Her Fake Billionaire Read online

  Either the lady was bat-shit crazy or she was one of the bravest women I'd ever seen. I hadn't been to a wedding in years and I preferred it that way. Who attends a stranger's wedding because his boss asked him to? That would be me, good ol' Ben Reynolds, trying to please the boss. As the old Kenny Rogers song went, you got to know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. I'd been working for Oliver Hemmings, executive director and high-powered boss of Hemming’s Commodities. Executive assistant, my ass. I was nothing more than a go-for. At least it felt like that to me.

  Hemmings was an ass, and even though I knew that everyone had to put in their time and pay their dues, this wasn't exactly how I'd envision myself after working my ass off in college for four years, and then joining the company right after that. Oh, I had managed to step up a couple of notches on the corporate ladder, but I'd been 'executive assistant' for the past two. How had I allowed myself to agree to attend a wedding of a couple I didn't even know? Just because my boss asked me to represent him? Like the bride or the groom, whomever Hemmings knew or was related to, would notice one guest among the hundreds in attendance. So what was the point? Of course, I didn't say that to his face. No, not me. I needed the job. New York City was an expensive place to live. So, I'd rented a cheap tux, joined the throng of guests entering the church, not even sure if I should sit on the bride or groom side.

  'Fuck it' I thought, finding a seat toward the rear on the groom's side. I fake schmoozed with people I'd never seen in my life, acting as if I was so happy for the groom, although it wasn't until I glanced down once at the invitation in my hand that I even saw his name. Daniel Stone. And his bride was Ashley… Shiels. From what I gathered from listening to other guests, Daniel Stone was not only a multi-millionaire and CEO of a successful import export business, but he also owned a rather small but lucrative publishing company. He was holding his own with the pub house. Naturally, Shiels had been one of his editors, but had recently published one of her first novels and gaining positive reviews. Good for her.

  It was a lavish wedding, almost bordering on the garish. Although, assessing Daniel Stone, I wondered if the décor and the size of the guest list had more to do with his and parents from any input on his own. He only had eyes for his bride, from the moment the doors behind them opened and she made her way down the aisle. Despite the fact that she was marrying one of the richest men in New York City, her gown was of a simple cut, one that emphasized her gorgeous figure but not one of those God-awful wedding dresses I’d seen of late on one of the billboards along the highway I drove every day into work. Today's wedding gowns were over the top, with a few that looked more like pieces of nearly porn-toned lingerie than wedding gowns. Case in point: the billboard I had lifted my eyebrows at that first time I'd seen it. The gown with a nearly see-through lace bodice, and some kind of gauzy material with what looked like vertical corset straps connecting the top of the bodice, which ended just under the breasts and dropped all the way to just above the bride's butt crack.

  I shook my head, biting back a bored sigh. I hated weddings. I hated the concept of bridezillas, although I had to admit that this one didn't look like one. But all the trappings, the 'look at me, look at me' or the thousands of dollars spent on flowers, food, receptions, you name it. Thank God, my boss had told me not to worry about purchasing a wedding gift, or I swear, I would've gotten them a gift card to a Target store or something.

  Anyway, I had settled in, prepared to endure the blah, blah, blah when suddenly, that woman, that crazy woman with the gorgeous, yellow-blonde hair draping down her shoulders in waves, shot upward, loudly proclaiming that Daniel couldn't possibly love Ashley, not really, not when he knew that she loved him. She swore to him that marrying Ashley would be the biggest mistake of his life. For a second, I was startled, thinking that maybe this was just a joke, one of those pranks, perhaps either from one of the groomsmen, or Daniel's group of friends. But even from where I sat, and even though I could see the flush of red staining the woman's cheeks and the eyes flashing with betrayal, I didn't get the sense that she meant any of it. She needed to take a deep breath in the middle of her tirade, or began to, just as two of the groomsmen started to approach her.

  I barely bit back a laugh, astounded at the scene, the first I had ever witnessed, and probably would never again as my gaze traversed between the wild woman in the pews and first the groom and then the bride. To his credit, the groom maintained a calm, cool expression as he stared at the woman railing against him, which only serve to make her seem even crazier. And the bride? For a moment, startled dismay had widened her eyes and dropped her jaw, but then she had regained her composure, schooled her expression, and gazed at the screaming woman with almost a look that I would have defined as pity.

  That seemed to give the crazy woman pause. She froze, her voice cut off, her mouth moving but no sound coming out as she seemed to realize for the first time precisely what she had done. She had already begun to make her way out to the side aisle before the two groomsmen managed to gently grasp each of her arms. Every pair of eyes in the place was on her – down to that of the organist - as she was marched out of the church proper. Just before she reached the swinging doors that lead into the lobby or whatever it was called, she stiffened her back, shrugged the two men away, lifted her chin, and strong-armed the door, rushing through without a backward glance.

  For several seconds after she disappeared, it was quiet in the church. So eerily quiet. Then, whispers and a slow murmuring slowly built up, traveling from one end of the church to the other. It was only stopped after the pastor loudly cleared his throat and without even mentioning the incident, continued on with the ceremony.

  As soon as the couple had said their 'I do’s' and made their celebratory procession down the aisle, people starting to rise as soon as they passed, I made my escape. Outside, I curiously gazed around, searching for the crazy woman, but I didn't see her. If I was her, I would never want to be seen in New York City again.

  I'm not sure what prompted me to linger. I found a bus bench across the street from the church, watching as guests continued to spill out with smiles, shaking hands, and laughter filling the stone church steps and the sidewalk on either side. I heard some gossip, learned the woman's name and a tiny bit of her history. Gradually, everyone filtered away, more than likely on their way to the reception a few blocks away. I hadn't been asked to attend that, thank goodness. I'm not sure how much time passed, but as it did, I noticed an older couple lingering not far from the base of the steps in front of the church. And then, much to my surprise, not long after that, I saw the door of the church open again. The blonde, crazy woman peeked out and quickly made her way down the steps, only one foot on the sidewalk before she was called out by the older woman. She froze for a moment, then stepped toward the older couple. Even from where I sat across the street I could see her face flush red again. Her hands balled into fists by her side. I heard raised voices, although I couldn't make out the words. Who could they be? Her parents? I watched with amusement and a certain sense of awe until the woman stormed off in a fury.

  I'm not sure what got into me at that moment, but I stood and followed her from the other side of the street. Maybe the day wouldn't be an entire loss. I'd already had more entertainment than I'd expected. This was an interesting woman. Foolish perhaps, but she had done the unthinkable. Either she was literally crazy, and I don't question that lightly, or she had some very serious issues. At the same time, I couldn't help but admire her. She had cajones, that was for sure.

  I followed her a couple of short blocks before she disappeared into a nearby bar. Well then. Naturally, I followed. It took just a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the interior and then I found her as she settled herself on one of the bar stools at the far end, away from other people. I approached, took the seat right next to her, ignoring the dirty look she sent my way.

  "That was quite an entrance back there," I commented. She mumbled something. "Pardon me? I didn't q
uite catch that," I said, grinning as I leaned closer.

  "Fuck off," she said, enunciating clearly as she reached for her drink. She drank it down.

  "My name's Ben. Ben Reynolds. And I think I already know who you are," I continued. "You're the jilted bride, aren't you? Karen Queen?"

  "Fuck off," she said, her tone even angrier than before.

  I grinned again, noticed her empty glass, and gestured to the bartender. "Allow me to buy you another one." The bartender approached. "Another of what she's drinking, and a beer for me."

  "What kind?" the bartender asked in a bored tone.

  "Make it a Bud Light."

  "Wuss."

  I glanced at the lady sitting beside me and chuckled. "I have to admit, I've never seen anything like it." She ignored me. "Actually, I found it quite… umm… invigorating. To be honest, at first, I thought you were some crazy nut job, but then I realized that you were one of the bravest women I've ever seen… or heard."

  The bartender returned with her drink, and my beer. She downed hers in a couple of swallows, then, carefully setting her glass down on the counter, she turned and gave me 'the look'. She inspected me from top to bottom and back again. I resisted the urge to show her my teeth. Finally, she offered a shrug.

  I had a gazillion questions I wanted to ask, but she seemed more interested in getting drunk than answering questions. Who was I to interfere with her goals? I kept the drinks coming. My boss could reimburse me. After maybe an hour, maybe less, exchanging less than five words with one another, she slid off the stool. She missed a step, totally drunk. I extended my arm to steady her. She gave me a look. I returned it.

  "I'll get you a cab," I said, gesturing the universal sign for telephone to the bartender. I could have used my phone, but I didn't. He nodded and made a call. "Come on, Karen, I'll take you home."

  "Go to hell."

  I grinned again. She certainly wasn't putting up any struggle, and I got the impression that beneath her tough exterior, this woman was hurting, more than likely confused, and definitely – at least I hoped so - appalled by her behavior in the church. Righteous anger didn't lead someone to get drunk like she had. No, that was caused by regrets, chagrin, embarrassment, anger, and perhaps even jealousy. Or all of the above.

  At any rate, I managed to get her address and off we went. The cab wound its way through the streets, fully dark now. I saw a blur of red brake lights and glaring headlights as we made our way further uptown. After only a short time, the cab pulled up to a curb in front of a row of brownstones. I helped her out of the cab. She could barely walk at this point and clung to my arm as she handed me her key card to get into the apartment building.

  "What floor and apartment number?" I asked as we entered the foyer. I could barely understand her reply. If I let her go now she'd fall into a puddle on the floor and I couldn't allow that to happen, could I?

  At the door of her apartment, she once again stared at me, then with a soft groan, she tilted forward and leaned her forehand against my chest. I barely heard her mumbled words.

  "Wanna come in?"

  Chapter 3

  Karen

  I woke up, my head pounding, wincing at the early morning sunlight making its way through my window. I lifted a hand to cradle my aching head and shifted my legs, surprised to find myself sore. Down there. And then it all came back in a horrifying, humiliating rush. My outburst at the church. After the argument with my parents, I remember going to the bar. A handsome guy bought me drinks.

  My heart skipped a beat and I turned my head on the pillow, regretting the movement while at the same time staring with dismay at the man who slept beside me. Only God. A splash of brown hair splayed on the pillow. He had a strong profile, a very slightly protruding chin and a high forehead. His eyes were deep set, eyebrows slashing an angle over them. I couldn't remember the color of his eyes.

  Vague memories of what I had done with him last night flitted through my brain. I vaguely remembered the trails of heat his tongue had made on my body, the way his fingers had tweaked my nipples, plunged into my depths, and the way he had cradled me in his lap as he sat, me on his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist as I lowered myself down onto his engorged cock. He'd stroked into me, my nipples hardening even more as they brushed against his slightly hairy and well-formed chest. Most of all though, I recalled his kisses. Odd, how a kiss from a stranger could fill me with such as sense of… of rightness. He was a good kisser. Not demanding, but in control. His lips didn't crush mine, but caressed them. And oh, that tongue of his… I recalled it tangling gently with mine. Teasing, evoking feelings deep inside my belly I hadn't felt in a long time—

  Oh God. Had he worn a condom? I was taking birth control pills, but they didn't do anything to prevent STD's. My entire body felt warm and tingly as I recalled the things we had done, his magic fingers, his tongue worshipping every part of my body, the way I had taken him into my mouth and given him the blow job of his life—

  I gasped, cradling my head again, but out of shame this time. What the hell was wrong with me?

  "Good morning."

  I removed my hand from my eyes and found the guy staring at me. Chocolate brown. That was the color of his eyes. What was his name? I felt a surge of nausea rising in my stomach. Ben. That was it. I uttered the first words that had gotten trapped in my brain. "Why are you still here?"

  He merely grinned at me. No doubt he was handsome, and there was especially no doubt that he knew how to please a woman, but I didn't want him here. Not anymore. Hadn't I suffered enough humiliation as it was? I lifted the sheet higher to make sure my breasts were covered. He watched the motion with another of those grins. I couldn't help but notice the small dimple on his left cheek when he grinned. Dammit. I wasn't looking for love. I wasn't looking for a boy-toy. I wasn't looking for a lover. I didn't even know the guy! I bit back a groan as I extended my arm and pointed out of my bedroom, down the hallway, and in the general direction of the front door. "Get out."

  He offered a bemused frown, although, much to my relief, he did acquiesce and climb out of my bed. Despite my ordering myself not to, I found myself ogling him. My God, he was good-looking. He was lean, like a runner or a mountain climber – not that I'd ever met one in person, but his broad shoulders, well developed, as were his biceps. His broad chested tapered to a narrow waist. Well-delineated abs, not a six-pack, but close, and when I saw his limp dick lying in its nest of dark brown, curly hair, it offered a wiggle of greeting. I felt the heat of a flush rise in my cheeks and pulled my eyes back up toward his.

  "Please," I said, my voice squeaking with awkwardness. "Just grab your clothes and go."

  Without a word, he did as I requested, not hurrying, but not lingering too long. He wore a pleasant expression, as if he wasn't insulted, and I couldn't help but remember what a generous lover he had been. Once again, my mind drifted to the sensations that his tongue elicited as it swirled casually, unhurriedly around my nipples, then gently suckling. I remembered the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close against his warmth. I recalled his teasing tongue in my mouth, then tracing a line between my breasts, down to my belly button, and then lower, gentle, taking his time, and evoking sensations within me that I hadn't felt in longer than I care to remember. My pussy responded to those memories even now, tingling and starting to throb with a mind of its own.

  Even in my drunken stupor, I recalled feeling… I'm not sure if cherished as the right word, but it certainly wasn't a 'wham bam thank you ma'am' kind of sex either. It was leisurely, unhurried, filled with rising and falling waves of anticipation, sensations, and feelings. I do remember that I had enjoyed more than one orgasm.

  "See you around, Karen."

  With that, he was gone. I heard his steps echoing down the hallway, then the soft opening and closing of my apartment door. For the second day in a row I had to ask myself what the hell was wrong with me… not only was I nursing a migraine and a doozy of a hangover, but I had engaged in a dr
unken one-night stand with a complete stranger. This kind of behavior just wasn't me.

  I laid back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to determine how I felt. About everything. Why did I always listen to my parents? Why was I so desperate to gain their approval? When was I going to grow up and take control of my life? And why in the hell had I allowed a total stranger to take me home and then have sex with him?

  Heaving a sigh and feeling plenty sorry for myself, I managed to scramble naked out of bed and into the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the aspirin bottle, and popped three of them into my mouth, choking them down with a glass full of water as I eyed my blurry reflection in the mirror. Shaking my head at my own reflection, I moved away from the sink and turned on the water faucets for the shower. I tested the water and then climbed in. The water pounding on my skin was refreshing. I still smelled of sex and of Ben's aftershave. Again, I mentally kicked myself. I blanked out my mind as I took a long, warm, leisurely shower, after which I dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt. No way in hell was I going out in public today.

  I needed coffee. I had barely sat down at my kitchen table and swallowed the first sip of the strong brew when the firm knock on my door startled me. A slosh of coffee spilled over the tip of my mug. I glanced at drops of the brew on my table with a scowl. It better not be that guy. Ben. Frowning, I walked over to the door, coffee mug in hand and peered through the peep hole. Crap. It was my parents.

  Maybe if I pretended not to be here—