BILLIONAIRE’S FAKE GIRL
Flour dusted the countertops, eggshells littered the sink, and Noah—billionaire CEO, Noah —was scowling at a bowl of lumpy batter like it had personally offended him.
I bit back a laugh. “Need help?”
He shot me a glare. “I’ve negotiated multi-million-dollar deals. I can handle pancakes.”
“Clearly.”
He flicked batter at me. I retaliated with a handful of flour.
Five minutes later, we were both covered in white powder, laughing like idiots, the pancakes forgotten. Noah caught me around the waist, spinning me against the fridge, his lips finding mine in a kiss that tastes like sugar and recklessness.
I melted into him, my fingers threading through his hair—
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