Page 41 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

Maybe I read it wrong. Maybe I’m exhausted and seeing things. But the lines, plural, are getting pinker by the second.

This is fine.

Everything is going to be fine.

I’m just working for a man who I had a one-night stand with…

Who is also the father of the child growing inside of me…

And apparently, he’s also my fake fiancé…

I wrote the article that is ruining his life. He doesn’t know about that and will surely fire me when he does. He doesn’t even know who I am, and we are going to be spending every day and night alone together.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 14

Morgan

Conrad- A little bird told me you’re traveling today…

Morgan- What do you want?

Conrad- Why do you always assume I want something? Can’t a guy wish his older brother a safe flight? Oh, and tell your girlfriend I said hi.

I choose to ignore the last part of that text. Mostly because the word flight literally makes my stomach turn. So does the terminal, even if there is less traffic in the private jet wing than in the main terminal. I can still hear the flight information, and there are still people bustling about. I think I just saw Yungblud ordering a beer at the bar. Obviously, I can hear planes landing and taking off about every two minutes.

I don’t answer my brother because I know he is just going to continue giving me shit. Which is only making me more annoyed. My initial annoyance is that our flight takes off in less than thirty minutes and Scarlett is nowhere in sight.

Half of me wonders if she is always late, because that is going to be a problem. The other half of me wonders if she’s even coming at all. If I scared her off with the new clause in our agreement.

“You look like you’re fighting some demons this morning,” Donovan says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Considering the state of my mind, he might as well have pulled me out of a hurricane.

“She’s late,” I state.

“She’ll be here,” Donovan says.

My phone buzzes with another text from Conrad.

Conrad- The internet is buzzing with your personal life, brother. I hope you’ve considered some damage control.

I scowl at that. It’s a passive-aggressive threat.

“The spare still being an ass?” Donovan asks. He likes to use the phrasing, based on British gossip, no doubt. The heir and the spare. Problematically, he is an heir too. And the flood of legal papers in my email this morning are proof that he is trying to crown himself king. He isn’t crying wolf anymore, which makes this project even more detrimental.

“Oh, you know Conrad,” I say, silencing my phone and shoving it back into my pocket. “He’s just looking for any way possible to climb above me on the ladder.”

“He’s going to fall off, you know,” Donovan says. “Is he still threatening to take you to court?”

“It’s not a threat so much anymore,” I tell him, taking a sip of my coffee and then tossing it in the trash. My stomach is too acidic for that right now, even if it is Colombian roast. “He’s pushing to go through with it.”

“Well, we can deal with that when we get back,” he says and I am very grateful I am dragging Donovan along with me. For one, he’s my right-hand man. Where I go, he goes. But also, I didn’t really have to drag him. As soon as we booked the private jet, he was already packing his swim trunks. Donovan is more of a vacation man than I am.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

“That she won’t show? Hell yeah,” I mutter, checking my watch again. Twenty minutes. Where the fuck is she?

“To fly,” he says, and it feels like a stab in my already pissed-off stomach.