FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS (Ophelia Corrigan) novel Chapter 4

~ JAMIE

The office was empty. Completely, blissfully empty. No paralegals lurking, no associates begging for last-minute revisions, no Elizabeth from accounting hovering with pity in her eyes. Just me, the hum of the AC, and all of Manhattan glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I shut down my computer and leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. The city sprawled below me like a million little lights, each one belonging to someone whose life probably made more sense than mine.

At least I still had this. At least I was good at what I did.

A knock at the door made me jump.

Simon Hart was leaning against the frame, holding a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, forearms tan and corded—that gym body I pretended not to notice. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving a glimpse of his chest. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he smelled like expensive cologne and trouble.

"You look like you need this," he said, holding up the bottle. "Château Margaux 2009. Don't say I never gave you anything."

I crossed my arms. "Don't you have a supermodel to annoy?"

"Cancelled." He strolled in like he owned the place—which, technically, he did—and set the glasses on my desk. "Decided my favorite attorney needed supervision."

"Because drinking alone in the office is totally something I'd do."

He poured two glasses, sliding one toward me. "You strike me as the type who's never done anything reckless in her life. Sit."

I sat.

He sat across from me, legs spread, one ankle crossed over his knee. That smile. The same one that made half of New York's socialites drop their panties at galas.

"Jamie." His voice dropped. "I have a proposal."

"God. If this is about the Cavellier contract—"

"It's not work." He swirled the wine in his glass. "It's about your grandmother's birthday."

I rolled my eyes, bracing for whatever quip he was about to drop. "You're still on about that?"

He leaned forward. "You need a handsome date to make an entrance."

"I'm not hiring an escort."

"You don't need to hire an escort." He set his glass down, eyes locked on mine. "I'll go with you."

I blinked. Then blinked again.

"Come again?"

"Think about it." He spread his hands. "You said you're tired of being looked at with pity. So here's the solution. I'm rich as hell, good-looking as hell, and charming as hell. Who's going to feel sorry for you when you show up with Simon Hart on your arm?"

I stared at him. "You're insane."

"I'm a genius." He grinned. "You get to rub your perfect life in your ex's face. I get to play the hero. Everyone wins."

"And why exactly would you do this?" I leaned back, studying him. "You hate family events. You told me that yourself."

His smile flickered. Just for a second.

"I have my reasons." He lifted his glass and took a slow sip. "Let's just say I have a high school reunion coming up and I'd rather not show up alone. I want them to think I've finally settled down."

I snorted. "So you want to use me as a prop to convince people you've changed?"

"Mutual benefit, Counselor." He raised his glass. "You get a date. I get a reputation upgrade. Everyone walks away happy."

Something about the way he said it felt off. Like he was hiding something.

"I can't do this," I said, shaking my head. "You're my boss. You're the last person I should be showing up to a family event with. People will talk."

"Let them talk." He shrugged. "Better than them talking about how you're down and out."

"Simon—"

"Think about it." He grabbed his glass, finishing off the wine. "You have until tomorrow. If you want to take the offer, you know where to find me."

He walked to the door, then stopped.

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