Billionaires Dollar Series

“He was with one of the waitresses. She was bent over the counter by the bar, and he was… well. I’m sure you can picture it.”

I can.

The bastard.

“Fucking hell,” I say, leaving the pasta and sauce to their own devices to sit down next to her. Every man for themselves now, boys.

Maddie’s eyes are conflicted. “It’s been a few months now. I don’t miss him, I don’t love him anymore. But the one thing I can’t get over is my embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment?”

“I’d spoken to that waitress-her name is Sally-just a few days before. She’d looked me in the eye and smiled and she’d known. Who else on the staff knew? Who knows even now?” Maddie shakes her head, her rapidly unraveling braid fraying further. “For weeks after, going to work was mortifying.”

My heart stutters in my chest at the thought. Damn, but she’s stronger than I would have been in that position.

“I can’t believe you didn’t quit.”

Translation: I can’t believe you work with the fucker every day.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“I couldn’t.” Her hand grows into a fist on the table between us. “I’d worked just as hard as Jason to be hired at Marco’s. There’s no way that I’d leave, not when he’d been the one in the wrong.”

“Damn straight,” I tell her. “That’s impressive, Maddie.”

Her lips curve into a wry smile. “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”

“What’s even more impressive is that you haven’t sliced a knife through his hand, not once.”

She leans back in the chair and sighs. Reaching up with her uninjured hand, she undoes her hair, the black, silky strands falling in waves around her face. “I’ve thought about it.”

“I bet you have,” I say. “I wish I’d known sooner. Making him mildly jealous is not near vile enough of a punishment.”

Maddie’s eyes find mine. “I didn’t want to tell you. I thought that maybe it would make you… I don’t know.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t like who I am in that story. I don’t like being the wronged victim, and I don’t like that I once cared for him. And I really, really hate feeling naive.”

I nod slowly. “It’s a narrative you don’t want to revisit.”

“Exactly.” Her hand inches closer to mine on the table, her eyes lightening with humor. “No, it’s much safer to sleep with a childhood friend in an uncomplicated scheme of fake fiancés.”

I chuckle, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Entirely uncomplicated,” I agree. “What can go wrong?”

“Everything, probably.” Her eyes dance on mine. “The sauce is burning.”

“Oh, shit.”

“See?” I hold up my hand, displaying the sleek lilac gauze I’d wrapped around the small injury. “Be hurt, but make it fashion.”

Liam raises an eyebrow, running his gaze from mine down over my body. “You’re wearing the dress.”

“I am.” Gripping the airy, purple fabric in my uninjured hand, I give a little spin. “I can dress up when I need to.”

He tugs at the top button of his shirt. The suit jacket stretches across his shoulders, the dark color clinging to him like it was tailored. It probably was-yet another subtle reminder of the differences between Liam and me these days.

Gone are the days he wore his big brother’s hand-me-down jacket, too short in the sleeves.

“Don’t remind me,” he says. “I still have difficulty getting the image of you in that red dress out of my mind.”

“Well, do you have to? Get the image out of your mind, I mean? I quite like living there.”

Liam’s smile flashes, the wide, crooked one I love the most. “You enjoy torturing me?”

“You enjoy being tortured,” I correct. “I’ve learned that much these past few weeks.”

He reaches for my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. The movement is casual, like I’m on his arm at parties all the time.

“Ready?”

I nod, glancing past him to the giant, familiar house beyond. “One last hurrah.”

Liam’s grin is teasing. “One last hurrah.”

Entering Cole and Skye Porter’s house through the front door, dressed in heels and a dress, is surreal enough of an experience that I consider pinching myself. Being in their massive kitchen and clad in a chef’s shirt feels far easier.

Curious eyes meet mine, drifting from Liam to me like they’re wondering who I am. And why wouldn’t they? I’m no one to these people, just the anonymous filler of salmon puffs.

Liam bends to my ear. “We won’t stay for more than an hour.”

“We can stay longer.”

“No, tomorrow’s too important.” His arm tenses beneath mine. “We can’t let Jason win that fellowship.”

A surprised laugh escapes me. We? Another part is relieved. Telling him about Jason’s cheating had been mortifying. And now, he’s… well. We’re a team.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I murmur back. “My dishes are perfect.”

“I know they are. I’ve tasted them all.”

“Thank you.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Not that I trust your opinion, though. Anything that’s not a burger or a BLT, and you’re grateful.”

“Anything that’s cooked by you,” he corrects.

A warmth blooms in my chest that has nothing to do with the teasing words or the thought of tomorrow’s final. “It’s not fair.”

“What is?”

“I can’t compliment you on your work.”

Liam’s grin widens. “Of course you can. I’ll send you some spreadsheets to look at.”

“That’ll do it for you?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “I’ve never seen anyone make such detailed spreadsheets. You must collect… so much data.”