The CEO's Fake Girlfriend

I make the devil

I hat

e owns every molecule of air in this building. I hate his cold

ster, pure

aya, and... well, I'd spare him the third one. I might've wished his dick shrank an

skirts-or too busy dealing with the fallout fro

ord that clawed at my throat whenever his face showed up on the company monitors

minutes ago, already poking around the kitch

mous emails detailing expired products an

inbox until they had n

irk behind

zle. There, sitting with his usual crowd of ass-kisser

his chair as he ate, her expression a mi

't match his work ID. Reporter Blake. He adjusted his glasses and

, ple

ed back, spooning the

was my f

r peasant food, I guessed - but today he had

seen him once when he was leaving HQ, all red and angry, an

he air changed and conversations hushed, because there

he room. His eyes swept the cafeteria as employees rose on the

or barely a second, but it was

ght that ruined my life a

together

re, never breathed the same air as h

d line under that thousand-dollar suit. I could practically feel the rag

glares burning into his boss's back. I didn't bother hiding it. Instead, I flashe

You'll be par

the crisis, the catalyst, the

wti

on aside. My fingers worked quickly through my auburn curls, smoothing the

ent - if you could call having his hand resting under the t

yes darted around, silently ple

toward t

lding head and slammed it st

words gurgled

sure to be loud. "You think having a corner office gives you

ng down his red face and soakin

out your disgusting behavior. Maybe you compensate with all this har

the cafeteria. Greg tried to st

his bowl, tilting what remained of the

s on us now, including, I hoped, a certain pair of g

e woman's tr

etly, then turned back to Greg. "

re rage. Just then, his palm landed on my cheek in

was too stunned to speak. It wasn't part of the plan, and

up, touching my

ou just did? You just sla

ter, droplets of soup

g-looking kitchen rat-" His hands s

ell is goin

voice cut through

all