FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS (Ophelia Corrigan) novel Chapter 126

CHAPTER 126

AMIE

At four twenty in the afternoon, I closed the folder on my desk and looked up at the twelve faces in front

of me.

“So that’s it.”

For two seconds, nobody moved.

Then Claire started clapping. Ethan joined in. Then the rest of them followed, and I had to fight back the ridiculously smug smile threatening to break across my face.

“Don’t get too excited,” I warned. “Monday you’re back to doing real work.”

A few of them laughed.

The training had eaten up too many days, too much coffee, and an offensive number of hours I could’ve spent sleeping, but looking at them now, it felt worth it. That first morning, they’d still seemed unsure of themselves. Now they were actually debating clauses and spotting risks like they meant it.

The room emptied out in a shuffle of laughter and scraping chairs. Ethan was one of the last to leave.

I headed back to my office, tired but satisfied. For the first time in days, there was nothing urgent on my plate.

I sat down, kicked off my shoes under the desk, and opened my laptop.

Next to the computer sat the folder I’d started that morning.

WEDDING.

Just looking at the word sent something warm spreading through my chest.

I was marrying Simon.

With Oliver, I’d wanted the wedding. The stability, the family, the life I figured I was supposed to build before thirty-five.

With Simon, it was different.

I didn’t just want to get married.

I wanted to marry him.

I opened the digital folder and started with what felt most urgent: the venue.

I didn’t want a church. I didn’t want a hotel ballroom with three other weddings happening on the same Saturday. I wanted something private, elegant, intimate without being too small. Somewhere that felt like New York but gave us the sense we’d escaped the city for a few hours.

I searched private event venues in Manhattan and Westchester.

་པ།

FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

Opened twenty tabs.

osed seventeen.

One rooftop was too pretty and too impersonal. A hotel looked perfect for a convention. A property out in Long Island had a gorgeous garden, but I couldn’t picture Simon there.

Then The Whitmore House popped up.

I stopped moving the mouse.

The main photo showed a historic mansion made of pale stone, surrounded by old trees, with a forma garden in the back and a long porch facing a stretch of lawn. The next images showed a wood-paneled library, a dining room for smaller events, and a conservatory with French doors open to the flowers.

My heart did something stupid.

“Oh…”

I clicked through the gallery.

The more I saw, the worse it got.

Or better.

I could picture Lily running through the garden. Jack and Sam pretending they weren’t interested in anything while demolishing the dessert table. My grandmother complaining that nobody knew how to throw a proper wedding anymore.

And Simon.

In a suit.

Waiting for me.

I smiled to myself.

Then I clicked on availability.

The smile vanished.

“Fully committed for the next twelve months.”

“Of course.”

I leaned back in my chair.

The first place that had made my chest tighten like that was booked for an entire year.

“That seems personal.”

I looked up.

Ethan was passing by the open door with a folder in his hand. He stopped and nodded toward my screen.

1

JIM

FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

“The Whitmore House?”

You know it?”

He took two steps inside.

“I do. I grew up with the owner’s daughter.”

I looked back at the screen.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Vivian Whitmore. We went to school together from elementary all the way through high school Her mom started doing private events there after her husband died.”

“So it’s actually a family home?”

“Part of it still is. They kept a private wing. The rest was restored for events.” He moved close enough to glance at the calendar without touching the computer. “You liked it?”

“It was the first place I could actually picture.”

“And it’s booked.”

“For the next twelve months.”

Ethan winced.

“That’s the public calendar.”

“There’s a secret calendar?”

“Not exactly.” He smiled. “But Mrs. Whitmore holds a few dates for family events, organizations she supports, old clients. Sometimes cancellations come up that never make it to the website.”

I stared at him.

“How do you know all this?”

“Vivian got married there. Half my adolescence happened on that property. I probably know that kitchen better than my own mother would like.”

I turned back to the photos.

The library appeared again.

Damn it.

“I can ask Vivian,” he said.

I hesitated.

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