My fake Lover: A Bad CEO Story by Olivia Swan

Author:Olivia Swan [Swan, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-23T18:30:00+00:00

19

Max

I hated small talk and had never been good at it. But for my brother’s sake, I had walked through a course of people who all wanted to chat with me. For whatever reason. Most of them I had only seen twice in my life. Some wanted to know what Lizzy’s dress would look like – as if I was the right person to ask – or if Ian was excited, how the food would be, or what was new in New York.

By the time I finally reached him, I was annoyed and just wanted to get back to Ivy. Whenever I was with her, she transmitted her calm and relaxation to me, and by now, I had gotten used to it. Something inside me longed for her laughter, the looks she threw my way, and her mere presence. In order not to have to fathom what that meant, I quickened my steps and reached my brother.

»You look like you need a drink. I think I have just the thing for you, come with me,« Ian said, gesturing in one direction. He was better at politely but firmly fending off people as we left the terrace and walked around the house.

»Not your thing, I know, but I’m glad you’re here,« he said as we walked side by side across the gravel driveway, which was now filled with cars of all kinds. I had no idea my brother knew so many people. While I generally kept my distance from people except for business matters, he attracted them with his demeanor like light attracts moths.

»You’re my brother, of course, I’m here.«

We reached an old barn, and Ian placed his hand on my shoulder so I would give him my attention. He smiled a little uncertainly. »I realized I never really thanked you properly, did I?«

»There’s no need for that.« What was he getting at?

Ian fiddled with a padlock and then slid one of the doors aside. A dust cloud blew out of the dark interior, and I squinted and turned away for a moment as it stole my breath.

»This is my thank you. For everything.« Ian pointed inside, and I took a step forward before he caught up and stepped on something hidden under a white tarp.

»What is this supposed to be?« I asked, and Ian’s grin only grew wider.

»Are you ready?«

»I’m not sure,« I said, and Ian pulled the tarp aside anyway. The shiny chrome paint was the first thing I saw. A rusty grille, four round headlights, a scratch on the hood.

»A Buick Riviera,« I said, and my surprise was followed by laughter. »Where did you get this old clunker?« I walked over and ran my hand flat over the paint.

»It’s your old clunker.«

I looked up, and Ian nodded encouragingly. »That’s right.«

»My Buick?« I looked over the car again. The worn steering wheel, a dark stain on the bench seat that seemed more than familiar to me. »That’s impossible,« I muttered and opened the driver’s door before sliding onto the seat.

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