Blake needs a date to his enemy's destination wedding. And not just anyone-a professional. The billionaire genius behind 215 Tech doesn't have time to nurture a real relationship. He hires Lucy to be his fake girlfriend, but things become real when...
The Malibu hillside unfolds, the arid terrain littered with haphazard mansions and winding roads. Sunlight reflects off the windows of the homes dotting the mountain, twinkling like stars with an endless blue sky above them.
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I've been to Los Angeles twice before, but both times were instances where I never left the client's dwelling. Still, the views were breathtaking from his house in the Hollywood Hills. I'm looking forward to being closer to the beach during this trip.
The wedding is taking place at an elite country club located off the Pacific Coast Highway. The massive venue faces the mountains with the ocean at its back, and takes up half a mile of beachfront property.
Iron gates topped with mermaid figurines split open, allowing our car entry to a sprawling front lawn, unnaturally green given the drought in California. The country club doubles as a hotel. The rounded driveway is riddled with bellhops and event organizers scrambling to assist guests.
Blake informed me Julian and Natalie have booked every room for their upcoming nuptials, with three hundred of their closest friends and relatives attending.
Our driver inches under a portes-cochère supported by white columns, parking behind an idle Aston Martin. As we wait for our turn to exit the vehicle, my phone begins to ring. Blake is busy with his own electronics, so I pull it from my carry-on, answering without looking at the screen.
"This is a collect call from Eastern State Peniten—"
"Son of a bitch," I mutter, slamming my thumb on the 'end call' button, my breath leaving my lungs in choppy bursts.
"My mom would take offense to that comment," Blake quips, looking up at me from his tablet. He notices my panic, his brow furrowing in concern. "All good?"
I slip my phone into the side compartment of my bag, brushing my clammy hands on my knees. "Yeah, fine."
He hesitates. "You sure?"
"It's our turn, sir," the driver announces.
Thank God.
I make it a point to be the first out of the car, beating the driver and Blake to the trunk. I open the hatch, fumbling with the bags to give myself time to recuperate. Blake's hand stalls mine on the handle of his suitcase. He takes it from me, passing it to a waiting bellhop. I can feel his eyes studying my profile, but I've since schooled my face.
"This place is luxe," I comment, distracting him.
His head swivels, taking in the lush greenery and the flutter of activity. "It's something."
We leave it at that. He gives the bellhop his information, but I'm too antsy to pay attention to background noise. I need to focus; get into character. I can't let myself be derailed every time the phone rings.
