Fake Engagement with the Billionaire by Ally Blake

Fake Engagement with the Billionaire by Ally Blake

Author:Ally Blake
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2023-03-08T18:38:16+00:00


* * *

Sawyer pulled back on the rudder, the boat slowing. Then, using lots of fancy radar and autopilot tech, dropped anchor.

After which he leant back against the dash, his feet crossing at the ankles, and looked Petra’s way.

The last time she’d been in the same room as him, he’d nearly kissed her. She was sure of it. She could still feel the heat of his touch. See the intent in his eyes. Feel the press of her heart against her ribs as it yearned for him.

And now she must look like a crazy person, with clown hair, no shoes and a bright yellow safety vest.

She tugged herself free of the thing, swiped her hair off her face, then said, “I’m assuming, judging by the size of this thing, there’s somewhere more civilised we can sit.”

Sawyer pointed to a doorway to the right, leading to a set of internal steps.

Petra left her gear upstairs, made her way down. A kitchen took up one end and a large comfortable-looking couch spread bench-style around the outer rim. Smoky blue windows cut out the glare.

“All this,” she said, waving an arm around, “is not normal, you do realise that?” Then she plonked onto the couch, the exhaustion of the night before, the importance of the meeting that morning and the shock at finding herself the subject of a viral video finally overwhelming her.

Sawyer leant against the bar, hands gripping the bench. “I’d have come get you—”

“I know,” she said, expelling a huff of breath. It must have taken some major self-control for him not to storm the gates and slay the dragon, especially where she was concerned. She appreciated the restraint.

Her gaze swept to his, to find him watching her, his expression wary. Ready for anything. And for the first time since she’d seen the video she wondered how this might all be affecting him.

“Are you okay?” Petra asked.

He blinked, his lashes bussing his cheeks. “I think you’ll find that’s my line.”

“And yet. Are you?”

“I’ll let you know in a minute or two.” Because he was waiting on her, on her reaction to all that had unfolded that morning. “We know the video came from the puffer jacket guy. We know he contacted a footy journo who declined to pay for the footage. So he found a gossip site that would. We’ve approached him and found he’s all apology and contrition. Sheepish, I believe was the term bandied about. I feel confident we’ve seen the last of him.”

Yes, the video itself was a problem. But she’d put that into a box for later, the implications far too vast for her to imagine. All the space in her head had been taken up with figuring out what the heck had been happening in the video in the first place.

She reached into her bag, pulled out the pull tab and flashed it at him as if it were a Watergate tape.

“You kept it,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“I didn’t keep it. The dry-cleaner gave it to me and I forgot to throw it out.



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