Serena James Chase

Will sent her five text messages since her plane landed, but it was her billionaire client, Alan Mitchell, who called her first.

“Hi Alan,” Bri said in a singsong voice as she stalked the luggage carousel for her suitcase.

“I got an alert that your flight arrived on time,” he said. “I wanted to make sure you got in okay.”

Bri shook her head. The idea of Alan tracking her progress as she flew back from Vegas tickled her. Considering how much of a Type A personality he was, she figured he’d spend his weekends plugged into whatever systems financial gurus like him used to make their money, terrified he’d miss out on a potential goldmine once Monday rolled around.

“Thanks,” she said, allowing her smile to grow. “You know, you could’ve just texted me.”

“You know, you could’ve flown back with me instead and avoided all the long lines and the baggage claim.”

Bri rolled her eyes as the conveyor belt spat out two more suitcases that didn’t belong to her.

“I’m happy flying commercial. Besides I’ve seen how the other half lives a million times now. It’s not worth the carbon footprint.”

“You always so sunny on Saturdays?” Alan said in a wry tone. She didn’t respond. Bri sighed, still waiting for her bag to make its appearance. “I’ve taken care of all the details for our trip. Fair warning, though. When I visit my offices, it’s just like any other day. I work long hours, so except for the party, you’re going to be on your own most of the time.”

It wasn’t a lot, but from what she knew of Alan Mitchell, he was a determined man. Her agent, Cassandra Redding, described him as a business titan. “You don’t stand in the way of men like him, Brianna,” she told her. Then Cass handed her the contract she drafted with input from Alan. Now, instead of going out on dates with a handful of clients, for the next twelve months, Alan Mitchell was the only man she’d have sex with—for money that is.

“Bri?” Alan said after a while.

Refocusing, she asked, “Any chance I can visit the Louvre while we’re there?”

Alan chuckled. “Why don’t we keep things local this trip?”

This trip? He tended to do that. Speak about their pretend relationship in the long term. Alan joined Cassandra’s sex club for…well, sex, of course. Initially, he wanted her for companionship while he was in Manhattan. Soon after, he started begging her to fly with him to London on an upcoming business trip. Then he wanted her to enter an exclusive arrangement with him. One where she’d play the part of his girlfriend. Alan needed her to act as a wedge between him and his ex-fiancée who is also his current Managing Director at the London division of his company. She would meet Paloma for herself in a few days, but from all appearances, the woman didn’t seem like a pushover.

She was sure the one-year contract she signed had an exit clause should one or both of them wanted out. Bri would know if she’d bothered to read it before she signed.

She heard Alan sigh, then he said, “Perhaps if there’s time, we can swing by Paris, all right?”

He must’ve mistaken her silent musing for disappointment.

“Okay,” she said, grinning.

When she was in high school, Bri lost out on an art sponsorship to Paris. She missed the opportunity to draw and paint in the most romantic city in France. Missed her chance to wander through the museum on tours during the day and go partying in clubs at night. As soon as she saved enough money, she booked a hotel and flew out for two weeks. There was no way she’d turn down an opportunity to go back, especially with Alan Mitchell at her side. Who knew what exclusive corner of the Lourve he could get her into.

Definitely a perk of having a billionaire fake boyfriend.