The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée Read online

  The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée

  Imani King Presents

  Simone Rivers

  Imani King

  Copyright © 2019 by Simone Rivers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To learn more about Simone Rivers, visit her website: https://www.simonerivers.com

  Join Simone on Facebook: facebook.com/SimoneRiversAuthor

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Also by Simone Rivers

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Lawyers always say that if you represent yourself in court, you’ve got a fool for a client.

  Do you know when else you’ve got a fool for a client?

  When the guy you represent tells the judge you’re his fiancée!

  Oh hell no. I just met this a**hole yesterday in the jail cell he got himself into after screwing a fangirl on the floor of a casino and punching out a cop.

  This isn’t exactly the kind of case I’d dreamed of taking on when I was in law school. But my daughter and I need the money, and this billionaire has lots of it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win.

  If only my damn client would cooperate! He seems to think that getting me into his bed is more important than staying out of jail.

  There’s no way I’m letting him get close enough to put a ring on my finger, let alone his…um…

  Oh my God, it’s somehow even bigger than looked in the tabloids!

  So much is on the line. The entire country is watching. Keeping things professional is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire career.

  Because Riker is used to getting what he wants.

  A man like him doesn’t play by the rules.

  And he’s decided that he doesn’t want a fake fiancée.

  He wants to make this real.

  1

  Riker

  The sensation of hot, wet lips around my cock threatens to take me out of reality for a second, but I refuse to give in. This is too good to miss.

  “Oh, Riker,” she mouths, tongue sliding on my shaft. “My Lord. You’re so good, my Lord.”

  I lean back, sculling the last of my bourbon in one gulp. My name is on every billboard on almost every building. I have roughly three billion followers spread across multiple social media accounts. Everyone wants me.

  Including gorgeous, giving creatures like this girl here. I picked her up out on the casino floor somewhere. I’m so drunk, all I remember is blonde hair, big tits, and a red dress.

  I can’t recall her name. Did she even give it to me? Fuck knows. I’ve been drinking since about ten am, and this is the third time I’ve brought an eager fan to my private booth in the club.

  As my devoted follower leans forward, swallowing my massive cock right to the end of her throat, I bend at the waist. One hand slips down to the back of her head. I use a little pressure to keep that bobbing motion nice and tight. She’s gasping around my cock, wriggling a little. I know she’s getting wet for me. She’s fucking dripping just having my huge hard cock hitting the back of her throat.

  She clamps the head between her lips suddenly, running her tongue around the creases. I take a short, sharp breath, my arousal peaking. Then, the awesome little penitent grabs my balls.

  I thrust my hips forward, sliding to the end of her throat in one stroke and blowing my load as hard as I can. She keeps her lips and tongue pumping the whole time, swallowing every drop. As I draw my cock back, running it over her lips, she sits back, eyes closed and a little happy smile on her face.

  As I straighten up and fix my fly, one of the security officers at the entrance to the VIP section slips me a thumbs up. I salute back. He’s enjoying his job watching the billionaire playboy. He’s making tons of tips and meeting all the hottest chicks.

  Even if they do only have eyes for me.

  “Oh, Riker. I mean, my Lord. Can we fuck? Please, I need it.”

  I reach down and take her cheek, smiling.

  “Look at you. On your knees, worshipping your Lord. I tell you what. We might get together later. Give me your number, okay? I’ve really got an important meeting to get to. You know how it is.”

  “Oh. Okay. I guess so.”

  “So.” I give her a blank look, waving my hand. “Go.”

  She gets up slowly. “What about my number? Don’t you want it?”

  “Give it to my security guard.” I pull out my phone, tapping it open, mentally dismissing her.

  “Oh. Okay. Bye then.”

  “Yeah, see you Karen.”

  “It’s Katie.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter to myself, absorbed in my new messages.

  It’s all good news, but when isn’t it? More followers, more money, more parties.

  Life is fucking great.

  I head out on to the casino floor again, tipping my security guy. I’ve forgotten his name too, but that hardly matters. I’ll probably see at least three of them today, moving in and out of the VIP section.

  I don’t know what time it is—maybe late afternoon? I started drinking at a poker game this morning, heavy shit, more than money at stake on that table. After cleaning them all out, I brought us rounds and hit the VIP section with Wanda—or was it Winry?

  I met Karen or whoever when I hit the dice tables. Trying to figure how much time I’ve been gambling, drinking or getting my cock sucked is doing my head in. All I know is I’m on one hell of a bender, and I don’t plan to stop anytime soon.

  I take a wander around the floor. I’ve done some cards. I’ve done some dice. I’ve hit the sports section and chilled out at the bar just checking out the talent.

  I know what I need to do next, the one thing I haven’t done yet. Slots.

  I head into the busy little aisles, watching people hitting buttons and cranking handles. Lots of different kinds of machines and games. Some are simple, others are not. Some people have really parked themselves, set up with food, drink, and ashtrays. They stare into their screens with enough effort to break down a billion-dollar tax return.

  I don’t want anything that complicated. I’m here to have fun. As I spin around, I catch sight of some brightly animated tits.

  I head over to the little machine, decorated with busy mermaids. They all have blue tails, red smiles, and huge racks. This looks like fun.

  I hit a few buttons and start to play. It takes a moment to get into it, and I decide I want to get three golden mermaids. Top score.

  For the
first few minutes, I start to get bored at the shimmering mermaids and their accessories. I think I’ll head back over to dice. Gambling is better with other drunk people.

  I pull one more chip out of my pocket—which is full of them—and lock it in, pushing the button.

  I get up from my seat, pausing to see the result, just for kicks.

  And there she is. Three golden mermaids.

  With a ridiculous yell, I stick my hands under the flying chips. What did I say about lady luck following me everywhere I go? I just can’t lose.

  A couple of people nearby see the flying chips and start picking them up. I laugh out loud, watching them scramble behind the machines.

  “Here you go!” I yell as loud as I can, hurling fistfuls at them. People leap off their stools, jumping to the ground to grab the flying chips. I laugh so hard I have to sit down, getting hit by the pieces still spewing out of the machine.

  I have no idea how much I’ve won, but those are ten-thousand-dollar chips making an avalanche here.

  I fill my hands again, sniggering as I stand up. People are still hurrying over and looking down, flinging themselves to the floor when they see the loose chips. I hurl a few handfuls more, filling my hands and then tossing them into the crowd.

  Right up the back, I see my security guy running up. I’m surprised he’s eager to get in on this—haven’t I paid him enough today?

  To my surprise, he pulls a face, jerking his hand back and forth in front of his neck. Slasher motion. Stop. Why? I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I want that fucker to bring me a drink.

  I lean over, grabbing another handful of chips and tossing them high. New people running upstart tripping over the people already on the floor. I’m laughing so hard I almost fall off my stool. To my surprise, a firm hand steadies me, pushing my weight back against the machine.

  “You alright there, sir?”

  “Yes, I am, thank you. No, wait. I need a drink. Tequila. Quick as you like. Oh, and don’t forget to address me as ‘My Lord.’ I thought you guys were briefed on this.”

  “We were, indeed, Mr. Lord, your majesty.” His tone is hard, and I realize he still hasn’t let go of my arm. His grip is quite firm.

  I swing my feet towards the floor, trying to turn towards him and ask who the fuck he thinks he is when he yanks me straight.

  “Hey!”

  “I suggest you come quietly, Mr. Lord. You don’t want this on your Instagram account. Or do you? I don’t know shit about those things.”

  “What the fuck is going on—” Finally, I blink my eyes into some kind of focus. The blue of the uniform finally registers.

  “Oh, shit. Look, guys, this is all just a misunderstanding. You’ll see I—”

  “Cuff him.”

  “Shit! Shit! No!”

  The big, tall guy grips my arm and spins me around, slapping on the cuffs. I feel my rage rising in my guts, but I don’t speak a word. I’m saving it for my lawyer.

  No one treats Riker Lord like this.

  2

  Jane

  Sometimes, when you’re walking home after a long day in uncomfortable shoes, every delay seems personal. The courthouse isn’t far from the bus stop, but a mile can feel like ten when you’re tired.

  I was in court from 9am. The case is technical. Lots of detail involved. To do with expired property deeds and ownership contracts. The legal information would take, at minimum, six months to go through.

  I got the case three days ago. I’ve been up late every night, researching, briefing. I tried to get extensions. I even went for a mistrial.

  None of it even slowed down the inevitable ending to this. I lost. Again!

  I’m on such a bad run. I get the cases too late, and they’ve either already been lost, or I can’t possibly prepare in time. It looks bad. Really bad.

  As I get to the stop, the bus is already there. I have to run a few steps, but I make it.

  My relief doesn’t last long. There are no seats.

  I prop my tired feet against my briefcase and hang on while the bus moves through the city. I could get a cab, but I’m saving up every dime for my daughter’s birthday next month. My little Nia means the world to me, and since her father and I broke up, I want to give her everything in the world.

  All she’s asked for her 8th birthday is a new phone and some books. I’m also planning a shopping trip for her to buy new clothes and have a fancy dinner. She’s growing into a woman so fast, and I want to capture every moment.

  The bus pulls hard around a corner, and I wince as I shift my feet. I’m trying hard not to feel defeated but today has settled on my shoulders, and I know precisely how that camel felt before that last straw hit his back.

  I’m a good litigator. I know I am. I haven’t been with Ellis and partners that long, but I haven’t had a single win, not even at a minor hearing. I don’t bring in any new, expensive clients. I don’t have the time. I’m always in the courthouse having it out with the DA over another legal tightrope that isn’t my fault.

  The bus shudders to a stop and I shuffle to the doors, moving on to the street and dodging people as I try to stride down the street. Not far from home now. I’ll see Nia and everything will be alright. We’ll have dinner, she’ll tell me about her day, and I’ll forget my troubles for a while.

  Taking a deep breath, I refuse to think about tomorrow morning. It’s been the same pattern for a while now. The moment I get into the office I’m called out again to go work a dead case. I’m not even sure how this is happening. In the beginning, I thought I was getting the toughest cases because I’m the best and I should handle it.

  But if I was the best, I’d win occasionally, right?

  With relief, I head up the stairs into my building. Within a few moments, I’m opening the door and the warmth of the living room combined with Nia’s smile put everything into perspective.

  “Good day at work, Mommy?” She asks brightly, hands loosely on the game controller as she pauses the screen.

  “Yes baby! Awesome.”

  “So, you won cases?”

  “Oh, more like legal boring stuff. Not really court stuff.”

  “Cool.”

  “Where’s Indica?”

  “Making beds, I think.”

  “Have a good day at school?”

  “Yeah, Indica picked me and Shelly up, and we got cupcakes on the way home.”

  “Good. I’ll just tell Indica she can go, and we’ll find some dinner, okay?”

  “Sure, Mom.” She says with a smile.

  I walk up the hallway and find Indica with her daughter Shelly in the bathroom.

  “Shelly, this is the third time this week you’ve spilled chocolate milk on yourself. Girl, I don’t know if it’s your head or your hands, but I don’t have money for new blouses every day!”

  “Hey, Indica.”

  “Oh, child! You startled me. Good day dear?”

  “Yes, thank you Indica.” My smile and sense of comfort deepens as I look upon my friend. When I moved in a few years ago, we bonded instantly because our daughters were the same age. She’s a bit older than me and is always happy to babysit for a few bucks.

  “Did you guys want to stay for dinner?” I ask them, grinning at Shelly who gestures at her chocolate stain helplessly.”

  “No, darlin, thank you for asking. I got to get this one changed before her grandma comes to see her. We’ll be off in a minute or two.”

  “Alright then.” I head back to the kitchen, pressing my hands into the small of my back. As soon as I get to the table I'll slip my shoes off, sit down with a glass of wine for a while then head for a nice, hot shower.

  Before I can reach the table, my phone rings.

  I pull it out, staring at the screen warily. Its Terry Ellis, my boss. She probably wants to talk about court today and the case.

  Might want to yell at me.

  Might want to fire me.

  Not answering the call won’t make it any less true.

 
With a ragged sigh I tap the screen, moving into a side room.

  “Hello?”

  “Jane! Where are you?”

  “I’m home. Why?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about today’s case but—”

  “What? Today? Oh, yeah, that. I’m not happy. But I don’t have time for that right now. I have another problem.”

  Oh, God. I don’t know what it is, but you can bet it’s going to be my problem too.

  “You know Riker, Riker Lord?”

  “Yeah, who doesn’t.”

  “He’s in trouble upstate. He’s being held in a police station right now. You have to get up there and get him out. Now.”

  “What? I only just got home! I haven’t even sat down—”

  “Do I care? I’ve had enough of your lackluster performance, Jane. I’ve been watching you.”

  I swallow hard. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Good point. You have work to do. Get up to Albany. Now. Fix this shit. He needs out of that cell and it’s what he pays us for. You could see this as an opportunity, Jane, he’s a high-profile client. Of course, if you screw it up, you know your days are numbered with me.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “So. Go. Now. Status report as soon as you can.”

  “Okay. You’ll send the information?”

  “Linking you now.” She hangs up.

  I lean against the wall for a second, groaning. There is no point even sitting down for a few minutes. I should just get going now. Wasting time won’t help me.