Path Of The Cultured Uncultured One
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FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS
SEVEN DAYS BEFORE MY WEDDING, I walked into our bedroom and found my neurosurgeon fiancé plowing my cousin on our bed. Six months later, Oliver and Vanessa are married, my humiliation is office coffee-break gossip, and I've done everything possible to disappear off the face of the earth. Then I find out my grandmother is dying. This birthday might be her last, and I refuse to let my ex take that from me too. Problem is, going means facing my own personal nightmare head-on: Oliver and Vanessa, happy and married, right in front of me, while the rest of my family looks at me like I'm a walking tragedy. That's when Simon Hart-my billionaire boss, arrogant as hell, and the only man who can irritate me, make me laugh, and dismantle every single one of my defenses in the same conversation-makes me an absolutely ridiculous proposal. "Just think about it." He spreads his hands. " You're tired of everyone pitying you. I'm rich as fuck, handsome as hell, and charming as fuck. Who's going to feel sorry for you when you show up with Simon Hart on your arm?" The problem is, he's right. I need a boyfriend to survive my grandmother's birthday weekend without turning back into the official family disaster. And Simon needs a serious girlfriend to prove to all of New York that the city's most eligible bachelor has finally settled down. It was supposed to be simple. Fake dating. Two events. Some convincing touching. Absolutely zero feelings. Until we added new terms to the agreement. No-strings sex. No jealousy. No expectations. Just sex. And it worked perfectly. Right up until everything went completely off the rails.
Chapter 1 JAMIE
New York wind whipped my hair across my face as I stood on the forty-seventh-floor terrace, watching the black helicopter touch down on the helipad. Simon Hart. CEO of Hart & Co. Billionaire. Confirmed bachelor. And... my boss. The kind of man who made stock prices jump just by walking into a room.
He climbed out of the chopper like he was born with a silver spoon permanently lodged in his mouth-Armani suit immaculate, sunglasses hiding those eyes I knew were a dangerous shade of blue.
"Counselor!" he shouted, that arrogant smirk firmly in place-the one that made half the women in New York go weak in the knees. "You look like a porcelain doll about to blow away."
"I'd rather look like a competent lawyer, Hart." I frowned. "Anyway, we have the meeting with the Chinese delegation in-"
He breezed past me like I was furniture, striding into the corner office.
"Later, later." He tossed his blazer onto the armchair and dropped into the leather chair behind the glass desk. "Sit. Catch me up on the Cavellier contract."
I launched into the exclusivity clauses, but he was distracted-phone in hand, eyes going wide.
"What?" I asked.
He shoved the phone toward me. The screen showed a photo of him on a yacht off the Amalfi Coast. A busty blonde perched on his lap, his hand... well, his hand was doing something that disappeared under her dress.
"These paparazzi are gonna make me go bald, Counselor." He ran a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair.
I zoomed in, arching a brow.
"Wow. You're not shy with those hands, are you, big guy?"
He snatched the phone back in one quick move.
"Don't stress about it." He rested his elbows on the desk. "Keep going."
I finished the presentation in five minutes, tucked the documents into my folder, and stood.
"I'm heading back to my desk."
"Counselor." His voice stopped me at the door. "Grab me a coffee? Megan called in sick."
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm not your secretary, Simon."
"Please?" He pressed his hands together like he was praying, his expression somewhere between childish and... dangerous. "You know I only drink from that place on the corner."
I let out a dramatic sigh.
"Fine. But if the Chinese deal goes south because of you, I'm billing overtime."
I rode the elevator down forty-seven floors, the fresh city air hitting me as I stepped out. In line at the coffee shop, my phone buzzed.
My cousin, Vanessa.
"I'm at your apartment! Dropped off your wedding tiara. Oliver let me in, so I left it on your bed. Seven days, girl! I can't believe you're finally doing this!"
I smiled, typing back.
"Put it right in the center. Thanks, cuz. Love you!"
Seven days. After ten years of dragging his feet, Oliver had finally proposed. The perfect neurosurgeon. The Upper East Side townhouse. The planned-out kids. Everything in place.
Crossing the street felt like the last step toward perfection.
"Pretty lady..."
A wrinkled hand touched my arm. An old Romani woman in a flowing skirt, eyes black as coal.
"Let me read your palm."
"Oh, no. I'm way too busy today, I can't."
"Please, it won't take more than two minutes."
I'd always been skeptical of this stuff, but she looked so harmless. I gave in, holding out my hand.
She took my left palm, studying it with a furrowed brow.
"You will still fall in love," she said. "In six months."
"I think your timing's a little off. I'm getting married next week."
"No." She squeezed my hand tighter. "The man meant for you. He is..." She paused, searching for the words. "Powerful. More than you can imagine. Billions within his reach. But what he truly has goes far beyond money. He'll give you everything... fortune, happiness, pleasure, the..." Her voice dropped. "His soul."
I laughed, genuinely amused. "Well, my fiancé definitely doesn't have billions. He's a doctor. He does well. But the only billionaire I know is my boss, and the only thing that bastard loves more than money is swapping out girlfriends."
"Go home," she said suddenly. "Go home right now."
"Excuse me?"
"Before you make the mistake of committing to the wrong man. He doesn't love you. He's cheating on you. Right now. In your house."
The light changed. People surged past me.
"Ma'am, you're crazy. I've been with him for ten years. He loves me..."
"He loves what you give him. The stability. The reputation." She gripped my wrist. "Open your eyes, girl. The truth is in your own bedroom."
I pulled away, shaking my head. "This is ridiculous."
I started crossing the street, determined to leave that crazy encounter behind. But her words echoed in my head. Right now. In your house.
I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk.
Don't be an idiot, Jamie. She's a charlatan. A grifter.
My feet were already turning.
Oliver would never do this. Vanessa would never.
I quickened my pace.
They're my two favorite people. They love me.
Now I was running, covering the three blocks to my building in seconds. I burst through the doors, took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, and shoved open the apartment door.
The silence hit me first. Then the trail of clothes. A blazer-familiar, navy-abandoned near the couch. A pair of red panties I'd never seen before under the coffee table.
I followed the path to the bedroom. The door was cracked open.
I pushed.
And my world shattered into a thousand pieces.
Vanessa was on all fours in the middle of the bed. The crystal tiara-my tiara-hung crookedly on her head, the diamonds trembling with every thrust. Her red dress bunched around her waist. And Oliver behind her. Completely naked. Hands digging into her hips, bodies flush, the rhythm I knew so well.
The air left my lungs.
He looked up and saw me. Pulled back so fast he lost his balance, landing on his ass on the bed, his d*ck still hard and glistening.
"JAMIE!" His voice came out thin, almost childish. "WAIT!"
Vanessa scrambled around, yanking up the sheet. The tiara fell. She was pale, eyes red, lipstick smeared.
"It's not... I swear I didn't-"
"Swear what?" My voice came out dry. "That you slipped and fell ass-up?"
"It was one time, Jamie, just one time-" Oliver started.
I ripped off the ring. It hit the floor with a soft plink.
"Here." My voice shook. "You'll need it for the next wedding. This one's over."
That morning, I had a fiancé. A cousin who was my best friend. A whole life mapped out.
Before noon, I had nothing.
And I still had no idea that the worst was yet to come.
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