The Billionaire’s Second Chance - Weston Parker
Fake it with me.
That’s what he wanted. My best friend’s brother.
Oh, you know the one.
Tall. Messy brown hair. Rich as hell.
And my ex-boyfriend that I let go years ago to give him freedom to make something of himself.
But the past is the past, and honestly, I’m broke.
I could use a pick-me-up, and his offer not only helps my pocketbook, but lets me get some points with my best friend too.
Did I mention the man is hot enough to melt me and every other woman in the room? *girly sigh*
Besides, his career as a Hollywood producer is on the line. And I’m a good person. Sometimes.
Sticking it to his lying, cheating fiancée is something I’m 100% down for.
I didn’t give him up to have some floozy tear his heart out and ruin his future.
So fake it, I must.
Until I can’t. My head knows it isn’t real, but my heart?
I’m falling hard. Again. He’s always been the one.
Time to give my fake billionaire boyfriend a second chance.
Or is it?
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To my beautiful wife, Katie. Thank you for your support in this crazy life. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Glad you’re mine.
Loud music filled the club. The deep and thunderous bassline interfered with the natural rhythm of my heartbeat. There was a reason why Los Angeles set the gold standard for nightlife across the globe, and at the moment, this club was an excellent example of that reason.
A smoky haze from machines I couldn’t see hung in the air, and scantily clad bodies emerged from it like wraiths. They laughed, danced, and sashayed their way around the room like they were all celebrities in their own right.
Although to be fair, most of them were. The Vault wasn’t a club one could simply walk into. It was guarded by an honest-to-fuck bank-vault door straight from the nineteen twenties, and no one made it past that door without a well-known name, the right connections, or the exorbitant amount of money charged for cover.
Dave and I were spread out in our regular booth near the bar. The ceilings were low, the chairs padded, and the place still gave off a distinct air of carrying the closely guarded secrets and riches it used to hold back when it was the actual vault.
The room we were in had been refurbished, but it was surrounded by the very same four walls that had once been the only witnesses to the contents of the safety-deposit boxes that had belonged to the city’s most notorious and famous residents.
“Alright, people!” the DJ hollered into his microphone. “It’s just past midnight and you know what that means. Everyone whose ass is still sober needs to grab another round, and everyone else needs to grab a partner. I wanna see you set fire to this dance floor.”
Dave, my best friend and best man in my upcoming nuptials, rolled his eyes behind the wood-framed glasses on his nose. “Too bad Angelina isn’t here, huh? It must suck to be engaged to one of the most beautiful women on the planet and still be sitting here with your dick in your hand as your only dance partner.”
I smirked, clapping him on the shoulder and inclining my head toward the premium bottle of vodka on our table. “I came out for a night on the town with you. I’m here to drink and play wingman, not get my rocks off with some nameless groupie who spent her entire salary to pay the cover.”
“Ahh, yes. The groupies. How could I forget that I’m out with the William Kent, latest hotshot producer for Netflix and the Hollywood bad boy every girl dreams about?” He rolled his eyes so far back in his head that I was pretty sure he’d caught a glimpse of his spine. “The infamous playboy who broke vaginas the world over when he announced his engagement to the lust of his life.”
“I think the phrase you were looking for was that I broke hearts the world over when I announced my engagement to the love of my life.” I laughed. “And haven’t you heard? My reputation as a playboy has been slipping in the three months since that announcement. Some even consider me boring now.”
He rocked his head from side to