Chapter 4

Diane's POV

It takes two days before the news spreads all over social media.

"Billionaire CEO Conrad Beaumont Caught in Sex Scandal: Exclusive Photos Leak from Private Club Raid."

I scroll down, half-expecting to see my face plastered everywhere. But no, just his. His face, his hand, his goddamn tattoos that everyone in the business world knows. The photos are grainy and unclear, taken from an angle, and my head is tilted away from the camera. My face is just hair and shadows, masking me from the public eye.

Good.

I take a long sip of my coffee, almost smiling as I scroll through the articles.

"Well, well, karma works fast these days," I mutter under my breath, taking another sip.

The barista glances at me weirdly, but I don't care.

I take my mug of steaming coffee to the far corner of the cafe, my expression blank as I scroll through social media, already forgetting about the whole Conrad fiasco.

Maybe I should tell Brittany. Tell her what though? That I had sex with the one man I wanted to kill? That the photos got leaked by someone who must have followed him to the club? That his whole life is going to be ruined if he doesn't do something about it soon? Nope, not telling her all that.

Besides, I don't care.

My phone buzzes, and I frown, swiping to read the new message.

Unknown Number: You think this is funny?

I blink, confused, and then another one follows.

Unknown Number: You did this, didn't you? You leaked it.

I roll my eyes. Of course. The almighty Conrad Beaumont has finally texted me.

You know, I was waiting for him to do so. The golden boy would never assume he's at fault here, that he attracted someone who wanted bad news for him. Not my fault he has a lot of enemies. Maybe he can blame his shitty attitude for that.

With a grin, I text back.

Me: Who's this?

Just gonna play around with him for a bit.

It takes five seconds for a message to roll in.

Unknown Number: Don't play dumb, Diane. You did all this!

My jaw tightens, and I click the call button. Because texting isn't enough to curse him as much as I want to.

He picks up almost immediately, and I can hear the desperation in his voice. "You!"

"Yes, me," I drawl, leaning back in my chair.

The sound of shuffling feet filters through the speaker, along with muffled voices. "What did you think you were going to gain from this?! Leaking those photos! Do you have any idea what you did?!"

Of course he thinks it's me.

"Listen here, Mr Beaumont." I sit up in my chair, my voice low. "I don't know where you got the fucking audacity from, but I will not sit here and listen to you accuse me of something I know nothing about," I hiss at him.

Silence follows for a second. Then... "You were the one who leaked it. I'm sure of that."

I almost groan. "You are extremely dumb. Yes, I said it. I've always wanted to. I don't give a fuck about you, Conrad. You're not all that. I didn't leak those photos. Maybe you should work on getting a better PR team so you won't have to deal with this," I pause, making sure he's hanging on to every word. "But I am happy you're finally seeing your karma."

The silence that follows is deafening, and I almost think he hung up on me, but then I hear his heavy breathing on the line. "You just wait."

And then the line clicks, and I almost burst into derisive laughter.

Why can't he just leave me alone? We're done and over now.

I received the money yesterday, and I want to bury it all; the past. That's all it is. I got what I needed and so did he. I paid my rent, bought groceries, and paid off most of my debts. Life is looking really good right now. A few jobs at the club next week and I'll have enough to pay off everything.

I want to pretend he doesn't exist, but he's grating on my nerves, trying every means to force himself back into my life.

Son of a...

With a sigh, I pay the barista before leaving the cafe and boarding a cab back home.

***

The house is filled with the scent of the muffins I baked in the morning. I saunter in and lie on the couch, adjusting for comfort.

This is the life.

Forcing thoughts of Conrad from my mind, I doze off, my breathing steady.

The last thing I remember from my dream is the faint face of Conrad, still haunting me, before my phone buzzes and I jerk up, my heart racing.

Shit. What the hell was that?

Forcing myself up, I grab my phone off the table and open the email.

My sleepiness disappears in a second, and my brows knit. What the fuck?

Non-Disclosure Agreement. PR Recovery Strategy. Temporary Partnership Agreement.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. This is laughable. Very fucking funny.

Fuck him.

His call comes in before I can dial his number. Good. That saves me the stress.

I pick up, going straight to the point. "Are you out of your fucking mind? You think you can make me get you out of your own mess? You think you can just come up to me and expect me to do that?"

He waits for me to finish before he clears his throat. "Trust me, I didn't want to resort to this, but I spoke to my PR team. I'll lose everything if you don't..."

"Good then," I bite back.

Conrad sighs. "Look, I'm not asking for too much."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "Really? Because a fake relationship sounds like a lot."

"I need the woman in the photos to have a name. A face, Diane. And I also want you to become my personal stripper. I know you're not a big fan of me, but you're good at what you do, and I'd rather not go back to the club and end up in the same position."

For a second, I don't say anything. Then... "You're out of your fucking mind."

"Don't start. The media's already digging. If they find out you were an employee, it gets worse for both of us."

"So your plan," I say slowly, "is to fake-date me?"

"It's called damage control, Diane."

"It's called desperate," I bite back.

"I'm giving you a chance to clean your image too," he fires back. "If anyone finds out, you're done for too."

Oh, that's where he's wrong.

I laugh. "My image? Honey, I don't have one. I dance for men who don't tip. You think I care?"

He hesitates. "You should."

I want to hang up. And I almost do, but he says something that makes me freeze. "I'll pay you. A million bucks. Just for a few months. Be my fake girlfriend and my stripper in private. Then you walk away like nothing happened. I need some sort of distraction, and unfortunately, I'm fucking addicted to you right now."

I'm not even listening anymore. That's an awesome amount of money. No way he wants to throw that much money at something like this.

My mind travels back to the life I'm living, and my throat dries. A million dollars? My brain blanks.

Fuck.

"Say that again," I say, shifting on the couch, my voice breathy.

He sounds confused, but he does. "One million dollars. For just two or three months. No one has to know that you're a fake girlfriend who also takes care of my needs."

My eyes flutter closed, and I curse under my breath.

Damn you, Conrad Beaumont.

Why do you always have to put me in tight spaces?

The words feel bitter as I force them out. "I'll do it."

I don't know if I just sold my body, my soul or my pride. Or maybe all three.

But I can't bring myself to care.

A million dollars. Fake dating. Personal stripper.

Right.

What could possibly go wrong?