Pretend to Be Mine Read online

  Pretend To Be Mine

  An Alpha Billionaire Romance

  Carter Blake

  Copyright (C) 2016 Carter Blake

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.

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  Thank you for reading!

  I write over-the-top sexy romance with guaranteed happily ever afters. My books are a bit naughty and recommended for ages 18+

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  Cheers, Carter

  P.S. You’re beautiful! Never forget it!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Thank you for reading!

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Ross

  The moment Brooklyn Walsh walked into my office I wanted her. No, scratch that, I wanted to fuck her. To pull up that tight little skirt she was wearing and drive myself balls deep into what would no doubt be the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.

  But damn if it didn’t go against my one and only rule – never mix business with pleasure.

  Despite the way my cock protests every time she walks into the room, my sweet little assistant would have to stay that. Sweet. Untainted by my perverse desires. Assisting me in every need except the one I can’t stop thinking about.

  Today, Brooklyn’s curvy little body is snug in a little black dress, that while modest, screams fuck me, please. Hell, I swear the woman could make a burlap bag look sexy.

  She tucks a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear, and studies the tablet that she’s holding.

  I’ve thought about firing her. That would solve my problem. But from the small details I know about her, she needs this job. And in all fairness, she’s a good assistant. One of the best I’ve had in the five years since I took over the company.

  But with Brooklyn it’s like my cock has a mind of its own. Like I’m some hormonal teenager and not a thirty-two-year-old CEO millionaire who can have any woman he wants.

  Any woman except Brooklyn Walsh.

  Transferring her to another department crossed my mind. But I haven’t been able to make the call. The torment of having her around is nothing compared to having her assist anyone else.

  She’s looking at me now, brows drawn down when she takes in my appearance. I can only imagine what she sees. Still dressed in yesterday’s suit, I run my hand across the scruff on my jaw, then through my mussed hair.

  “What?” I bark, making her jump slightly.

  She glances across the room towards the black leather couch and rumpled blanket, and frowns. “Did you sleep here last night?”

  I grunt, refocusing my attention to the paperwork in front of me. Yeah, I’d slept here. Because the only thing that takes my mind off the tortuous ache in my balls is work. That and the bottle of bourbon that’s half-empty in the bottom drawer of my desk.

  “Coffee?” The lilt of her voice makes me look up.

  Bad move. She’s standing in front of me, and when she reaches over to place a cup in front of me, I can see straight down the front of her dress to the pink satin bra she’s wearing.

  Holy hell, I’m one hundred percent screwed.

  I groan, and her gaze flashes to mine, eyes widening. So innocent, and yet so damn inviting, I swear my cock is going to burst through the seams of my pants.

  Down boy.

  “Sit.” The word comes out harsher than I intended.

  She bites on her bottom lip and sits in the chair across from me, adjusting her dress nervously.

  I know full well that I scare her. I’m a hard man to work with, but with her I’ve been even more demanding. More callous. I’m surprised she’s lasted as long as she has. Most people would have quit weeks ago.

  But not Brooklyn. Despite the sweetness about her, she’s tough. Like there’s a steel iron inside her, under all those luscious curves.

  “Your father called.”

  My head jerks up at that, because I know the second part of that sentence will only fuck with my life one way or another.

  I’d hoped he would take it easy when he handed over the company’s reigns to me. With his high blood pressure, retirement was exactly what the doctor ordered. Not to mention that he’d let the business slip.

  It took two years to get it out of the red, and another two to clean up the mess he’d created. So, when my father said that he was running for office, I thought it was some kind of a joke.

  “And?” I demand, tapping my fingers on the edge of my desk waiting for her to drop the bomb.

  “He wanted to make sure you were still going to the Gladstone Charity Event tonight.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten all about it.

  “When I spoke with him, he sounded pretty persistent that you be there. And…” She winces and looks away.

  “And what, Miss Walsh?”

  “That you bring a date and not the same…” She bites back a small smile. “…floosy you brought to the last one.”

  I grunt and lean forward, forearms resting on my desk, and mentally go through my backlog of women. But the thought of spending time with any of them is as appealing as shoving my hand in a blender.

  Work is the only relationship I have time for. The last thing I need is another female trying to dig her claws into my bed and bank account. And that’s exactly what will happen if I invite any one of the women in my little black book.

  I need something simpler.

  The thought of calling an escort feels desperate. And I’ve already had one humiliating experience that I’ll never live down. The last time I hired a companion for the evening, most of the men at the event had rented her out before. She spent more time handing out cards than actually being my date.

  She wasn’t the most expensive escort on the books because she was good. She was the most expensive one because she was popular. The whole fucking thing was embarrassing. The idea that everyone knew that my date was an escort is one scandal that my father has never let me live down.

  I could go without a date, but that will only tempt the cougars and gold diggers to think I’m still on the market. Which I’m not. I’ve married myself to this company, and for now that’s all the companionship I need.

  “Mr. White?” Brooklyn’s watching me. Her tongue darts out across her plump bottom lip and I almost groan out loud.

  The little temptress doesn’t know what she does to me
.

  “What?” I snap, looking away and trying to think of anything but her.

  “Would you like me to call one of your…female friends to escort you?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Because the solution to my problem is staring straight at me.

  No fucking way. I shake my head and focus on the contracts in my hand. Taking Brooklyn anywhere outside of this office is a very bad idea, because the minute I allow myself one touch, I know I won’t be able to hold back from consuming all of her.

  She looks at me with those big green eyes, and I know she has no idea what I’m truly capable of. What kind of man is under the designer suits, and cold, calculated mannerisms.

  I am the big bad wolf that her mother warned her about.

  The girl is too fucking innocent.

  And she’s my goddamn assistant.

  Keep your paws off her, my brain screams, despite the persistent pulsing bulge between my legs.

  But damn, as I’m giving her notes, watching her pink lips pout as I spill out a ton of chores for her to do by lunch time, I can't get the thought out of my head that her sweet little body was made for me.

  I need to go through my black book. Try and figure out someone else to take to this damn party.

  “Can you do all this before twelve? I need to leave early today.”

  She sighs, but tries to hide her frustration at my tight deadlines.

  My phone buzzes and I curse under my breath when I read my father’s text. Ella, my ex. The one that never seems to get the fucking message that we’re over is coming tonight. Even more reason why I need to find a date, and fast.

  I was furious when I found out my father had hired her to help him run his campaign. But then he never could resist a pair of long legs and a pretty face. And Ella had both going for her. What she didn’t have was a heart.

  Or if she did, it was made of pure ice. The woman was as cold and calculating as I am. The only difference is that’s all there is to her. She’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants, and what she wants is me on a leash, and a ten caret ring on her finger.

  So not happening.

  Another text pops up on my phone.

  Please don’t disappoint me, son.

  See you at eight.

  I’m stuck going to this damn party, and playing the part of the dutiful, adoring son. And that’s all it is, a part to play. If I didn’t need to keep up appearances for the business, I’d tell my father exactly what he could do with invitation.

  But the man’s put himself center stage, once again.

  Trust dad to want to run for office.

  I shake my head as Brooklyn stares at me. When I don’t look away like I usually do, her brows turn down and she starts to fidget, nervously.

  “What?”

  “Are you free tonight?” The question comes out before I have a chance to stop myself.

  “I can be.” She frowns. “Is there a project you need me to work on?”

  I take my time to word this carefully, because for the first time in my life, I am worried about a rejection, something that I’m not accustomed to. But I’m fucking desperate, and I know that I can’t demand it of her. Because I need her help.

  Chapter Two

  Brooklyn

  To say that I'm exhausted is an understatement. I start at eight every morning and if I’m lucky I leave by the same time in the evening, but I suspect that tonight's going to be different. The way he’s looking at me, tells me he wants something more than my usual twelve hour shift.

  I'm tempted to say, ‘Yes, sir. Do you want anything else? Like for me to drive to Chicago and back before the end of the day?’

  But sarcasm doesn’t go over well with my boss. Actually no type of humor does. He’s the most serious man I’ve ever met.

  Dark.

  Brooding.

  And sexy as sin on a stick with whip cream on top.

  Focus, Brooklyn. The man is way at of your league.

  I smile at him, the same way that I do every single time he asks me to do the impossible.

  The man’s a slave driver. Always wanting more than I can give.

  He’s obsessed with work. Maybe that’s the role of being a CEO, being on top of everything. Or maybe it’s the perfectionist in him, driving him to always achieve more.

  But how much more can one person seriously need? Or want?

  He has staff. A lot of them, nearly two hundred employees and he is obsessed with micromanaging nearly everyone.

  Including me.

  But I won’t quit.

  Because leaving means going back home or even worse, back on the road.

  I haven't been home since I graduated from high school and I’m not about to go back now. It isn’t an option. Ever.

  Getting another job seems like the easiest solution, except that it took me six months to land this one. Before that, I was working in a coffee house, barely able to pay my half of the rent.

  Prices in the city are outrageous.

  I need this job. And working with Ross White isn’t completely terrible. When he isn’t growling at me, or shouting orders, he can actually be kind of sweet. Well, maybe sweet isn’t the right word – more like civil.

  It also doesn’t hurt that he looks like he’s been plucked off a GQ magazine cover. Dark hair that’s always mussed just right. Clear, intelligent blue eyes that smolder with promise.

  Just not for me.

  He’s made it very clear that our relationship is one hundred percent business. I’ve never had a man go so out of his way to make sure he doesn’t touch me.

  It’s fine. I don’t do relationships. Or sex.

  I’m just starting to get my life on track.

  Nothing, not even Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deliciously Brooding will get in my way.

  Chapter Three

  Ross

  “I need your help, Miss Walsh. But it’ll mean going beyond what I pay you for.”

  Her expression goes from guarded, to intrigued, to full out suspicious.

  “I want you to escort me tonight to the function.”

  Her mouth drops open slightly. “You want me to be your date?”

  “Strictly business, of course,” I add quickly.

  “Of course.” Her tone is an echo of mine, stoic and reserved. But I can practically see the wheels spinning inside that pretty little head of hers. She thinks I’m up to something.

  And I am.

  “Why me?” Her green eyes narrow, regarding me.

  “I don’t have time to call anyone else.” Knowing the words are a little too curt, I add, “And I think my father would appreciate you over the floosy I took to the last event.”

  That causes a small smile to play on her lips.

  I shake my head thinking about the reason that I’ve kept our relationship merely professional. She’s my assistant and apart from not wanting a sexual lawsuit on my hands, she’s way too young. Christ, the woman is practically a decade younger than me.

  “If you’re busy–”

  “No.” The word comes out in a rush, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink. “I mean, I’m free. If you need my help.”

  This feels like a bad idea.

  Because no matter how hard I try to deny it, I know this can only end one way. With her in my bed and my cock buried balls deep inside her.

  Chapter Four

  Brooklyn

  Did I just agree to be his date?

  “You’ll do it.” It’s not a question, more of a demand, and I wonder if I ever had a choice.

  “Yes.” My mouth feels dry, my palms suddenly clammy.

  “You’ll need something to wear.” His gaze roams down my body as if scrutinizing me.

  The way he’s looking at me suddenly makes me regret my decision.

  I can’t go on a date with Ross White. No, not a date. I'm going as his escort or whatever word he so kindly used to describe it.

  “If I go with you–”

  His eyes narrow on me. “Are
you backing out?”

  “No. I just want to know…”

  “Yes?” His nostrils flare slightly, and there’s an edge of something dark in his expression. “What do you want to know Miss Walsh?”

  “What do I get out of it?” I blurt out.

  His lips twitch up, so suddenly that I almost miss it.

  “What do you want, Miss Walsh?” There’s something dark behind his words, and my body instantly responds to the heat there.

  “I–” I want you to fuck me. Oh my God, did I really just think that?

  “Do you want a day off? Money?” He leans forward, gaze never leaving mine. “What is it that you desire most from me?”

  It’s a simple question, and yet I can’t help but think there’s more behind it.

  Is he trying to get under my skin? Manipulate me? I’ve seen him work his charm on others before, but never me.

  “A few days off next week.”

  I don’t have any plans, but I’ve worked so hard and it’s about time that I had a small vacation, even if it entails spending a few days binge watching Netflix and eating Ramon noodles and ice cream.

  “All right,” he agrees, then turns back to his papers as if that settles it.

  “And respect,” I say quickly, feeling foolish the moment the words come out of my mouth.

  He glances up, one brow cocked.

  “Respect?” he repeats, and I’m almost tempted to ask him if he wants me to give him a formal definition of the word. It seems as if he’s oblivious to him what I’m talking about.

  Okay Mr. White, let me spell it out for you, “When I get your coffee in the morning, the way you like, the way you detailed in an email exactly how it should be made...”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I would like a thank you.”

  He picks up his coffee and takes a sip, then with a small smirk says, “Thank you for the coffee, Miss Walsh.”

  “See that’s not hard.”

  Again with the smirk. “Anything else?”