The Player + The Pact = I Do (New York City Billionaires #2)

Chapter 10

TEN

Jules

I’ve compromised on my outfit today. I’m not wearing a trash bag, and I’m not wearing heels so sharp they could cut steak. I have a black pencil skirt with a kitten heel, a little makeup, and my hair down. Leo agreed to think about me being manager of The Mayfair in return for being his fake fiancée. And I’m hoping his answer is yes. If not, it’s back to my Hillary suits and recruitment websites. I’ll have to start applying for shift manger roles. I won’t be able to go back to The Mayfair.

I’ve only just sat down at my desk when the outer office door opens and Leo appears. He sighs when he sees me. That can’t be a good sign.

“Come into my office,” he says.

That’s even worse. He didn’t even say good morning.

Without saying a word, I follow him and sit in the chair opposite his desk.

“I’ve been thinking about everything.” His tone is somber and my heart falls into my stomach. Leo is charming, and cutthroat at times, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him somber. “I’ve given a lot of thought to what I need from a fiancée—a fake fiancée. And from a manager of The Mayfair. And… I have a proposition for you.”

My heart leaps up like a meerkat checking its surroundings. I’m tempted to launch myself across the desk and tell him whatever it is, I agree, but I manage to hold myself back.

“I’m prepared to give you a trial as manager of The Mayfair—” I know there’s a condition about to follow, but I want to let off confetti bombs and hug the shit out of him. “It will be a fair trial. You don’t have previous experience”—I start to interrupt him, but he silences me with a raised eyebrow and continues—“as a general manager. I appreciate you have a lot of other experience. And you also have ambition and drive, both of which go a long way.”

“I won’t let you down,” I say. “You’re going to give me that job permanently when my trial is over.”

“That is my hope and expectation. As you correctly point out, I have neither the time nor inclination to begin a search for a replacement for Louis.”

I nod. “And I will find you another assistant.”

“I know you will.” He smirks at me. “But you’re right, your first job is to find me an assistant who’s at least as good at your job as you are.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth and shake my head. “Not sure that’s achievable.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and I do my best not to smile. Grinning at each other is not our MO. We are brusque and professional. That’s how it should stay.

“Then we come to the matter of our engagement.”

I nod, setting my mouth in a thin line, so he knows I mean business .

He slides some papers over to my side of the desk. “This is an NDA, which I require you to sign.”

I click the top of my pen and flick over to the last of five pages, sign it, and slide it back to him.

“You haven’t read it,” he says.

“I really want this job,” I reply.

“You need to be aware of your obligations in terms of what I need you to keep confidential.”

“I’m aware.”

He closes his eyes in a long, irritated blink, like he’s trying to compose himself or he’ll launch across the desk and strangle me.

I slide the NDA back to my side of the desk and start to read.

It all seems perfectly reasonable. Apparently everything he tells me in relation to the engagement is confidential. I’m not allowed to tell anyone that it’s not real.

“So I can’t tell my mom?”

He shakes his head.

“My mom ?”

“Jules, we all know that your mother won’t knowingly let the cat out of the bag. But her friends will no doubt find out you’re engaged and congratulate her. She’ll feel awkward or just not as excited as they’ll expect, and then doubt and suspicion will follow. Lies, deceit, revealing secrets. It’s a line of dominoes that only requires a touch of a finger to fall.”

I can’t argue with anything he’s saying, but the thought of lying to my mom fills me up to my neck with molasses.

“Does she have to know? Maybe I can just skirt over the entire thing?”

“Are you close with your mother?” Leo asks. I’ve never seen him so serious. He’s like a shark—all cold and dead in the eyes. I guess that’s how the rich get rich—they see the endgame and are laser-focused on the kill.

“Yes, I’m close with my mom.”

“You wouldn’t forget to tell her if you’d met the love of your life and you were getting married, then?”

I sigh. “No, but?—”

“This needs to be authentic. I appreciate that it’s an unusual request. If anyone were to find out that this was an arranged engagement… I have no wish to be the subject of ridicule.”

I don’t know if it’s the Brit in him, but he has these oddly Bridgertonian turns of phrase, and I’m one hundred percent here for it. It’s adorable. I realize I’m smiling and wince. I’m not supposed to be finding any part of Leo Hart adorable. These little language quirks are strange and old-fashioned and probably mean he can’t fuck. But he has BDE, that’s for damn sure.

“I get it,” I say. My mom won’t like that I lied to her, but I hope she understands when I’m able to explain everything eventually. If I’m ever able to explain everything. Maybe I should take a second pass over this NDA.

“I want to go through what I’ll need from you in terms of the engagement,” he says.

Beyond wearing a ring and looking like I’m in love with him the night of the awards, I don’t see how there’s much to discuss.

“I want to do a formal announcement.” He sounds awkward as he says it, like he’s conflicted.

“What kind of formal announcement?”

“A notice in The Times .”

My eye widen in shock. “ The New York Times ?” I ask.

He fixes me with a stare. “No, the El Dorado Times . We want to make sure the good people of Kansas know we’re making it official.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. I’ve never gotten to see this side of him before. At least, not at the office.

“So you want to announce in The Times that we’re getting married. And we barely know each other.”

“If I were actually getting married, I’d make an announcement. It will be suspicious if I don’t.”

“Why would you, though?” I ask.

He goes to speak and then stops himself. His silence isn’t aggressive, just contemplative.

“Maybe because I’d want to shout from the rooftops that I was in love. Maybe I’d just want the attention and free publicity.”

I laugh again, and he raises his eyebrows in a silent gesture that says, I know this is ridiculous . And if he does, why is he so set on having a pretend girlfriend? Not a girlfriend, but a fiancée.

“You’ve thought this through, and this is definitely the route you want to take?” I ask.

“Are you getting cold feet?” he asks. “I haven’t even bought the ring.”

A sonorous chime rings deep in my belly and I try my best to push it away. I know it’s not wedding bells. Maybe they’re the bells of doom?

“L. O. L,” I reply sarcastically. “I’ve agreed to be your fiancée. I just want to make sure you’ve explored all your options. You haven’t really explained why it’s so important to you.”

“And I won’t. Is that a problem for you?” He sounds like one of those uptight, arrogant assholes from Bridgerton again. One minute he’s all charm and jokes, and the next, he’s looking at me like he’s plotting my murder. “All you need to know is that it’s important to me and I need for it to be believable. More than believable.”

“So, I can’t tell a soul it’s an arrangement. And you want to make an announcement.”

“Right.”

It’s more than I expected or wanted. And I think it’s more complicated than he’s considered. Engagements don’t happen out of the blue.

“And we’re not living together, never been seen out together, have no pictures on each other’s social media because…?” I’m not trying to be difficult, but for a clever dude, he hasn’t really thought this through.

He pulls in a breath and sighs resignedly. “You’re right. This is more complicated than I first thought.”

Shit, I don’t want him to go off the idea. If he decides he doesn’t want a fake fiancée, then he’s got no incentive to give me a shot at The Mayfair.

“It’s fine. I can deal with all that.”

“How?”

How indeed. “Well, you have various invitations in your inbox. Not only for business stuff, but social gatherings. Like the opening of The Vault—a new restaurant in SoHo. We could do that together.” I’m scrambling, digging myself a mammoth hole I’m not sure there’s a way out of. But I really want this job. “I’m sure there are some other events between now and the awards ceremony where we can make appearances.”

“I don’t have social media,” he says. “Other than my official Instagram, which is business focused.”

“So it makes sense I wouldn’t be on there.” I’ve seen that Insta page. There’s nothing personal on it.

“What about your social media?” he asks.

“I don’t really post,” I reply. “Not regularly, anyway. But I could throw up a couple of pictures of us at these events we’ll go to.” My friends will want to know immediately who he is. “I’ll tell my friends you’re really private, so we’ve kept our relationship quiet. Totally believable.”

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t disagree.

“And then we’ll say we’re apartment hunting, and when we find something we both like, we’ll move in together,” I say.

“No,” he says. “That’s not going to work. Where do you live?”

“New Jersey.”

He laughs, and I want to deliver a short, sharp kick to his shin. New Jersey’s nothing to laugh about. It’s got good transport nearby and living there means Sophia and I can afford a place with two bathrooms.

“There’s no way you’d continue to commute if we were going to live together eventually. And also, we work in fucking real estate. If we were apartment hunting, everyone would know.”

I wince. He’s probably right. I start to say, “I’ll call your broker and go out on some viewings.”

But I don’t get the whole sentence out because at the same time, Leo says, “You’ll move into my apartment.”

Now I laugh. When he doesn’t so much as smirk, I realize he’s serious.

“You want me to move? Like, out of my apartment and in with you?” There’s no way. I agreed to go to an awards dinner. This arrangement is spiraling.

“Temporarily,” he says. “Like you say, if we were really engaged, we’d be living together.”

“No way. There’s no need. We can say you’re old-fashioned?—”

“I’m not,” he cuts me off. “This has to be believable.”

He’s not wrong, but I didn’t agree to upend my entire life. “Who’s going to know? I’m going to be working at The Mayfair, so it’s not like we have to arrive to work together.”

“I don’t want there to be any chance of anyone discovering this isn’t real. You moving in is a deal breaker for me.”

Deal breaker? So it’s this or I don’t get my chance at managing The Mayfair? That doesn’t seem fair. But what choice do I have? “For how long?”

“We have a month until the awards ceremony.”

A month? It’s all I can do to keep seated and not race out of the office, pack up my shit, and start searching LinkedIn for other jobs. There’s no way I can live with him for a month.

Can I?

For the job I’ve always wanted? To make my mom proud? To show her girls like her and me can do anything we set our minds to, just like she always told me?

I remember the last time my dad left. I was old enough to understand that we didn’t have much money and it was going to be difficult financially for us. Looking back, she must have been terrified that she wasn’t going to be able to make ends meet. But she did what she always did—she made it work. And that’s what I have to do now.

“A month,” I say. “And we break up right after the awards ceremony?”

“Maybe you go back to your place because you need some space. But the engagement’s still on for a couple of weeks.”

“But wouldn’t I have sublet my apartment?” I’m trying to find flaws in the plan, because I want to know what I’m getting myself into from the get-go.

Leo looks puzzled. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m rich as fuck. Why would you need to sublet your apartment?”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll move in over the weekend. You have a separate bedroom, right?”

“I have four guest bedrooms. You’re welcome to any of them. Or all of them.”

“Because, like, there’s not going to be a reason to share a bed, is there?”

“I can’t think of one,” he says.

He’s not getting it. I’m not talking about sharing a bed. I’m trying to say to him that sex isn’t part of the deal. He hasn’t given me any reason to think that he thinks it is, but I need to be sure before I move my stuff into his place.

“Because this is a strictly professional relationship. There’s no… like the engagement isn’t, you know… you don’t have any physical expectations.”

His eyes grow saucer-wide and his mouth drops open. “No,” he says hurriedly. “I’m not expecting anything physical from you.”

It’s not that I’m disappointed—I’m definitely not. Leo Hart is exactly the kind of guy I don’t want to date, or get engaged to, but he was a little too effusive in his reply.

Maybe he sees my conflicted feelings, because he adds, “Not because you’re not attractive, it’s just?—”

I cut him off with a groan. “No, don’t say anything more. It will only get more awkward. Let’s leave it at we’re going to pretend to be engaged until just after the awards ceremony, but we’re not going to have sex.”

“Ever,” he says, relief spilling out of him. “Guaranteed.”

“Perfect,” I say, my tone a little tighter than normal.