Billionaires Dollar Series

The man I’d worked for several times-and the man Liam works with.

A small but important distinction.

“The very one.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes as it goes down. “Have you taken acting classes since I knew you last?”Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“You thought my performance was that good?”

“It was flawless,” he says. “The Madison I knew was terrible at lying.”

“Lying and acting feel different.” I sip my own drink, looking past him to the group of suited men doing shots. Here on a business trip, no doubt.

“They’re not the same?”

“Perhaps they are, but they don’t feel it. One is putting on an act, leaning into a different identity… the other is just bald-faced lying. Does that make sense?” I shake my head. “It’s too late for these kinds of philosophical discussions.”

Liam’s eyebrow rises. “Do you want to come with me to their cabin next weekend?”

“You already said we would.”

“I can get you out of it, if you’d rather not.” His gaze returns to his glass of whiskey, a tendril of hair falling over his forehead. “I’m aware it’s more than you bargained for.”

“Don’t you need me there? To make you seem likable?”

His lip quirks. “Under normal circumstances I’d resent the implication that I’m not likable on my own… but yes. I probably do, if the man is to overcome his hatred of bankers.”

“Why does he hate bankers so much?”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Because he’s normal, I suppose. Who doesn’t? Wall Street has the worst reputation in the country, and often well-deservedly so.”

I lean on the armrest of the chair, my head in my hands. Liam’s not looking at me, which gives me plenty of time to study him. The boy I’d known, elongated and hardened and poured into a tailored suit.

“Why did you work there, then?”

He lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I was good at it. Why not?”

“That doesn’t seem like the complete answer.”

“Nor have you given me yours,” he says, inclining his glass to me. “If you join me at the cabin, I’ll find a way to even out the score.”

“The score?”

“For you helping me more than I’m helping you.”

“You are helping me,” I say. “In two nights’ time, I’ll be parading you in front of my ex.”

“That’s hardly enough to even the score. One night in comparison to an entire weekend?”

I bite my lip, considering. Liam’s eyes trace the movement and a pulse of unexpected heat sweeps through me.

“Do you have a large, fancy kitchen in your rental?”

Liam snorts. “Not what I expected you to say. But yeah, it’s pretty big.”

“Do you have appliances?”

“I have no idea.”

“I want to cook in it a few times, then,” I say. “In the interest of evening out the score.”

Liam’s eyebrow rises. “Agreed,” he says. “To satisfy my curiosity-why?”

I trace the rim of my wineglass, not wanting to meet his gaze. Everything about Liam screams monetary success.

“My kitchen is tiny,” I admit, which is an understatement. It’s a shoebox with a shitty oven and two stovetops.

“Ah,” Liam says. “And for a chef like yourself, space is of the essence.”

“It’s the key ingredient.”

“All right.” He leans back in the chair, glass dangling from his fingers. “For as long as you’re my fake fiancée, my kitchen is yours. What do you plan on cooking? Can’t get enough of it at your job?”

For a brief moment, I consider telling him about my application for the culinary fellowship. About the five dishes I have to prep for my entrance exam-if I even make it that far.

“I need to test out new dishes,” I say. It’s not a lie.

“Do you want to open your own restaurant?”

I smile. “Of course I do.”

“It’s that obvious, is it?”

“To me it is. Sometimes I fall asleep picturing it.” I close my eyes, pretending. “It changes from day to day. The decor and the location, not to mention the menu. I have so many ideas. I know it’s going to be rustic, though, and focus on communal eating. I’ve always liked that.”

“Communal, huh?”

“Yes. And I’ve always toyed with this idea… it’s a bit unorthodox.”

“Hit me with it.”

“I’d like to have some sort of buy-one-meal-give-one-away policy, so that every dish I serve also helps the city’s food shelter. I don’t know if that’s even viable, but I want to look into it. Run the numbers.”

Liam’s voice has a smile in it. “You’ve changed in some ways, Maddie, but not in all.”

“You were always a dreamer with your eye set on the prize.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks at the offhand comment. It might mean nothing to him, but I don’t have a single friend in this city that I’ve known from childhood. Especially not one who’s grown up into a man with a capital M.

“So,” he says, draping an arm over the back of the lounge chair he’s sitting on. The look he gives me is warm. “Tell me the role I’m supposed to play in two nights’ time as your fake fiancé.”