The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée: French Conquests, #1

By Niomie Roland

Fake it till you make it?

She'd come to really hate that phrase!

 

Being someone's pretend fiancée can be tricky. Especially when the man you're faking it with is in love with another woman! Not only that, but he is... fascinating... alluring, and his feigned kisses evoke desires that leave you craving more. Way more than either of you intended. When the line between reality and pretense blurs, Jacyn realizes that Alexandre Dubois is the one man capable of destroying the armory she'd erected around her recently broken heart. She resists every enticing missile their intense passion propels toward her defenses. Until even that blows up in passionate flames. Just as she begins to think that they may have a real future together, the woman Alexandre loves expresses her intent to pursue him...

 

There's no way he'll choose her — his fabricated bae — over the love of his life. Right?

 

This is the first book in the French Conquest series set primarily in Southern France! Grab something to drink, sit back and enjoy this romantic journey which begins over a mistaken car identity and goes on to uncover lust, lies, family revelations, forgiveness & love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niomie Roland
• Release date: Feb 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990122057

Book preview

THE BILLIONAIRE’S

FAKE FIANCÉE

Niomie Roland

The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée

Copyright © 2021 Niomie Roland

All rights reserved.

The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locations, or persons living or dead is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author, Niomie Roland.

Table of 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

AUTHOR’S NOTE

THE BILLIONAIRE’S TEMPORARY GOVERNESS

Blurb

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

Blurb

After I received my cheating ex-boyfriend's wedding invitation—to my sister—I lost it.

When the tall, super gorgeous man with the sexy accent – whose Ferrari I just fucked up – asks me to accompany him to France as his pretend fiancée,

I declined... rightfully so.

Who the hell does he think he is, walking into my apartment uninvited and ordering me around?

But then he threatens to call the police.

My momentary lapse in judgement could cost me my freedom and my savings. I have huge plans for the next few years and my nest egg – going to jail was not part of the agenda.

With no other choice, I agree to his scheme.

But that didn’t mean I would pretend to be a loving fiancée...

That was my begrudged plan until that first faux kiss...

CHAPTER 1

Y OU CAN’T BE SERIOUS , Gregg! Jacyn felt herself sway a little. Maybe she was becoming a bit light-headed from shock. She put out her hand to touch Gregg’s desk, hoping to steady herself, but then snatched it away. She’d be damned if she allowed herself to show any weakness; especially in front of him. "You’re firing me?"

Still seated on his thickly padded, comfortable office chair, Gregg leaned back and steepled his fingers—a gesture she always hated, because it came across as pompous and pretentious. Which was unsurprising, because Gregory Dewitt was pompous and pretentious.

Come now, Jacyn, he said in tones that she figured were meant to be soothing, but only sounded patronizing. I’m not firing you, exactly. You know that—

Am I still employed here at the gym? Am I still drawing a salary? Benefits? Paid vacation? She struggled to keep her tone even.

He looked at her as if she was acting like a tiresome child. No, but—

Then you’re firing me! Perspiration had broken out all over her body the moment he’d called her into his office. Now, she could feel it grow cold, despite the warmth in the air that let everyone know that summer was coming to Serenity Cove. "You bastard! I ran this place with you for three years! As a matter of fact, you owe a lot of your success to me, to my ideas. I’m the one who managed your social media campaigns. I’m the one who got your numbers up—"

And you did a great job, he said, in that same annoying soothing voice that made her want to either grind her own teeth to powder or to reach out and claw him across his face. She refrained, because the first would only bring costly dental bills, and the other would land her in jail.

Gregg got up and hurried around the desk to face her, probably because he spotted the gleam in her eye and recognized it for the warning signal that it was. Babe, look—

Don’t ‘babe’ me! I am not your little stupid trusting girlfriend anymore!

He looked at her, pausing and flicking his eyes upwards as if asking the heavens for patience, and then said, That’s why it’s not a good idea for you to keep working here.

"Did you think it was a bad idea, or did Delia think so?" she snapped. The name stuck in her throat, as it always did. Her stepsister, Delia, wasn’t anywhere near the top of her list of favorite people. Ever since Jacyn’s father had left her mom, and moved in with his girlfriend—Teresa, even before the ink on the divorce papers were dry—her new sibling had pitted herself against Jacyn in competition over everything. From arguing that she should have the perfectly round pancakes and not the wobbly ones when they were thirteen, to trying to be better at cheerleading and Glee Club when they were fifteen, to brazenly sleeping with the man she’d thought she was in love with now that they were in their twenties. Half the time, Delia didn’t want anything on its own merit; she only wanted it because Jacyn had it.

The last thing Jacyn would ever allow her sister to steal from her stood before her now, in black track pants and a red polo shirt uniform emblazoned with the gym’s logo, opening and closing his mouth like a gasping trout. Delia didn’t... Well, not exactly. She only suggested—

But Jacyn wasn’t even listening. She stared at Gregg, noticing for the first time how stupid he looked with his soul patch, which had gone out of fashion ten years ago. Eyes that were too deep set and too close together, making him look perpetually sly. His overblown, beefy, bulked-up muscles that he fed on a steady diet of protein shakes and raw eggs.

And she shuddered.

How had she been attracted to this man? How had she convinced herself that she was in love with him?

You know what, Gregg? Fine. No... great. I’m fired. Here’s your stuff back. She yanked the laminated ID card that hung from a lanyard around her neck and threw it at the desk. It bounced off and fell on the floor. Take this, too. She grabbed onto the tail of her company polo shirt, a smaller version of the one he was wearing, and pulled it over her head in a single fluid motion, then balled it up and threw it at his head. Now she was wearing just her black sweatpants, black gym shoes, and a white racer-back sports bra with the familiar swoosh logo on the front. Against skin the color of dark-roast coffee, the white bra gleamed.

His eyes bugged. What are you—

"I expect to see my severance pay and all accumulated financial benefits in my account by the end of the week. A dark, menacing gaze pinned him where he stood. Every penny, Gregg, or I’m coming over here and putting my foot up your ass."

Without waiting on a response, she spun around and walked out of his office, not even bothering to bring her hands up to cover her torso. Across the gym floor, past a spin class in session. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. A handful of other women were there, working out in clothing even briefer than hers. So, whatever.

When she got to the locker rooms, she found her gym bag and donned a simple white T-shirt, pausing in the mirror only to make sure she had her game face on before she walked outside. She smoothed down her thick crown of fine braids, which had been dyed a deep, lusty red. They always clashed with the red of her work polo anyway, she reminded herself with a grin.

Out in the parking lot, headed for the nearby bus stop, she passed the fire-engine red of Gregg’s stupid fancy sports car, with its shiny chrome whatsits and gleaming tires. The second love of his life. This man scrubbed down the car’s tires and then glossed them up with silicone polish every weekend, getting into the grooves with a toothbrush. Who the hell did that?

She averted her eyes, trying not to re-conjure the memory of how she’d discovered that Gregg had been cheating on her with Delia—by finding a pair of the woman’s panties on the floor of the car.

Stupid, over-priced hunk of metal. Something should happen to it.

Jacyn pulled out her phone and hit #1 on her speed dial. Sienna answered on the third ring. Sup, ho?

Normally, Jacyn would laugh and return an equally salacious salutation, but today she wasn’t in the mood. My place, she said shortly. I need you.

LET’S BURN THE GYM down, Sienna proposed, throwing herself onto the love seat next to Jacyn.

The suggestion was so ridiculous—but so much like Sienna—that Jacyn laughed out loud. She accepted the green mystery cocktail her best friend pressed into her hand and sipped on it, wincing at the sour taste of lemons, Midori, and whatever else Sienna had tossed in there on a whim. We are not burning down the gym.

You sure? ‘Cause we can google how to make it look like an accident. Her dark brown eyes glittered with excitement.

Jacyn didn’t speak again until her drink had reached the low-tide mark. As the alcohol sank in the glass, so did her mood. Sienna had a way of making everything look like it wasn’t as bad as you figured, but this was terrible. Oh girl, what am I going to do? What about the business? She waved her arm around to encompass the rows of card tables lined up in the living room, and the jars and boxes piled up on top of them. Just as I was about to get it off the ground.

The scent of perfumes and essential oils hung heavy in the air, filling their nostrils: Lavender, geranium, basil, cedarwood, sandalwood, frankincense. The entire range of citrus; from the cloying neroli to bergamot to the sting of lemon. And the base oils; olive and coconut, evening primrose, black castor, and hemp. The baskets of carefully and lovingly dried botanicals, petals, herbs, and tree gums. All melding together to create a unified, divine scent that gladdened Jacyn’s soul.

And now, everything had gone sideways. She didn’t just need the job at the gym to live. She’d been meticulously saving until she had a large enough nest egg to invest in the launch of her line of hand-blended, natural haircare products, Napturally Beautyful. Since she’d been a teen, all she’d ever wanted was to create a wonderful line of products that would set the whole naturalista world on its end. The planned launch was just months away. Surely Gregg had known this, and how much that launch had meant to her.

He’d known, she reminded herself. He just didn’t care.

Like every good best friend in history, Sienna knew exactly what was on her mind. Did you explain to him that you needed the next few paychecks for your product launch? Come on. He could have stayed his hand a couple of months.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. She pursed her lips, trying to contain her disappointment. It felt as if she’d lost everything. First her man, now her job.

Things between her and Gregg had ground to a halt three months ago, starting the moment Jacyn had held aloft the torn shred of satin underwear from one finger and asked how the hell it had wound up in his car. When he’d lied like the dog he was. She’d reacted with a parade of emotions: shock, doubt, denial, hurt and anger. She’d broken things off with Gregg and to her chagrin, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

Fine by me, he’d responded cruelly. I was getting tired of you anyway. I mean, you’re a pretty girl, and a great cook, but Lord, you’re boring in bed.

She’d flinched, cut to the quick by his cruelty. Maybe there’d been a sliver of truth to that, she’d thought bitterly. She thought sex was okay, but had never been the type to fling her drawers into the air and swing from the chandeliers. But, ‘boring’? Really?

Word was, Gregg and Delia had hit the clubs the very next weekend, grinding up a storm to the latest tracks. It was a no-brainer to assume that the other woman, younger than she was by a year and a half, kept an entire arsenal of sexual tricks under her garter belt.

He wasn’t worth it, you know, Sienna broke into her thoughts.

She glared at her friend, weirded out by how accurate the woman’s perceptions always were. What are you, part witch?

Sienna played along with the witch story. She fluffed her thick head of natural black hair until it looked like an old hag’s rat’s nest, and then pressed her fingertips to her temples, squinting as if she was receiving a message from the great beyond. You will soon meet a stranger, she began, swaying like a palm tree in a gentle breeze.

Jacyn snorted. When? Some enchanted evening?

Sienna ignored her. He will be tall, rich... and have a butt you could bounce quarters off of.

Jacyn laughed, draining her glass. Do tell, Elvira. You got any more of this green stuff, or do I have to drag you by the hair into the kitchen to make me some more?

Duh. Made an entire jug. It’s in the fridge. Have at it, hunny bunny.

As Jacyn returned with two fresh drinks for them both, Sienna asked, And how are you for money?

Jacyn shrugged. I’ve been saving at least a hundred a month since my first job at fifteen. At first, the money was for a one way plane ticket to Germany, but her planned migration had never transpired. Should cover me for the next six months or so. I won’t starve.

Sienna patted her shoulder, and she felt it oddly comforting. We can do better than to plunder your savings. She withdrew her phone and began poking at it. We’re gonna get you a job.

CHAPTER 2

EVEN THOUGH SOME OF the best popular music was pounding away in the background, most of the people at the party fell silent when Alexandre lifted his glass. He paused before speaking, enjoying the attention. It was one of the perks of being good-looking, powerful, and wealthy beyond measure. When you opened your mouth, everyone listened.

He took a hefty swig of the Dom Perignon Rosé he’d had flown in from Reims especially for this occasion. At more than $10,000 a bottle, he hoped they were savoring the exquisite taste as much as he was.

In his mild French accent, he announced, I want everyone to raise their glasses in toast to Nathanael, one of the best friends and business partners a man could have, on this occasion as he prepares to do the most damn-fool thing a man can do. Getting married.

Everyone in the room laughed, including Nathanael and his beautiful fiancée, Shaundra. He smiled as he said it, as if he was sharing the joke, but the only people there who knew he wasn’t kidding were Nathanael and himself because in private, his reaction to his partner’s announcement that he was taking the leap had not been subtle.

Love, as far as Alexandre was concerned, was a type of mental illness that was easily cured by being forced to live in close quarters with the object of your desire. But this wasn’t the time to be peevish; he was bigger than that. A gentleman, just as his mother raised him to be.

His handsome face split in a wide grin and he brushed a stray lock of dark chestnut hair out of his eyes and said in a jocular tone, I tried to talk him out of it, which was true, but he seems to be dead set on spending the rest of his life with one gorgeous, smart, talented woman, instead of several. He paused for the inevitable laughter and ended with, "Good luck to you, mon frère, and may your home be filled with many little bare-footed brats."

As the laughter died down, he stepped aside to allow his best friend to take the floor. Immediately, a svelte, sloe-eyed Asian beauty in a midnight-blue Chanel gown sidled up to him and slid her arm into his. He gave her a vague smile, not even minding when she swiped the glass of champagne from his hand and sipped it coyly, her black eyes fixed on his the whole time, clearly sending a message that she was very good at doing things with her mouth.

We’ll have to test that theory later, he thought, but it was neither here nor there with him. If he didn’t take her home tonight, someone else would. And she could just as easily be replaced with any of the dozens of scantily dressed hangers-on who glided around the dance floor wearing impossibly high heels, all of them eying him and circling, like sharks around a lost swimmer.

He allowed the woman—what was her name again? Chloë? Zoë? — to nuzzle the dark smattering of stubble on his chin. But his mind had drifted off to the place it always did: the plans he and Nathanael had to expand their hotel chain, Sapphire International, into Asia. They were thinking they would start with Hong Kong and Tokyo, and then, in about three years, move on to Bangkok and Shanghai.

A vibration in the breast pocket of his exquisitely cut Brioni suit drew his attention, and Alex cursed under his breath. Encore? Ah, merde. He withdrew it and looked at it briefly. For the third time this evening, it was his mother’s housekeeper, Yvette, calling from his ancestral home just outside of Aix-en-Provence. Given