All Chapters of FAKE DATING WITH BENEFITS: MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

~ JAMIEMy mother's voice cut through like a bucket of ice water.I jumped back, clearing my throat, feeling the heat crawl up my face. Simon stepped back too, but with way more grace than me, like that closeness hadn't affected him at all.Not that I was affected. Obviously."Let's go," I said, my voice coming out too loud. "My grandmother will be pissed if we miss the song."I started walking back toward the dining room, and I felt Simon's hand settle on the small of my back, guiding me with a familiarity that felt strangely natural. His fingers pressed lightly through the fabric of my dress, and I had to force myself not to think about it.The dining room was lit by candles now. My grandmother sat at the head of the table, beaming, while my mother and aunts placed the cake in front of her—a massive chocolate cream pie, covered in gold candles."Happy birthday to you," we started singing, all of us together, voices blending into a slightly off-key but love-filled chorus. My grandmot

~ JAMIE"I'm sleeping on the floor.""No, I am.""Simon, you're a guest.""And I'm a man. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor while I'm up here like a prince in a fairy tale.""Okay, you know what?" I threw my hands up. "We're adults. It's a little narrower than a queen, but it fits two."He raised an eyebrow. "You sure?""Positive.""Because I can be a gentleman and—""Simon." I pointed at the bed. "Lie down."He did, with a grin so wide I almost regretted it. He lay on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling."I feel like I'm in a coffin," he said."Seems appropriate.""Why?""Because you're ruining your reputation as Manhattan's biggest playboy for me. When's the last time you slept next to a woman and didn't sleep with her?""Probably my nanny. I think I was five."We both laughed, and then we were quiet, both of us staring at the dark ceiling like we were at a joint funeral."Your ex," he said, breaking the silence, his voice softer now. Almost a whisper.

~ SIMONThere I was, grinding against a blonde on a yacht in Ibiza. The bass from the shitty phone speakers thumped through the room. I watched my own hand grab her ass, watched her throw her head back, watched the whole scene like I was attending my own funeral."Jesus Christ," Jamie murmured beside me.The video cut to another scene. Same trip. Different woman. This time I was gripping a redhead in a pool while someone off-screen yelled, "That's it!"And then—because apparently this was my life now—I appeared on screen, saying: "I don't get why people need to be attached to someone twenty-four-seven. I'm perfectly happy alone. Actually, most things I enjoy, I prefer doing solo. My limit is two months. After that, I'm bored. There's a whole world of women out there waiting to be discovered. And I'm never giving up this life for anyone. Ever."The room went dead silent.Oliver was grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "You know what the best part is? This was less than six months a

~ JAMIE I walked to the living room, trying to convince myself I was eager for him to leave my apartment. The sooner he went, the sooner I could process everything that had happened in the last day.My gaze drifted to the plants on my small balcony. Poor things, they'd been neglected all weekend. I grabbed the watering can and stepped outside to tend to them.That's when I heard the bathroom door open. I turned and found Simon sprawled on my sofa, his six-foot-three frame of pure self-confidence spread across the cushions like he'd lived there his whole life."You're not leaving?" I called out."Got no one waiting for me at home." He shrugged lazily. "What's the rush?""I thought you loved being alone," I shot back. "Wasn't that what you said in that video? Two months is your limit?""Apparently, I make exceptions.""So I'm an exception, boss?"Simon shrugged, that arrogant half-smile curling at the corner of his mouth."You're the only person I can spend hours with and not start cou

~ JAMIE The elevator doors slid open, and I forgot how to breathe. His penthouse wasn't just a penthouse. It was a museum, a gallery, a statement written in glass and steel and carefully curated chaos. Manhattan sprawled beneath us through floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights beginning to flicker on as twilight settled over the skyline. The ceilings soared to some impossible height, and the open floor plan stretched so far I couldn't tell where the living room ended and the dining room began. "Not bad, right?" Simon's voice came from behind me, casual, almost bored. I stepped inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpet beneath my feet. "It's breathtaking." My eyes landed on the wall to my left, and I froze. An immense canvas dominated the space—a swirl of blues and golds, abstract but visceral, the kind of painting that made you feel like you were falling into it. "Is that...?" "A Rothko," he said, moving to stand beside me. His shoulder brushed mine. "Original."