right?"

The room went silent. After a moment, Alex's voice cut through the tension.

"Don't test me, Nathan."

Izzy watched the two men stare each other down. Something unspoken passed between them.

Nathan finally turned away.

"See you at the briefing," he said over his shoulder. "Try not to scare her off before then."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Izzy turned to Alex. "That's your COO?"

"He's useful."

"He's a snake."

"He's loyal," Alex said. "To power."

Izzy stared at him. "So if I ever stop being useful, what happens to me?"

Alex looked at her for a long moment and then muttered quietly. "That depends on how real you let this get."

Izzy didn't recognize herself in the mirror. A sleek black dress hugged her frame, tailored to perfection courtesy of the stylist she'd met twenty minutes ago. The heels were too tall. The lipstick is too bold. The diamond ring on her finger? Too heavy, like it knew it didn't belong there.

But none of that mattered now. The contract was signed.

And the hospital bill? Already half-paid.

She stared at her reflection. She didn't look like an event planner or a daughter scrambling to keep her mother alive. She looked like the perfect Billionaire's wife.

"I look like someone else," she murmured.

The door creaked open behind her.

"They call that transformation," Nathan said, sauntering in with a smirk and a folder under his arm. "The good kind. Cinderella but make it NDA."

Izzy turned. "And you're what? The fairy godmother?"

"I'm the guy who makes sure the coach doesn't turn into a flaming PR disaster halfway through the ball."

Nathan slid the tablet toward her. "Study up. This is your new life."

On-screen: a detailed timeline of their relationship, entirely fictional. First meeting at a charity auction. Private dinners. Paparazzi shots doctored to look like they'd been dating for months. It was meticulous. Down to their shared Spotify playlist and favorite late-night diner.

"I hate this," she muttered.

"Good," Nathan said. "Means you'll play it safe."

She looked up. "Is that what you do? Just follow Alex around cleaning up his messes?"

"I clean up everyone's messes," he said smoothly. "It's how I know this one's going to be a hurricane," he whispered, causing Izzy to roll her eyes.

The elevator dinged and Alex stepped in, dressed in a black suit matching Izzy's dress. His presence changed the temperature of the room.

Izzy straightened instinctively.

"You're late," Nathan said, checking his watch.

"I'm busy," Alex replied, not sparing him a glance. His eyes landed on Izzy. "You're ready."

It wasn't a question.

She swallowed. "As I'll ever be."

Alex extended a hand. She hesitated, then slipped hers into his.

"We go in. We smile. We answer only what we've rehearsed," he said. "No improvising."

"I've handled interviews before," she said.

"Not like this."

They stepped into the elevator. Nathan stayed behind, watching them like a coach sending rookies into the final quarter.

"Try not to say anything stupid. Or real." Nathan yelled.

The elevator opened into the lobby, where chaos had already bloomed outside the building. Photographers pressed against the glass. Reporters shouted behind the velvet ropes. A thousand eyes are trained on the doors.

"God," she whispered.

"Smile," Alex said, reaching for her hand. "And don't look like you want to run."

Izzy's stomach tightened and Alex could feel her nervousness.

"Just keep your eyes on me," he said under his breath.

The doors opened and the paparazzi swarmed them.

"Izzy, over here!"

"Alex, congratulations!"

"Let us see the ring!"

Izzy raised her hand slightly, letting out a deep breath.

"Ms. Hart, how did he propose?" someone called.

She forced a smile. "Privately. It was... unexpected, but beautiful."

"Did you cry?" another shouted.

"She threatened to throw champagne at me," Alex added smoothly. The press laughed.

A reporter called out, "Alex, what made you fall for her?"

He didn't hesitate. "She tells me the truth. No matter how much I hate it."

The crowd softened as a murmur of "Awws" erupted.

Another voice: "Izzy, what do you admire most about Alex?"

She looked up at him. The man beside her was an arrogant, self-centered jerk.

But she'd read the file. She knew exactly what to say.

"His loyalty," she said. "Even when he pretends he doesn't care, he protects the people who matter to him."

Alex's jaw twitched and Izzy caught sight of it.

"Will there be an engagement party?"

"What's the wedding date?"

"Are you planning to move in together?"

They both answered with ease, like they actually meant everything. Izzy started to feel the rhythm. She played her part, smiled at just the right moments. Caressed Alex's hand multiple times and the press couldn't help but feel the chemistry.

A voice from the back cut through the noise. It was louder and more stern.

"Alex! How do you think your late ex-fiancée Lila would feel about this engagement?"