His Fiancé to Keep, page 1
His Fiancé To Keep
A Billionaire Fake Fiancé Romance
Happily Ever Billionaires
Book Three
Vivian Wood
Contents
Author’s Copyright
His Fiancé To Keep
1. Sam
2. Connor
3. Sam
4. Connor
5. Sam
6. Connor
7. Sam
8. Connor
9. Sam
10. Connor
11. Sam
12. Connor
13. Sam
14. Connor
15. Sam
16. Connor
17. Sam
18. Sam
19. Connor
20. Sam
21. Connor
22. Sam
23. Connor
24. Sam
25. Connor
26. Sam
27. Connor
28. Sam
29. Sam
30. Connor
31. Sam
Chapter 32
About Vivian Wood
Author’s Copyright
Copyright Vivian Wood 2017
May not be replicated or reproduced in any manner without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
His Fiancé To Keep
1
Sam
“I don’t care if the peonies bloomed late this year!” Sam said in exasperation to the florist on the other end of the line. “And the client certainly isn’t going to care. You’re going to have to find them from somewhere because I expect sixty arrangements ready by Friday afternoon.”
“And where do you think I’m going to get sixty arrangements in three days?” the florist snapped back. “Trust me, American Beauty roses are a perfectly acceptable replacement. I don’t make the seasons, honey.”
Sam groaned and tucked her dark hair behind her ears. This job is a freaking nightmare. Since when did planning parties mean going to battle daily with idiot vendors? “It’s not my job to figure out where the flowers come from. That’s your job,” she said slowly.
“Look, you’re an event manager,” the florist said. “Manage it, because I’m not going to work a miracle and pull a dozen fully blossomed peony bushes out of my ass.”
“Listen, pretty much everything else has gone wrong with this banquet so far, and I’m not going to tell the client that they’re not going to get the flowers they paid thousands of dollars for the week of the event.”
“I don’t know who you think you are,” the florist said. “And I’ve certainly never heard of you, and I’ve been working with your company for ten years. You must be new.”
“I’ve been here six months,” Sam said.
“Well, that explains a lot,” the florist laughed.
Sam rolled her eyes and caught a glimpse of a gorgeous blond walking through the door. He was built like a machine, broad chest and shoulders. She remembered him from sitting in on his consultation appointment weeks ago. Connor, that’s it. He was getting married in a few months—lucky bitch. Through her glass office walls, she watched him as he looked around the office, until finally Jenny—the event coordinator assigned to his account—scrambled up to him.
“Are you there?” the florist asked.
“Yes. Are you getting the peonies?” she replied. Jenny was flustered, and Connor rubbed his temples. She watched as he dropped his head into his hands and began to shout at Jenny. From the other side of the room, she couldn’t make out what was being said.
“…Beauty roses are of a higher quality, so I’ll need an additional payment…”
“I’m going to have to call you back,” Sam said.
“Are you kidding me?”
Sam hung up the phone and made a beeline for Jenny and the guy. Connor is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, she thought. And that counted the male models she hung out with on the regular. They were gorgeous, of course, but so svelte and fragile looking. Connor looked like he could pin her up against the wall and keep her there.
“I’m really sorry,” Jenny said to Connor. Her voice trembled. “But the order has already been placed with the florist—”
“Is something wrong?” Sam asked. “Can I help?”
“Yes, something’s wrong,” Connor said to her curtly. “And I doubt you can help, but why don’t you give it a go? My fiancée cheated on me, so this five-thousand-dollar deposit I put down on this godforsaken wedding needs to be charged to my ex and her family.”
“Oh,” Sam said. Her mouth snapped shut. She hadn’t expected this.
“I tried to tell him—” Jenny started.
Sam brushed her away. “I’ll take care of this,” she said. “Hi, my name’s Sam. We met briefly during your consultation.” She reached out and shook Connor’s hand. It was huge and callused on the palms from weightlifting. She swallowed hard.
“I’m not trying to be rude here, but I don’t have time for these niceties,” he said. “All I want is this mess to be over with and to not get stuck with thousands of dollars worth of flowers and cake.” He looked down at her, and his steely blue eyes bored through her.
“I, I understand,” she stammered.
“Do you? Are you married, engaged?” he asked.
“Well, no—”
“Then how in the hell can you understand?” he asked.
Her face burned. “I’ve been cheated on before,” she murmured. She felt the eyes of her colleagues shoot toward her, even as they pretended to be hard at work at their desks.
“We’ve all been cheated on,” he said. “It’s a little different when your credit card is involved, and you just walked in on your fiancée with some guy’s dick in her mouth.”
From behind Connor’s shoulder, Jenny watched and her eyes bugged out.
“I, um, I guess you’re right,” Sam said. “Look, let me go talk to my boss for just a moment. Why don’t you come wait in my office, and I’ll smooth things over?” As she led him toward her glass enclosure, she could swear she felt his eyes on her ass. She couldn’t help but put a little extra swing in her hips.
“This you?” he asked, looking around her sleek office with a view of the Pentagon. “Fancy.”
She blushed. “I’ll be right back. Help yourself to some water if you’d like.”
Sam hustled toward her boss’ office at the other end of the building. “He’s hot!” Jenny said as she flew by.
She knocked at the door. “What do you need?” Mrs. Whiteworth called from the other side.
“Mrs. Whiteworth, it’s Sam. I have a situation.”
“Come in.” The owner of the company sighed and put her glasses on the mahogany desk. “Yes, what disaster has struck now? Did someone’s fondant cake show up with whipped buttercream instead?”
“Um, no,” Sam said. “There’s a client here and he… well, he caught his fiancée cheating on him and he wants the deposit he put down for their wedding transferred to her and her family.”
“When was the wedding?”
“I don’t know.” Mrs. Whiteworth frowned.
“Have any of the orders been placed?”
“I don’t know.”
“It seems like there’s a lot you don’t know. And why, may I ask, don’t you know these details if you’re planning this hot little mess?”
“Well, actually, Jenny is the planner. But he was flipping out on her so I’m trying to help—”
“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Mrs. Whiteworth said.
Sam looked down, embarrassed.
“Sometimes that’s what it takes to get the job done. I’ll have a talk with Jenny later. That girl needs to grow some balls. But given that the wedding is pretty far out and I’m in a generous mood, tell him I’ll go ahead and bill the girl. Just make sure he doesn’t leave without getting her full contact information, including address.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, looking at her boss with a smile.
“This wouldn’t happen to be the Harris account, would it?” she asked.
“Harris?”
“What was the boy’s name… oh, yes, Connor,” she said, leaning back in her plush leather chair.
“Yes, it is. Why?” Sam asked.
Mrs. Whiteworth smiled knowingly. “I might be well seasoned, sweetheart, but I’m not dead. He’s a dream, and Jenny’s apparently flailing about like some schoolgirl with a crush.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“Oh, cut the ma’am crap and get back to Mr. Universe. Tell him he doesn’t have to worry about paying for it.”
“Thank you,” Sam said, smiling sweetly and shutting the door behind her. As she hurried back to her office, she could barely contain her excitement.
“Well?” Jenny asked her as she cut her off at the water fountain.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she said. Jenny clasped her chest and smiled gratefully.
Connor looked up at her when she walked in. He had one of the small lollipops she kept on her desk tucked into his cheek. “You got good news for me?” he asked, although it sounded like more of a command.
<
“You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Never mind?” Had he miraculously reconciled with his ex while she’d been going to bat for him with the scariest boss ever?
“I have a proposal for you. But it would be outside the company’s… purview, if you will.” He leaned against her desk, thick arms crossed over his chest.
“Um, I’m not sure I know what you mean? Do you—do you still want me to transfer the invoice?”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Do what you like in that regard, I’m done messing with it. But here’s what I do want you to do. Meet me for a drink later today.”
“A drink?” She was suddenly uncertain what to do with her hands. Sam pulled at her skintight skirt and readjusted the hem of her jacket.
“You know, a drink,” he said. “You, me, a bar of my choosing. What do you say?” He pulled the candy out from between his lips.
“Um, yes. Yeah, sure,” she said. “That sounds good.”
Connor looked her up and down, unabashedly. She felt his eyes crawl over the swell of her calves, linger at the splay of her hips and travel to her waist. He took in the curve of her breasts, the hollow of her throat and finally met her gaze—and held it for an uncomfortable amount of time. He nodded to himself, then turned and took a pen and pad of paper from her desk.
“Here’s the time, place, and my number,” he said as he tore off the piece of paper. He walked toward her and she gulped. “Don’t be late,” he said.
When he handed her the slip of paper, their hands touched and it was electric.
Connor left, and Sam along with the entire office watched his departure. What have you gotten yourself into now?
“Oh my God,” Jenny said as soon as he was swallowed by the elevator. “What was that? What happened?”
“I don’t—I’m not sure,” she said honestly.
“What’s that?” Jenny asked, and she snatched the paper out of Sam’s hand. “The Rye Bar? Sam, what’s going on? Did he… did he ask you out? Are you going?”
“Jenny, be quiet,” Sam said softly.
“Sam! C’mon, you have to tell me. That was the weirdest, and hottest, thing I’ve ever experienced. So are you going or not? Is it tonight?”
“I don’t think I really have a choice,” Sam said. Connor had been so sure, so confident, like he never doubted for a second that she wouldn’t jump at the chance to go out with him.
“What do you mean? Sam, did he threaten you? Oh my God, I’ll never forgive myself if he—”
“Jenny, for goodness’ sake, he didn’t threaten me! I… yes, it’s tonight, and yes I’m going.”
“Oh!” Jenny pretended to fan herself. “Dang, I wish I would have kept it together. Then maybe he would have asked me out. What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. This? I don’t think I have time to go home and change.”
“Don’t be stupid! Go buy something on your lunch break, get a Brazilian blowout—get a Brazilian wax, you crazy girl. You gotta make the most of tonight.”
Sam bit her lip and grinned at Jenny. “Maybe you’re right,” she said.
2
Connor
He waited at the bar and sipped on his Dalmore scotch. The rich wood paneling complemented the long stretch of the bar. Couples were draped over one another, men with wedding band tans on their fingers hungered over girls barely old enough to drink, and flocks of single girls teetered in stilettos. He’d always loved this place. You could be anybody here.
Connor smirked to himself. It had only taken him a few minutes after seeing Sam to hatch his plan. He knew his father was going to cut him off as soon as he heard about the broken wedding—that was part of the deal. Connor got the COO position as soon as he got married. And as far as his father was concerned, an engagement with a set date was as good as married.
But now? It didn’t matter that the paperwork had been signed. His father could make that paperwork disappear in a second.
What Connor needed was a decoy. A fake fiancée. A girl who would answer to the name Sandra and never get caught with some other guy’s dick in her mouth—because she would be getting paid to play the role. Then, he could still get the business and claim the proverbial throne he’d been promised.
Now all he had to do was get Sam to agree to it.
He saw her enter through the mirrored back of the bar. She was a knockout, it was clear, even from across the room. The huddles of single men craned their necks in unison, and even the men cooing with their lovers looked up to drink her in. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to choose a girl simply because she was stunning, he thought to himself.
Sam caught sight of him, waved, and started to make her way through the crowd. But she has a real job, too. That would please his father. For once, he was grateful his father had never asked any details about Sandra besides whether or not she belonged to the country club. That would mean less lies to remember with Sam. She could slide into Sandra’s place easily.
“Hi,” Sam said with a shy smile.
Connor took another sip of his drink before turning to her. Damn. She really was unbelievable. A little young, but what did that matter? “You look lovely,” he told her coolly, kissing her cheek. When he went in for it, he felt her stiffen and brace for a kiss on the mouth. He loved putting women off balance like that, plus the knowledge that they would let him do whatever he liked from the jump.
“Thanks,” she said, tugging at her short dress and sliding onto the barstool next to him.
It was barely a slip of a dress, if you could even call it that. Black with a satin finish, it bared her toned shoulders and showcased her deep cleavage. Connor loosened his tie slightly as he broke out in a sweat. Eyes continued to be drawn to her from every corner of the room. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.
Let’s see what Sandra and her family think about this, he thought. But he shook the thought away. Why are you thinking about Sandra? Besides, if his plan went as he hoped, Sandra and her family wouldn’t find out about Sam for a long time, if ever. You just need a bride, not this ‘til death do you part bullshit.
“What are you drinking?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. What are you drinking?”
“Scotch, eighteen years. Would you like a taste?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Tanqueray martini, extra dry with a twist,” she said.
He was impressed. “For a second there I thought you were going to order an appletini or some other horrific concoction.”
She laughed. “I drink gin martinis because I can tolerate the taste just enough so that I sip it slowly. Fruity cocktails I’d just down like soda.”
“And the lemon?” he asked. “Why lemon instead of olives? I thought women liked the olives in martinis. You can eat them sensually, like cherries in an Old Fashioned.”
“Real martinis are served with lemon,” she said simply.
He looked her up and down. Maybe there was more to this girl than he’d given her credit for. “Another for me,” he told the bartender, “and a Tanqueray martini, extra dry with lemon, for my friend.” She bristled at the word “friend,” just as he’d expected.
“So, how was—” she began.
“I didn’t ask you here for small talk,” he interrupted. She looked surprised, but kept her mouth shut. “Look, I’m going to be really upfront and transparent with you. I have ulterior motives.”
“Yes, so you said at my office,” she said, and thanked the bartender for her drink.
