Don’t Fall For Me
Gigi Black
Copyright © 2020 by Gigi Black
All rights reserved.
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Contents
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
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Thank you!
I’m the guy you hate to love.
A bad boy, a player, a billionaire businessman with enough charisma to explode panties rather than making ‘em drop.
And I’ve got my sights set on her.
My old high school hookup. The first woman who screamed my name, but not the first or last to curse it.
She’ll curse it again before this is all over.
Because I need a fake fiancée, a sweet family girl who’ll convince my hard-*ss father that I’m worth my inheritance.
30 days. No strings attached. And a promise that I can and will save her from losing everything.
There’s just one rule, I tell her,
“Don’t fall for me.”
1 Damien
I wasn’t the type of guy who hit on the help, but hot fuckin’ damn, this delivery chick had an ass that’d make a blind man weep.
Or give him a rock-hard boner.
Enough about the blind man. Back to the delivery goddess. The moniker fit her like she fit those jeans—skin-tight and close to the curves. The physics of how she’d squeezed herself into them when she’d woken up this morning boggled the mind.
Easy, asshole, she’s not here for you. Just for the tip. Uh… financially speaking.
I’d opened the door to the hotel room when the sniffy guy at the front desk had called to let me know my pizza was on its way up. I’d called out to her to put it on the coffee table and walked out of the bathroom to find this.
Her bending over to put down the pizza, then stretching and scratching the back of her long, tan neck. She was petite, slender, curvy, with dirty blonde hair in a bun atop her head and fine hairs escaping here or there. “That’ll be fifteen bucks,” she said, turning to me.
The voice hit me first—a shock of recognition that jolted loose memories I’d buried long ago—and then came the face.
Her face.
Hazel. Hazel McCutcheon.
One of the many girls who’d wanted me back in high school. How long ago had that been now? Fuck, what… fourteen years? Yet here she was. Mature, curvy, her lips full with a perfect cupid’s bow, her green eyes wide and glittering.
The memory of her clinging to me on the one and only night we’d been together came back to me. I’d taken her virginity, and she’d screamed my name.
Damien. Damien. Damien!
The next day, I’d left Winnetka without calling her. For a good reason, not that it mattered now.
“Y–you,” she said, that honey voice doing things to my cock that it shouldn’t have. “You… you…”
“Asshole? Dickhead. Prick. Douchemonkey?” I offered up the words. “I know it’s not something good. Though, I gotta say, Hazel, for my part, I’m happy to see you again.”
She trembled and hugged herself. Was it rage? She was my age, thirty-two. Surely, she hadn’t harbored anger at me for this long?
“What are you doing here?” she thundered, retreating so that the backs of her calves hit the table. She nearly tipped over but put out her arms to steady herself.
I stepped forward, reaching. “You all right?”
“Don’t!”
A smirk parted my lips. “Don’t? What, stop you from falling?” I hadn’t been able to do it back then.
“Don’t come near me,” Hazel said. “I… this has to be a joke. A huge, screwed-up cosmic joke.”
“Having a bad day?”
“Year,” she corrected, and I absorbed the sight of her. Her T-shirt, with its Pieslice logo on the left side, hugged her breasts. Pink nipples, I still remembered what they looked like, plucked at the cotton.
“A bad year?” I said. “Anything I can do to help you with that?”
Hazel scoffed. “This is surreal. Look, dude, I don’t even know you. I certainly don’t want you to help me with anything. Now, that’ll be fifteen bucks, and I’ll be out of your cologne mist and bullshit swagger before you can say ‘blast from the past.’ Capisce?”
Hazel had been the nerdy chick at school, but she’d always had sass, probably because the popular girls had bullied her one too many times, and she’d grown a thick skin in a response. That and she was smarter than most people I’d met.
I’d always liked that about her, maybe a little too much.
I reached into the pocket of my suit pants and withdrew my wallet, walking over to her. She stiffened, about ready to jump out of her skin—not her clothes, unfortunately. “You know me,” I said, removing a Benjamin from my wallet. “Intimately.”
“Fuck you,” she said.
I hissed. “Dirty. But I think I’ll have the pizza without the happy ending.” I held out the money. “Keep the change.” Was I an asshole? Yes. But it was easier than the alternative: asking her out. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
It would spell doom for her and for me. Easier to piss her off, chase her away, and pass off this chance meeting as a waking nightmare.
Hazel gritted her teeth, jaw working, skin smooth as a silk. She looked down at the money and back up at me, eyes blazing heat. “I can’t accept that.”
“Why not?”
“Because the pizza is fifteen dollars, and I’m not going to take eighty-five dollars from you in gratuity.”
“Quick math,” I said. “Impressive.”
“Don’t patronize me, jackass. You know, you haven’t changed one damn bit since you…” She cut off and swallowed. “Whatever. You got a twenty?”
This wasn’t where I’d pictured Hazel
