Her Guardian Boss Fake Fiancé

By Sarah Gay

Samantha Whitecliff has no family to celebrate the holidays with, so moving across the country during the Christmas holidays to start a new job is a welcomed start to the next chapter in her life, a chapter where she finally plans to live life like there's no tomorrow. She realizes how true that phrase is when a car accident with her attractive new boss shows her the true meaning of Christmas—and if she's lucky—true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Literary Evolution
• Release date: Nov 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781954999039

Book preview

Chapter One

Samantha Whitecliff lifted the airplane window shade as the plane slowed to a stop on the tarmac. Swirling snow melted into the slick ground as an airport truck pulled up to the side of the plane and sprayed a milky substance on its wings. Chills flowed up her spine as she remembered dozens of freezing morning commutes, trudging through ice and snow to the subway. She crossed her arms and rubbed away her goose bumps, bidding a fond adieu to the city that had given her her start. The Big Apple would always have a special place in her heart. She’d given her all here, and she’d landed her dream job to show for it.

As the plane accelerated, she twisted her lips and stared out at the twinkling skyline, hoping she’d made the right decision to accept the position in San Francisco. On paper, it was everything she’d worked so hard for and sacrificed for. For the past three years, her days and evenings had been comprised of yelling on the floor of the stock exchange and late-night online MBA classes. It was time to finally start living. She’d earned it. She hugged her pillow, pulled her feet up into the huge leather seat, and closed her eyes. She was going to savor every minute of her inaugural first-class flight.

Could I get a vodka, straight up? the prematurely balding man next to her asked the flight attendant. He grasped his armrest with one hand while he wiped trickling sweat from his forehead with the back of his other hand. He stared intently at the back of the chair in front of him. When the flight attendant returned with the man’s drink, he downed it in one gulp, then asked for another.

Samantha tapped her phone to start her relaxation music, closed her eyes, and snuggled her face into her pillow, hoping to get an afternoon nap in before they landed. She drifted off, dreaming of many more Sunday siestas, a luxury she’d never had. She imagined strolling through redwood forests and soaking up the sun on crowded beaches. California, here I come! Her mind and body drifted to a calm, happy place until she woke to stale, alcoholic breath blowing down her neck, followed by sniffing noises. She gingerly pulled her Evian spray from her purse and misted her face liberally, making sure the man next to her got a good dose up his nostrils.

The man pulled back with a start. Headed home for the holidays? he asked with a lopsided smile.

Holidays? She tapped her bottom lip, stalling in a miserable attempt to escape the conversation.

Christmas, next week. Are you coming to see your family for …? He paused and stared at her. Man, you’ve got some beautiful green eyes.

New job, she said, skirting the family question as she looked at her watch. Luckily, she’d slept through the entire flight. She pulled eye drops from her purse. And everyone has clear eyes with this stuff, she said, leaning her head back and squirting a few drops into her eyes to get the guy out of her space. That sunset is really bright, she said, motioning outside as the plane touched down on the runway. She pulled her huge, rose-colored sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them on.

Moving to San Fran? he asked with a broad smile that was more predatory than kind. I could show you around. Give you a ride to your hotel from the airport.

This guy wasn’t getting the hint. She discreetly removed her mother’s diamond ring from her right hand and slipped it onto her left. My fiancé is picking me up. She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers until he focused in on her ring—or at least tried to focus. Thanks for the offer, but he’ll show me around.

The man snorted. "Engaged isn’t married. If you know what I mean." He waggled his brows as his eyes wandered down her body, causing her stomach to turn.

It is to me, she said, threading her arms into the sleeves of her long white trench coat. She cinched the belt at her waist and grabbed her small black overnight leather bag as the plane came to a stop. She caught the flight attendant’s eye, and they exchanged a look.

Excuse me, miss. The flight attendant reached over and touched Samantha’s arm. "But your next flight is waiting for you. I’ll need you to be first off the flight and run to make your connection."

Thank you, Samantha said with an appreciative sigh as she stepped across the balding Casanova and exited the plane. She raced through the airport, toward her future and away from her drunken travel companion. Life, here I come!

C an I borrow your cap and sign? Friedrich Barlow asked Chuck, his driver, from the back seat as they pulled up to the curb at the airport.

Half of Chuck’s face lifted in disapproval. You sure, Teddy? Last time you did this, we drove a Chinese diplomat around town for an hour before we figured out he was here for a summit, not to meet with your brother.

Zane asked me to pick her up. His flight from LA is delayed. Teddy rubbed his palms together with anticipation as Chuck passed back his flat, black driver’s cap. And what’s life without risk?

Chuck wrinkled his forehead. I think you’re taking your father’s statement out of context.

He patted Chuck on the shoulder. You have to live life like an entrepreneur and take big risks. That’s the only way to win big.

Or lose big, Chuck countered as Teddy jumped out of the car.

I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with … He glanced down at the sign in his hands. Samantha Whitecliff.

The airport retained its familiar energy. Floods of zealous tourists zipped around baggage claim, eager to set out for the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Warf, Pier 39, or Chinatown. Just thinking about all the city had to offer made him nostalgic. The airport held the same vibe that it’d had when he’d first landed in San Francisco fifteen years ago, when his family had moved there from Johannesburg, South Africa. As a gangly ten-year-old boy, he’d seen this airport as a symbol for a new world adventure.

He’d felt the same way coming back through this airport a year ago, after having spent the previous eight years in New York City, where his parents had opened another office. But New York and teenage boys didn’t suit them much, as it turned out. At least his parents had the good sense to leave their boys with competent help when they moved back to South Africa, and he and his brother navigated through college and graduate school while their parents ran the Barlow International Tech offices in NYC and San Francisco. He’d had zero time for anything but work and studies; how he’d managed a girlfriend this past year while finishing up his MBA baffled him—or maybe not, considering that it hadn’t worked out. Now that he didn’t have to worry about school or a girlfriend, he could finally take some time for the greater pleasures in life—like pretending to be his driver.

Teddy examined the sign in his hands and laughed. He stopped in the center of baggage claim and held the sign up in front of his chest, trying to keep a straight face. He widened his stance and curved in his shoulders, like the serious bodybuilders at his gym, then stood motionless.

That guy looks just like Friedrich Barlow, a middle-aged woman said to a young girl as they bustled past him.

He pulled his tinted sunglasses from his suit pocket and slipped them on, wishing he’d never been interviewed for that Times article last year that spotlighted the nation’s most eligible billionaires, shirtless. Before the article published, he’d enjoyed near absolute anonymity.

The airport fell into a hush as a tall woman, dressed head to toe in white, sauntered across the floor toward him like a celebrity. She ran her fingers through her long brown hair, which danced gracefully over her shoulders. She dazzled Hollywood with her floor-length white coat cinched around her delicate waist and her round pink sunglasses perched on her nose. Teddy’s arms went slack, causing his sign to clank to the hard floor and wake him from his daydream.

She walked straight toward him, her plump, dewy lips opening into a reserved smile. I’m Samantha Whitecliff, she said in a soft, hurried voice.

Of course, he said, picking the sign, and his tongue, up from the floor. May I retrieve your bags from the carousel? he asked, pointing to the nearest one.

This is it, she said, handing him her black satchel, the female equivalent of the duffel bag he traveled with.

How was your flight?

Refreshing. She glanced toward the escalators. For the most part, but I’m ready to settle into my hotel room with a cup of tea. She motioned to the exit doors. Is your car out there?

He nodded and led the way. I’ve been instructed by Zane Barlow to take you to the best dim sum restaurant in town.

She snapped her fingers. That’s right. He wanted to meet for dinner to go over a few things before tomorrow morning. Dim sum sounds wonderful. Please lead the way.

Her face registered fear when a man stumbled to her side. The man pointed a finger