Alpha Billionaire Series
A Fake Fiancée for Christmas Chapter 6

JACE

Work is crazy the next day and before lunch, my team and I have managed to spin a few stories, including covering up the true tragedy of a country star who hit rock bottom. He was found unconscious in a hotel room surrounded by various drug paraphernalia and a couple of hookers. Now he's heading back to rehab (for the third time), but the public believes he's taking some much-needed R&R because he's suffering from "exhaustion."

Exhaustion.I'm not sure who originally coined that term, but it's a lifesaver and can pretty much cover up any disaster and serve as an explanation no one seems to question when a famous person goes off the radar for a while.

Once things are under control and we've managed to avert disaster, I hole up in my office and shut the door. Even though I've been working nonstop, thoughts of Bailey have been teasing me relentlessly all day. I really want to see her. The urge is actually tremendous and that's not a familiar feeling. Usually, women are reaching out to me and not the other way around.

My intercom buzzes and I hit the speaker button. "Yes?"

Xander, my assistant, says, "I haven't heard back from you about the gala tonight. Will you be attending?"

Gala?I glance over at my In Box on the corner of my desk and spot the waiting invitation. Oh, right. Reaching over, I pluck it up and scan the fancy gold lettering. And all I see is the perfect excuse to see Bailey tonight.

"Yes. Please RSVP for two."

"And who shall I say is your plus one?" "Bailey Briggs," I answer. "Thanks, Xander."

I hang up and I'm glad I didn't decline the invitation last week. To be perfectly honest, I had no intention of going and forgot all about it. Xander does a good job keeping me informed and up to date on my schedule. He's young and hungry which I can appreciate. He's also of the male persuasion which keeps me focused on work. The worst thing a man in my position could do is hire a younger female assistant. I don't need the distraction or temptation. When I come into the office, it's because I'm here to work hard and help my clients who are usually in some kind of sticky predicament. I'm known around the PR world as "The Fixer" for good reason and having some young thing shaking her ass in my office while I'm trying to solve problems isn't healthy or good for business. Guess it's time to test the waters,I think, and pick up my phone to call Bailey.

After a couple of rings, she answers. "Hello, Jace."

The way she says my name affects me instantly. My lower belly clenches and my dick surges against my zipper. "Hello, Bailey," I respond. The sound of her voice is enough to drive me crazy. "I need you tonight."

I hear her swift intake of breath and smirk. She's going to be so much fun to tease.

"There's a gala opening at the museum," I explain, letting her off the hook. "It starts at six and it's Black Tie."

"That sounds nice and all, but there's a bit of a problem."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to need more notice than a few hours to replace a fancy evening gown."

I'm not giving her an option of backing out, so I continue, "Where are you?"

"My office. Why?" she asks, sounding suspicious.

"Because I'm coming to pick you up in 25 minutes and I'll take you to buy a dress."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Don't argue with me. Just be ready when I text you."

For a moment she doesn't say anything. Then, she grumbles, "You're so bossy. That's not a very attractive quality in a boyfriend. Even a fake one."

I guess you're just going to have to replace a way to deal with my bossy nature for the next month."

"I "Maybe you can tone it down a bit."

Hell, I love her sass. No one ever talks back to me or challenges me like she does. I never thought that's something I'd like in a woman I'm dating, but it's making my dick harder. Something about the way Bailey stands up to me instead of bowing down like everyone else is a huge turn on.

"Maybe I will," I say. "But I can't make any promises.

She laughs. "You're really something, you know that?"

So are you, I want to tell her. Instead, I say, "I'll see you in 20 minutes." I disconnect the call then pop up out of my leather chair and head into my large private bathroom. I brush my teeth, run a hand through my hair, smoothing it back, then stare at my reflection for a moment. "You're going to keep this professional," I tell myself. "Completely above board and totally innocent." Of course, there will be affection in public, but not in private. "Not in private." My dick begins to deflate. Sorry, boy, but if you get any action, it's not going to be from Bailey Briggs.

For some reason that makes me frown.

My driver, Ronaldo, gets us over to Head Over Heels in record time. He pulls the Mercedes Maybach up to the curb and I text Bailey that we're here. When she steps out, I open my door, beating Ronaldo and saying, "I got this." Walking around the car, I take in her plaid coat, knee-length skirt and tall brown boots. She looks adorable and the crisp breeze whips her dark brown hair up and around her face. "Hi," I say and open the back door for her. "Hi. Thank you," she says and slips inside.

Moving back around, I slide into the back seat and study her as Ronaldo pulls into traffic, taking us to our first and hopefully only stop on Upper Fifth Avenue. She looks bright-eyed and flushed from the cold weather and my fingers itch to reach out and touch her. But she's not looking at me. Her gaze is moving around the interior of the car. I get the feeling she's never been in a vehicle this luxurious before but, hell, most people haven't. It's a Mercedes-Maybach S-class and starts at $185,000.

"What kind of car is this," she finally asks.

I tell her and she nods.

"Seems a little too fancy," she comments.

"There's no such thing as too fancy when you've got money to burn," I tell her. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but it's the truth. If you've got it, why not travel as comfortably as possible?

"Oh, well, excuuuse me," she drawls. "What was I thinking? I'm sure it's crucial that you have a place to rest your weary head on the commute between your rooftop helipad and your Hamptons estate."

She tosses me a devilish grin and I cross my arms. "I don't have a Hamptons estate," I inform her.

"Cape Cod?" she teases.

I shake my head.

"You didn't deny the helipad."

"That I have."

She laughs. "You really have your own helicopter?"

"Two," I inform her smugly.

Her blue-gray eyes widen. "Why does anyone need two helicopters?" she asks, clearly bemused.

"In case one is getting serviced," I respond.

She arches a brow. "It seems so extravagant."

"If you could avoid sitting in New York traffic, why wouldn't you? I thought they were both extremely reasonable purchases. Besides, my pilot can get me wherever I'm going fast and sometimes that's necessary in my line of work." "You own a PR and Marketing firm."

"Yes, I know. But thank you for reminding me."

"So why would you need to get anywhere fast? It's not like you're a medic or someone's life is on the line."

"That's not exactly true. I save people's lives and reputations every day."

"Hmm," she sniffs.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Nothing. I mean, running your business is important. I get that more than anyone. But I'd never need a helicopter to get me to a client." She chuckles.

I lean closer, pinning her with my eyes. "I agree- there's not an urgency to replace love. At least not for me. However, when my celebrity client is on the verge of being exposed for a mistake they made then I need to step in fast and put a positive spin on the situation. Otherwise, careers could end. So, yeah, it's important."

"A mistake or a bad choice they made?" she asks, holding my gaze, a challenging gleam in her eyes.

"Either."

"Seems to me that if you hold people responsible then they might actually learn their lesson."

"Are you saying you've never made a mistake?"

"Oh, I've made plenty of them." She gives me a look that says I may be her latest mistake. "But I've never had anyone swoop in and lie about it so I come out looking like the victim."

"That's the name of the game, sweetheart," I tell her and settle back against the fine leather upholstery. "Maybe you need to learn to relax a little more."

Even though I don't look at her, I can feel her eyes narrow at me. She didn't like that last comment and annoyed tension vibrates off her.

"Excuse me?"

Instead of answering, I lean over and hit a couple of buttons. Her seat instantly reclines, and the massaging feature comes to life beneath her. She gasps. "What the-" she begins and starts to sit up.

"Just lay back and enjoy it," I tell her.

Against her will, she settles back, and I smirk. Yeah, this car was worth every damn penny. And so were my helos.

I refuse to feel guilty about any of those purchases. Extravagant or not.

"How's that feel?" I ask. The amazing massage she's getting seems to have cooled her jets.

"It's...an excessive feature, don't you think?" she murmurs. A moment later, a small moan escapes from between her lips and I swallow hard.

Shit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"All the best things are," I tell her in a husky voice, unable to look away. Her eyes are closed and she's clearly enjoying it. Unfortunately, so am I. A little too much. Struggling to control the lust surging within me, I force myself to look out the window for the rest of the ride.

Ronaldo arrives at the Gucci boutique and pulls up to the curb. He exits the vehicle and while he's opening my door, Bailey opens her door and steps out. It's clear she's not comfortable being pampered. Well, I'm about to push her right out of her comfort zone here.

Circling around the car, I take her elbow and help her step up onto the sidewalk. Again, she gives me that puzzled look.

"I was coming to open your door," I tell her in an amused voice.

"I think I can handle it."

"That's not the point."

Bailey pauses when she sees the iconic flagship store adjacent to Trump Tower.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"We're going in there?"

She almost sounds nervous. "I promised you some evening gowns so here we are. Would you rather we go somewhere else? Prada? Chanel?" Shit, maybe I should've taken her straight to Chanel. Every woman goes gaga over those double C's. "No, it's not that."

When she doesn't elaborate, I lean closer and get a whiff of her delicious vanilla scent. "I buy a lot of my suits here, so I know the employees. But if you'd like to go to another shop-"

"No, this is just..." Her voice trails off. "A little intimidating," she finally admits.

"I've got you," I say and squeeze her elbow. A guard stands at the door and opens it for us. "Thank you, Max."

"How're you doing, Mr. Montgomery?" he asks.

"Doing well. How about yourself?"

"Can't complain. Welcome back."

I give him a nod and Delilah, the sales associate, hurries over.

"Hello, Mr. Montgomery. And you must be Bailey. I'm Delilah and welcome to Gucci. I can't wait to show you the dresses I chose for you to try on. And, Mr. Montgomery, I have your seat and champagne ready. Miss Briggs, would you like a glass?" "I'm fine, thank you."

I slant Bailey a look. "You can pour her a glass, Delilah, and I'll hang onto it in case she changes her mind."

"Bossy," Bailey mouths soundlessly to me and my mouth edges up.

"Of course," Delilah says. "Come with me, Miss Briggs."

I watch Bailey disappear into a large fitting room and I reach for the champagne and take a sip. I have no idea what dresses Delilah chose, and I lean back in the comfortable chair. But one thing is certain- I am in no way prepared for the stunning beauty that steps out of the dressing room a few minutes later.

Holy. Hell.

I sit up, lean forward and my gaze slowly slides down the slinky gold gown. Bailey looks like some kind of Grecian goddess and my pulse thunders. She does a shy, little turn and gives me an unsure half-smile.

"What do you think?" she tentatively asks.

"You look absolutely..." Hell, the words catch in my throat. "Beautiful."

A blush stains her cheeks, but I can see her confidence soar. "It's the most gorgeous gown I've ever worn."

"Well, you have a ton more to try on," Delilah says breezily, ushering her back to the changing room. "No need to make any rash decisions."

They head back into the dressing room and my gaze dips. The silky gold material hugs each curve perfectly and it's so low in the back that I nearly forget to breathe. That ass of hers is pure perfection and I lift the glass of champagne to my lips and take a healthy swig.

How I'm ever going to sit here while Bailey prances around in front of me in six more sexy dresses without a hard-on breaking through my zipper is beyond me.

God, give me strength,I think, and shift in my seat, struggling to get more comfortable.