FAKE FIANCÉE FOR MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

I'm running late. Again.

Cursing under my breath, I dodge through the crowded lobby of Vinz Hotels' flagship location, my heels click-clacking against the marble floor like a timer counting down to my doom.

Like I need another thing to stress about today.

"Morning, Penny!" chirps Jake from the front desk. "Cutting it close, aren't you?"

I flash him a harried smile. "Save me a muffin from the breakfast bar?"

He winks. "Already set one aside for you. Blueberry, right?"

"You're a lifesaver!" I call over my shoulder, already rushing towards the elevators.

The glossy doors slide open, revealing my reflection. I wince. My usually sleek brown hair is slightly frizzed, and there are shadows under my green eyes that even my trusty concealer couldn't quite hide. But my coral blouse is wrinkle-free and my pencil skirt hugs my curves in all the right places. It'll have to do.

I smooth my hair and straighten my spine as the elevator climbs. No matter how chaotic my personal life might be, I refuse to let it affect my work. As Head of Events for one of the most prestigious hotel chains in the country, I've got a reputation to maintain.

Even if that reputation includes working for the most infuriatingly handsome man I've ever met.

The elevator dings, depositing me on the top floor. I power-walk towards the conference room, my mind already racing through today's to-do list. There's the charity gala next month, the summer wedding expo to coordinate, not to mention-

"Ms. Goodman."

I freeze, one hand on the conference room door. That voice. Deep, smooth, and cold as ice. It sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I turn. "Good morning, Mr. Floyd."

Vincent Floyd stands a few feet away, looking like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. His charcoal suit is impeccably tailored, emphasizing broad shoulders and a trim waist. A blood-red tie provides the only splash of color. His brown hair is artfully tousled, and those deep-set eyes regard me with their usual inscrutable expression.

Don't think about those eyes. Or those hands. Or that mouth...

I shake my head slightly, banishing the unwelcome thoughts. "I was just heading into the meeting."

"So I see." Is it my imagination, or does his gaze linger a moment too long? "Try not to make a habit of arriving at the last minute, Ms. Goodman. It sets a poor example for the rest of the staff."

My cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and annoyance. "Of course, Mr. Floyd. It won't happen again."

He nods curtly and brushes past me into the conference room, the scent of his cologne-sandalwood and something spicy-teasing my senses. I allow myself a moment to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Get it together, Penelope. He's your boss, remember? Your incredibly hot, incredibly arrogant boss who you happened to have mind-blowing sex with once upon a time. Ancient history. Never to be repeated.

Squaring my shoulders, I follow Vincent into the lion's den.

________________________________________

Two hours later, I slump at my desk, feeling like I've gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. These quarterly review meetings always leave me drained, but today was especially brutal.

I pull up my calendar, groaning at the sea of color-coded appointments stretching endlessly before me. Someday, I promise myself, I'm going to take a real vacation. Preferably on a tropical beach. With unlimited margaritas.

My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mom.

> How did Reece's appointment go? Everything okay?

Reality comes crashing back. Shit. I'd been so caught up in work drama that I'd almost forgotten about my sister's doctor visit this morning. Guilt gnaws at my insides as I tap out a quick reply.

> Sorry, got stuck in a meeting. Calling her now.

I hesitate for a moment before dialing Reece's number. Part of me wants to put it off, to live in blissful ignorance for a few more minutes. But I've never been one to bury my head in the sand.

She picks up on the third ring. "Hey, sis! I was wondering when you'd call."

"Sorry, crazy morning," I say, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. "How'd it go?"

There's a pause, just long enough to make my stomach clench. "Well, the good news is, I'm not dead yet."

"Reece." My voice carries a warning note. At twenty-four, my baby sister still hasn't outgrown her morbid sense of humor. Usually I find it endearing, but not when it comes to her health.

She sighs. "Okay, okay. The doc says the new treatment is showing some promise, but..." Another pause. "They want to try a more aggressive approach. It's experimental, but they think it could really help."

Experimental. The word hangs in the air between us, loaded with hope and fear in equal measure.

"And the cost?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Don't worry about that," Reece says quickly. "I'll figure something out. Maybe I can pick up some more hours at the library, or-"

"Absolutely not," I cut her off. "You need to focus on getting better, not working yourself into the ground. I've got this, okay?"

"Pen..." Her voice wavers. "You've already done so much. The house, the medical bills... I can't ask you to take on more."

My throat tightens. "You're not asking, I'm offering. That's what big sisters are for, remember?"

We chat for a few more minutes, carefully avoiding any more talk of money or mortality. By the time we hang up, I feel hollowed out, like someone's scooped out my insides with a icecream scoop.

I lean back in my chair, staring unseeing at the LA skyline outside my window. The numbers dance in my head, a grim calculation I've become all too familiar with lately.

Between the mortgage on our new house-the dream home I'd promised Mom and Reece years ago-and the mounting medical bills, my savings account is looking decidedly anemic these days. I'm already working every event I can get my hands on, plus freelancing on the side. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

A knock at my office door jolts me out of my spiral. "Come in," I call, hastily wiping my eyes.

Jake pokes his head in, brandishing a blueberry muffin like a peace offering. "Thought you could use this. Rough meeting?"

I manage a weak smile. "You have no idea."

He saunters in and plops down in the chair across from my desk. "Want to talk about it?"

For a moment, I'm tempted. Jake's been my work bestie since I started at Vinz Hotels five years ago. He's seen me through breakups, family drama, and more than one Vincent-induced meltdown. But I can't bring myself to unload all of this on him. Not now.

"Thanks, but I'm good," I say, accepting the muffin gratefully. "Just typical end-of-quarter stress, you know?"

Jake's eyes narrow slightly. He knows me too well to buy that excuse, but he doesn't push. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be drowning my sorrows in overpriced cocktails at Murphy's later. You're welcome to join."

"Rain check?" I ask. "I've got a mountain of work to get through."

He stands, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passes. "Don't work too hard, Penny. The hotel will still be standing tomorrow, I promise."

As the door clicks shut behind him, I allow myself a moment to slump forward, forehead resting on my desk. Get it together, Goodman. Pity parties don't pay the bills.

With a deep breath, I sit up and reach for my planner. There has to be a solution here. Maybe I can pick up some more freelance gigs, or see about getting a raise...

My eyes land on the date circled in red, two months from now: the Summer Solstice Gala, Vinz Hotels' biggest charity event of the year. I've been planning it for months, calling in every favor and connection I've made over the years to make it the must-attend event of the season.

A crazy idea starts to take shape. The gala always attracts high-rollers, eager to flaunt their wealth for a good cause. If I could somehow wiggle my way onto the guest list instead of working behind the scenes...

No. I shake my head, banishing the thought. It's too risky. If Vincent found out, I'd be fired faster than you can say "gross misconduct."

Still... desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up the event details on my computer. Maybe I can discreetly ask around, see if anyone needs a plus-one for the night. It's not like I'd be doing anything wrong, exactly. Just networking. Aggressively.

I'm so engrossed in my schemes that I almost miss the ping of an incoming email. My heart drops when I see the sender: Vincent Floyd.

Great. What fresh hell is this?

Bracing myself, I click open the message.

Ms. Goodman,

Please see me in my office immediately. We have an urgent matter to discuss.

-V. Floyd

I stare at the screen, a cold sweat breaking out along my hairline. In the three years I've worked directly under Vincent, I can count on one hand the number of times he's summoned me to his office like this. It's never been for anything good.

As I stand on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt and checking my reflection on my phone screen, a memory bubbles up unbidden...

________________________________________

*Two Years Ago*

The annual New Year's Eve party is in full swing, and the hotel's grand ballroom has been transformed into a winter wonderland. I weave through the crowd, clipboard in hand, making sure everything is running smoothly.

"Champagne, miss?"

I turn, coming face-to-face with Vincent Floyd himself. He's holding out a flute of bubbly, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The sight nearly stops me in my tracks.

Damn. I knew objectively that my boss was attractive, but seeing him like this-bow tie slightly askew, a faint flush on his cheeks-is doing funny things to my insides.

"I probably shouldn't," I demur. "Still on the clock, you know."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I won't tell if you won't."

Maybe it's the infectious energy of the party. Maybe it's the way his eyes seem to smolder in the low lighting. Or maybe I'm just tired of being the responsible one all the time. Whatever the reason, I find myself accepting the glass.

"To a successful event," Vincent says, clinking his flute against mine. "You've outdone yourself, Ms. Goodman."

I feel myself blushing at the rare praise. "Thank you, Mr. Floyd. I'm glad you're pleased."

"Penelope." My name rolls off his tongue like honey, sending a shiver down my spine. "I think, just for tonight, you can call me Vincent."

One drink turns into two, then three. We find a quiet corner, away from the crush of the party, and suddenly I'm seeing a whole new side of my usually stoic boss. He's funny and charming, even regaling me with stories of his travels and listening with genuine interest as I talk about my family.

I'm not sure who moves first. One moment, we're laughing about some ridiculous demand from a bridezilla client, and the next, his lips are on mine, hot and insistent. I know I should push him away, but instead I find myself melting into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of heated touches and suppressed moans. When I wake up the next morning in Vincent's bed, head pounding and shame burning in my gut, I slip out before he stirs.

We never speak of that night again.

________________________________________

I shake off the memory as I approach Vincent's office, my heart hammering against my ribs. It's probably nothing, I tell myself. Just some last-minute changes to the gala, or...

But deep down, I know better. Whatever's waiting for me behind that door, it's going to change everything.

Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to knock.