Semua Bab Fake Dating The Billionaire : Bab 11 - Bab 20

Celeste's POV I should’ve known the day was doomed the second he smiled at me. Not the charming kind of smile you see in magazines. No. Leo Kingsley only smiles when he’s plotting something. Or watching me suffer. “Take a taxi,” he said, handing me a folded bill with that infuriating half-smirk. Now here I am, stomping down the pavement like a woman wronged by every god in the sky, cussing out the devil who sent me here. “Unbelievable,” I hissed, heels clicking against the concrete. “Bastard knew exactly what he was doing. That’s why he smiled. That’s why he smiled when he told me to take a damn taxi.” Just when I thought today would be perfect. So much for being in a good mood earlier. If you're wondering why I’m out here, dragging my feet like an unpaid intern and contemplating homicide in heels... let’s rewind. Flashback “Guess who just got a job at Kingsley Tower?” I beamed at my reflection, pointing both fingers at the mirror like I was announcing an Oscar w

Celeste's Pov The conference had gone off without a hitch. Leo's speech had made an impact, and the energy in the hall was still buzzing from his words. But as we stepped out of the room, the moment of victory was short-lived. The day wasn’t over yet. "Let’s move," Leo said, glancing at his watch. "Next meeting in thirty." We headed for the restaurant for a quick lunch. Leo barely spoke as he ate, his focus probably shifting to the investor meetings that would follow. He was mentally preparing for the next round of deals while I sat across from him, still hyper-aware of the whirlwind that was his day. The atmosphere around us was busy, filled mostly with conference attendees grabbing a quick bite. I didn’t say much either, using the time to review my notes and check my messages. As soon as the meal was over, Leo was on his phone, reviewing meeting agendas and making last-minute adjustments. I followed suit, keeping my own phone close, ready to handle whatever tasks he’d assig

Celeste's pov I thought things between Leo and me had changed for the better after everything that happened in Mexico. But I thought wrong. He’s been colder than ever—like none of it meant anything. Like Mexico never happened. It’s been three days since Mexico. Three days since the park, the hot air balloon, the moment Leo held my hand like he didn’t want to let go. And yet, the second we landed back home, it was like none of it ever happened. Leo’s been distant—barely speaking to me unless it’s about work, and when he does, his voice is clipped, formal. Cold. He hasn’t mentioned the trip, hasn’t looked at me the same way. It’s like he packed up whatever warmth he showed me and left it behind in Mexico. I told myself I imagined it—that I read too much into a soft look, a lingering touch. But I didn’t. And that’s what makes this worse. I scroll through his calendar and pause at the Kingsley Hospitality Mixer. It’s this afternoon—an investor-centered networking event the

Celeste’s POV: I sat across from Leo at his sleek black desk, a legal pad in my lap and my laptop open beside me. My sweatshirt sleeves were pushed to my elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear. Leo, in a fitted navy tee and dark joggers, looked anything but relaxed as he scrolled through a dense spreadsheet on his monitor. The warm, polished wood of his home office glowed beneath the overhead light, the only sound the soft click of his mouse and the occasional rustle of paper. “You're missing the implications in column G,” he said without looking up. “If the funding round pushes through under those terms, the board will demand an accelerated timeline. Which means the department heads will scramble, and the prototype delivery date becomes a noose.” I frowned, leaning forward. “But if we slow the rollout, we risk losing leverage with Westbrook’s side.” Leo finally glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “That’s the entire point of the bluff. We push, but not hard enough to

Celeste's pov The kitchen at Kingsley Estate smelled like rosemary and lemon, warm and inviting. The soft, ambient light of the late afternoon filtered in through the windows, catching the dust motes in the air. Margaret was already in motion—sharp knife in hand, ingredients spread neatly across the counter. Two aprons hung from hooks near the door, ready to be used. “I’ll handle the roast,” she said with cheerful authority. “Celeste, you’re on prep. And Leo—unless you plan to just stand there looking pretty, grab a knife.” Leo, who’d been leaning against the counter like he owned it (which, technically, he did), gave a lazy shrug. “I’ll supervise.” “Supervise yourself into peeling something,” Margaret shot back, making me grin. I reached for one of the aprons, ready to slip it on, when I felt him behind me—close enough that the air shifted. Before I could react, Leo took the apron from my hands. “Hold still,” he murmured. His voice was low, steady, and way too close