FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

~ JAMIENew 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. Catc

~ SIMONThe image of Jamie Collins with her face streaked with tears wouldn't leave my head. Not because I cared—God forbid. It was because I'd never seen that woman lose her composure.Three years at Hart & Co., and she was a precision machine: flawless reports, arguments sharp enough to cut glass, that calm voice that made even the most senior partners sweat in their thousand-dollar suits. And there she was, falling apart over some neurosurgeon who'd been banging her own cousin.Jesus Christ.I dropped the bar and sat up, wiping my face with a towel.The glass door slid open."Brother."Stephen. Of course. He always showed up when I wanted solitude, always with gossip I never asked for."You're weak today." He grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell. "Weak.""I'm training, not gossiping." I dropped the weights to the floor. "What's the bullshit today?"Stephen settled onto the bench next to me."People are asking if you're going to the class reunion. Everyone wants to see the billionaire."

~ SIMONFor a moment, I just stared at her. Jamie Collins—my by-the-book, rule-following, never-breaks-a-single-regulation counselor—standing in my office at seven in the morning, agreeing to fake-date me.I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to live a little.""Don't make me regret this." She dropped into the chair across from me, crossing her arms in that defensive way she always did. "And don't think I'm doing this because I actually want to spend time with you.""Of course not." I opened my laptop. "You're doing this because you're tired of being the victim. Admirable, actually. A little pathetic that it took my brilliant idea to get you there, but—""Simon.""Okay, okay." I held up my hands. "Let's get down to business. Your grandmother's birthday is tomorrow, right?""Yes. Saturday.""Perfect." I pulled up my calendar. "And my reunion is next Friday. So here's what I'm thinking: we do your event first, see how we

~ SIMONThe silence that followed my entrance was thick enough that I could hear the ancient air conditioner wheezing in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the August heat.I kept my arm locked around Jamie's shoulders, feeling the tension wired through every inch of her. She was trembling—barely, just enough that I caught it. That tiny, almost invisible tremor that no one else in this room would clock.Except me."Simon Hart," I repeated, letting my smile stretch wide and easy. "Great to finally meet you all. Jamie's told me so much about you that I feel like I already know everyone."Eyes bounced between me and Jamie like a ping-pong match."Wait." The guy I assumed was the ex cut through the air like a blade. "You're her boss? Simon Hart? Of Hart & Co.?"I turned toward the voice slowly, letting my smile edge into something just dangerous enough."Oliver, right?" My voice stayed easy, almost lazy. "The neurosurgeon. I've heard a lot about you too."I watched the color dra

~ JAMIE"So, Simon, tell me more about this luxury goods company you run," my Aunt Marta asked, eyes gleaming as she cut into her roast beef. "My friend has a Bellini bag that cost more than my car. Very fancy stuff."Simon smiled—that smile I was starting to recognize as his "social mode." Charming enough to win anyone over, but measured enough that nothing slipped out that he didn't want to share. "Well, Aunt Marta, my job is basically convincing rich people to spend even more money on things they don't need but definitely want."The aunts laughed, all of them. Even my mother, who usually distrusted any man who wasn't a doctor or a lawyer, was smiling."Humble, isn't he?" my great-aunt Margaret commented, poking Simon's arm with her knife. "A rich man who doesn't flaunt it. That's rare.""I just try not to be boring, Aunt Margaret."The rain started outside suddenly—thick, drumming against the dining room windows like someone was hurling buckets of water from the sky. A distant thun