The LieA Billionaire Romance
Natalie Wrye
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Copyright © 2021 by Natalie Wrye
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Developmental Editing: Sandra Shipman
Line-Editing/Proofreading: Kara Hildebrand
Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs
https://www.najlaqamberdesigns.com/
About ‘THE LIE’
ANDREW
Seven years ago, I took off my tux, slapped on a pair of secondhand jeans and walked away from my billion dollar inheritance.
I guess I didn’t walk far enough…
Because yesterday my inheritance came back to me, and in order to claim it, I need find a fake fiancée to satisfy my family’s billion dollar demands.
That’s where my tyrannical, uptight boss Nancy comes in—a royal pain in the seat of the secondhand jeans I’ve worn since the day I became her bartender.
Truth is: I’ve been lying for seven years.
I figure I can lie for one more weekend.
But what I can’t lie about is how I’ve started to see the usually buttoned-up Nancy in a whole new light.
How I’ve started to notice how sexy she is out of those overly prim pencil skirts. And how much I want to rub my fingers over her strawberry-red mouth.
But I can’t.
Because she’s my boss. Because it’s only a weekend.
And because our pretend relationship—one of many amongst my family’s most dangerous secrets—is only a lie…
Isn’t it?
Prologue
ANDREW
PRESENT DAY
“You’re kidding me, right?” The buxom redhead stares up at me, hazel eyes wide, and I remove my leather belt, letting it fall.
I shake my head. “I never kid about contracts.”
“You want me to sign an NDA—an entire non-disclosure agreement…to give you a blow-job?”
I shrug out of my buttoned shirt, letting that fall, too. “Well, technically, the wording in the contract mentions oral sex, but if blow-job is the word you prefer, then yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
I let the fabric hit the floor, standing in only my slacks.
Crossing the hotel suite that I’ve purchased for the night, I grab for the bottle of vodka at the wet bar, pouring a generous finger or two for my disbelieving guest.
As for me, I grab for the candy bar on the far side, unwrapping it. I turn to face her.
I point. “If you look through pages six and nine, you’ll see that it’s all very standard.”
Redhead blinks. “I’m a waitress.”
“A non-disclosure agreement virgin, then?” I sigh, sinking my teeth into the chocolate, realizing that tonight’s going to be harder than I thought.
Damn.
I glance at the clock on the wall, noting that it’s too late to pick up another woman. I blow out a breath, turning to her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle, then.”
I start walking towards her, vodka in one hand, candy in the other. “I’ll even walk you through it.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
The woman I picked up at the bar lowers the papers in her hand to her rounded, jean-covered hips. She perches a hand there, too. “And what if I find this all weird?”
I keep walking. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
I extend the vodka and she takes it, her long, red-painted fingertips brushing mine. She smiles.
The same smile that every woman in the past few years has given me when they realize that there’s a procedure for me taking them to bed.
A procedure I don’t like. But a procedure I need.
Ever since I was old enough to realize I wanted to take control of my own life. Apart from my family's.
And speaking of lives… I can see that Red’s is flashing in front of her own hazel eyes as her heavy gaze sweeps me from head to toe.
It’s not hard to know what she’s thinking.
It’s what every woman I’ve taken to bed in the last four years has been thinking.
Is this guy nuts?
Is he fucking serious about me signing this?
Is he worth it?
I’d like to save her the time and just say “yes” to all three. But the truth is always darker than that.
If there’s one thing I can confirm: It’s that I’m worth it.
Outside of the bar room, the bedroom is my most successful workplace…
And I take my “work” very seriously.
I watch Red as she comes to a decision, her golden-green eyes clouding. “Need a hand?”
She shakes her head. “No need for your help. I’ve got it.”
She saunters over to the table in the middle of the room, leaning over it in her low-cut top, shooting a quick look in my direction. Pen in hand, she flicks to the last page, signing it with her eyes on me the entire time.
And I watch her.
She folds the papers back, straightening. “You know, you look really familiar.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes travel the large suite. “Are you an actor?”
“At work? Often.”
She grins. “A professional athlete, then?”
“Compared to some of my friends in our weekly pick-up game.”
I finish the candy bar, crumpling the wrapper in my hands and shooting it into the wastebasket. When I make the shot, I raise an eyebrow, and Red drops the pen, strolling my way.
She stops a foot before making contact.
Ah yes, here it goes. The dance.
The one where the woman I invite back to my suite tries to figure me out.
Red’s got this look in her eyes that says that’s exactly what she wants to do, and I can’t blame her. I am a little strange.
“Maybe,” she coos as she comes towards me, hands out, “you’re an eccentric billionaire leading a double life. Maybe you’re this heir to this huge fortune. Some strange kind of tycoon. And playing the role of a bartender to pick up women is your way of playing a fun little game to avoid your stuffy billionaire
