The Billionaire's Counterfeit Girlfriend (12 page)

“And that would be…?”

“What she’s seen growing up! Man, for a rich guy you’re not too quick.” Bebe shook her head. “She doesn’t understand anything else. Why do you think she broke up with her doctor?”

“He cheated on her.”

“Is that what she told you?” Bebe convulsed with laughter. Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “You’re so naïve.”

There was nothing funny about the way that doctor had hurt Hilary, and Bebe was seriously starting to grate on his nerves. “She didn’t have to tell me,” Mark snapped. “I was there.”

Abruptly, Bebe stopped laughing and shrugged. “Forget it. It’s something you should ask her. I don’t feel comfortable spilling her secrets.”

He clenched his hands. He didn’t generally feel violent, but he was getting pretty close. “The way she grew up? How to get her into bed? Those aren’t secrets?”

“Everyone knows, Mark. Her boyfriend in college—the one we could’ve had together—knew. That’s why he wanted to date her, and that’s why she’d fallen for him, until she got stupid and greedy about it and didn’t want to share. You know she got all huffy when it was her time to commit to it? Acted like we were beneath her? But look at her.” Bebe sneered. “Still living with my mom. Why would she do that if she’s so much better than the rest of us?

“She’s just a Rosenberg girl. And whether she admits it to herself or not, subconsciously she’s looking for a guy who’ll remind her of that fact. So be that guy if you want her. You get it now?” She pulled out a piece of paper from her shorts and slapped it on the desk. “She’s not answering her phone, and she’s not home. So after you’re done thinkin’ things through, you call me, and we’ll figure out an arrangement that makes us all happy.” She stood up and gave him an arch look. “Who knows? If you play your cards right, you might just get two for the price of one.”

What the hell? Had she just propositioned him?

Mark watched Bebe walk away, the shorts swinging saucily. Larry would make sure she exited the restaurant.

Leaning back in his seat, Mark took a pencil and drummed out a rapid staccato on the armrest with the eraser. He didn’t believe for a second she’d come to offer him helpful advice. She wanted a piece of him, but probably knew she had no chance. She didn’t seem stupid. Vipers like her often weren’t. So she thought to use Hilary, except he wasn’t dumb enough fall for her little game.

He pieced together all the things she’d said…and the ones she’d omitted. It was obvious Hilary’s father had been a jackass. Bebe might have called her parents’ relationship a ménage, like it was some kind of hip new lifestyle, but he bet it hadn’t been like that for Hilary.

No wonder she’d been so wary. He remembered how she’d rejected him in the OWM lobby and run off after the ugly confrontation with that doctor’s fiancée. The situation had most likely served as a reminder of her messed up past.

Then there was his reputation.

He winced, thinking about all the “Quarterly Girls.” His college buddies had come up with that. They’d even patted themselves on the back for being so clever, but Mark bet Hilary didn’t share their sentiment. She probably thought Mark too would be like her lowlife dad who never committed to any woman and flitted in and out of their lives. It was a pretty sure bet that her dad hadn’t abstained while he was away.

Damn. Mark had assumed wrong. He’d thought he was starting at zero with her. But in reality, he’d been starting at something like negative two thousand. There were so many things stacked against him. Not calling her after the picnic at the grove…

She’d had to have been testing him to see how he measured up compared to her dad or that asshole boyfriend she’d had in college…or her two-timing doc. And Mark had failed spectacularly by pulling back—that had been easier after the uncomfortable conversation with his dad.

He was such an idiot.

Cursing, he left La Mer and drove straight to Hilary’s office. At her desk was Sally.

“Hello, Mark,” she said with a smile that was bordering on confused. “Have an appointment with Gavin?”

“No. Where’s Hilary?”

“She went home.” She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Why did she go home?” It was barely three thirty, and no one in Gavin’s firm ever went home early, much less his right hand woman.

“Didn’t you hear? She was really sick.” Sally placed an elbow on the desk and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “She was really pale. I think she might’ve even passed out.”

A small ball of panic rolled through him. “Why didn’t she go to the hospital?”

“She insisted. So Gavin had Thomas drive her home.”

He swore. It had to be pretty serious for Gavin to let his chauffeur take her home. Gavin never drove in L.A. traffic.

Bebe had said Hilary wasn’t home. So the small house was out of the question. “Is Gavin available?”

Sally shook her head. “He’s in a meeting.”

“How about Thomas? Do you know how to get ahold of him?”

“Sure.” She dialed a number and handed him the receiver.

Thomas understood the situation—for a man who did nothing except drive Gavin’s fancy cars he was remarkably well plugged-in—and he told Mark that Hilary was staying at Josephine Martinez’s condo. Did Mark need directions too?

Mark told him that wasn’t necessary and went over to Josephine’s place. Every time the light turned red, he felt like a thirsty man just a few feet away from an oasis. Hilary was probably home alone—Josephine was far too busy to play nurse—and based on what Sally had said, Hilary definitely needed somebody to watch over her. What if she tried to get something…like water…and passed out and hit her head against a table or something? Who would be there to call an ambulance and make sure she was all right?

The uniformed doorman at the condo was the same one who’d been here the week before. He recognized Mark instantly. “Sorry, Mr. Pryce. I’ll need to call Ms. Martinez’s unit first,” he said, shrugging his skinny shoulders apologetically. “You aren’t on the list.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Uh…”

Mark sighed impatiently. “Do I look like a psycho stalker killer to you?”

The doorman bit his lower lip. “No, but…”

“You know I’ve been here before.” Shaking his head, Mark signed in for Josephine’s unit. “Call ahead if you want. Just don’t try to stop me.”

Leaving the uncertain doorman behind, Mark took the elevator, which seemed to go up at a sloth’s pace. Damn it. He should just buy Hilary a penthouse unit next to his or something. This was getting ridiculous.

When he finally reached Jo’s door and knocked, no one answered. Was Hilary too sick to get up? Had she managed to hurt herself, like in his imaginary scenario? Mark paced the corridor a bit, feeling impotent, then thought to try the door handle.

The door opened.

He felt a small measure of relief, then scowled.
Hilary should be locking her door
. The building had its own doorman and security, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to be careless with her safety. He finally understood why Gavin always seemed to want to hire an army of bodyguards for his family…because he was feeling the same compulsion right now.

“Hello? Anyone home?” he said in a low voice. No answer. The condo was stark with very few prints on the white walls. Some would call the design minimalist, but Mark thought the place lacked something. It just looked sterile.

He crossed the hardwood floor, trying to step quietly, and reached the end of the hall. One of the rooms had its door ajar. He peeked through and saw Hilary curled up on her side on the bed. Her blouse and skirt stretched over her curved back, and she wasn’t moving.

Was she asleep?

He tiptoed inside and looked at her. One hand was pressed against her belly; she looked so small and helpless, adjectives he’d never thought to associate with her. She’d always appeared formidable, thoroughly competent and strong. Her skin felt cool under his, and he rummaged around the condo until he found a spare blanket and draped it over her. She barely stirred.

Sitting on the edge of a chair near her bed, he watched her rest. He’d never played nurse before. But he knew how it was done—he remembered his mother sitting with him when he’d been sick. She’d held his hand, smoothed the sweat from his forehead and whispered sweet nothings…sometimes even hummed to comfort him. Despite all the nannies Salazar had hired, Ceinlys had always taken care of her children personally when they weren’t feeling well.

Would Hilary find it comforting if he took her hand and whispered sweet nothings, or would she be horrified? He could never predict how she’d react to him.

But there was one thing she always reacted to rather predictably. So he pulled out his phone and dialed.

* * *

Hilary kept her eyes closed. Her head felt like it was submerged in syrup. What the heck had happened at the office? Now that her brain started to kick in a bit, she cringed. God, she’d almost fainted.

How embarrassing.

So what if she’d been under a lot of pressure and stress? The two went hand-in-hand. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what working for Gavin required. It was her job to ensure she was indispensable to her boss. If he asked her to pluck the stars from the sky, then pluck the stars she would.

She should shower and get something to eat. She really needed to go back to work the next day even if Gavin fussed about it. This wasn’t like her. She’d never called in sick.

She sighed, cranked her eyes open and immediately yelped. Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh my gosh, Mark! What are you doing here?”

“Hey.” He gave her a small grin. “Heard you were sick, so I figured I’d check up on you.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hours? I wasn’t really counting.”

“Oh…” He didn’t have anything in his hands. “Were you…watching me the whole time?”

“I might have dozed off a bit here and there.” He gave her an unexpectedly sheepish smile, and she had to press her hand hard against her chest to stop a pang. She hoped it was from her unusual condition, nothing more. Because if it was from Mark’s smile…

She was in the biggest trouble of her life.

“Do you want to eat something?” he asked. “I’ve got some soup I can heat up.”

“You? Soup?” She blinked. “I thought you only did haute cuisine…unless you’re slumming.”

He laughed. “No. I had the La Mer chef whip it up. He wasn’t thrilled with my chicken noodle soup order.”

“So it’s going to be either really good or really bad?”

“Knowing him, probably really good. I told him it was for a beautiful woman who was too sick to eat anything else.”

She swallowed. He really needed to stop saying stuff like that…and especially stop looking at her like he meant it. She shuddered to think what her appearance must be right now.
Absolutely awful
. But somehow, under his sweet gaze, she felt like she was the loveliest woman in the world. Was this some kind of power men had over women? Was this why her mother hadn’t been able to wean herself from Tim, no matter how toxic he was? If Hilary wasn’t careful, she could get addicted to Mark, even knowing they would go their separate ways after his family party.

She started to rise, but he put out a hand to stop her. “Hey, patient, you stay put. I’ll bring you your soup.” He started to move toward the door, walking backwards and keeping his eyes on her. “Don’t even think about getting up. I mean it!” He gave her one last mock scowl and vanished into the hall.

She pulled her legs up and hugged them while he clanged around in the kitchen. This was a new experience. People didn’t take care of her when she was sick. Tim had hated being near sick kids. “They’re gonna gimme their germs and shit,” he’d say and take off for days. Hilary’s mom and aunt hadn’t been very good at nursing either, basically just checking up on her every so often to make sure she wasn’t dead. But when one of them had been sick, it had been up to her to do something about it. And she’d done what she could, which had never been enough. Bebe had started running off as soon as she’d hit her teens. “I’m not getting your disease. Have fun recovering,” she’d say before taking off.

The door opened, and Mark came in carrying a tray that had a bowl of steaming soup and a piece of thick crusty bread. “Courtesy of La Mer catering,” he announced gravely, as though he were a butler.

She sat up, already feeling better. “I had no idea you were branching out.”

“It’s a secret. I don’t want Luc to kill me. I’m pretty sure he knows how to make poison.”

“Afraid he might slip a little into your fish?” She took a spoonful of the soup and closed her eyes at the sublime flavor. “This is
the
chicken noodle soup. My god, it’s divine.”

“Great. So I don’t have to look for a new chef?”

She chuckled. “You do not. And thank you. This is really lovely.”

“Well, somebody’s gotta take care of you. Look at you, here all alone.” He gestured around. “What’s the point of a best friend roommate if she’s not here to play Florence Nightingale?”

“I think she has to make money to pay for the condo.”

“Ppffftt.”

“If she doesn’t work, she doesn’t get paid.”

“Kind of like me. If I don’t work, I don’t get laid.”

She snorted. “I highly doubt that.” She finished the soup and leaned back against the headboard. “Um, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“You basically need a date to avoid dating whoever your mother picked out, right?”

Crossing his arms, he regarded her. “Riiiight.”

She cleared her throat. Why was this so hard? She’d spent hours on research, making sure the list would be eminently suitable. “Anyway, I think if that’s what you really want, you shouldn’t go with me. Your mother will never believe we’re dating.”

A harsh frown snapped onto his face. “Hey, we were seen at Eliza’s event.”

“That’s irrelevant.” People had seen through her there. Mark might have been oblivious then, with so many guests milling around and distracting him, but he’d notice when the setting was smaller and more intimate. “You need a woman who’s, you know, someone that somebody like you would date.”