Sorry, I'm Just a Fake Heiress Here for the Money

Hadn't she said they hadn't seen each other since they were seven?!

So how did he take one look at my faded, washed-out T-shirt and instantly spot a rich-girl pedigree I absolutely did not have?

"You've got the wrong person," I tried to bluff.

"Wrong person? I'd know you even if you were reduced to ashes." Julian got out of the car and fixed his eyes on me.

"This car's a global limited edition. The repaint alone is three hundred grand."

"Venmo or Zelle?"

Three hundred grand?

Those three words hit me like a bolt from the blue.

My voice cracked on the spot.

"Is this car made of solid gold, or did you blend diamond dust into the paint?!"

"For three hundred grand I could fly to Thailand, get a whole new face, and launch a modeling career. And you're telling me that's a paint job?"

Julian raised an eyebrow slightly, apparently not expecting his supposedly prim and proper fiancee to come out with something so savage.

Deep in his eyes, something rare flickered: curiosity.

"Don't give me that nonsense." I steeled myself and let my brain take a bizarre turn.

"Your car was parked in the bike lane. That's an illegal stop, which puts you at fault first."

"As a law-abiding citizen, I was obstructed by your illegally parked car."

"I haven't even billed you for emotional damages, and you've got the nerve to shake me down?"

Julian froze.

He'd probably never in his life met someone who could talk this much garbage.

"Cassandra, did you lose your memory, or did somebody swap out your brain?"

He scoffed and pulled out his phone.

"Fine. Since you won't own up to it, I'll just call your father."

"I'll ask Mr. Ashford whether his precious daughter scratched someone's car and is now trying to weasel out of it."

"No, no, no!"

I dropped into a knee-slide and lunged, throwing my arms around his leg.

One phone call and my cover would be blown instantly.

Forget the three-hundred-grand balance. I might be facing fraud charges.

"Come on! Let's talk this out!"

"We're all young people here. No need to go running to the parents over every little thing."

I clung to the leg of his tailored suit for dear life.

"Whatever number you want, we can work it out. Everything's negotiable, even a payment plan!"

Julian tried to shake his leg free in disgust, only to find I was hanging on like a koala.

"Let go!"

"No way! Promise you won't tattle first!"

"You let go of my pants first, they're coming down!"

Only then did I reluctantly release him, wiping my sweaty palms on his outrageously expensive trouser leg on the way.

Julian took a deep breath, like he was fighting the urge to execute me on the spot.

"Three hundred grand. Not a cent less."

"But I'm broke." I spread my hands, totally shameless.

"The great Ashford heiress, broke?"

"My family went bankrupt. My dad ran off and gambled it all away in Vegas, and now I'm flat broke." The lies rolled right off my tongue.

Julian stared at me for a solid three seconds.

"Fine. There's a way to pay even when you're broke."

"As of today, you're my personal assistant."

"You'll handle every errand and chore in my life. Fifteen grand a month, docked straight against the repair bill."

"Until the whole three hundred grand is paid off."