Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire

JUNJIE

Waking up feels like a slow crawl back into the mess of last night. I stare at the ceiling, my mind replaying every mistake like some kind of torturous highlight reel.

First, letting a particular woman with long curls under my skin. Why the hell did I let her presence rattle me? I should’ve known better. But she brought back things I thought I buried—stupid things. And then, there was Daryll treating me like I didn’t belong in the room like I was just some spoiled rich kid playing businessman. That’s bad enough.

But even worse than Daryll was Chris. The audacity of that guy—forcing himself on Yiren, thinking he could get away with it. And yeah, when I saw them on the dance floor I went all caveman on that douche.

But none of that compares to the real problem: my reaction to Yiren. What the hell is wrong with me? One second, I’m totally in control, and the next, she’s walking down the red carpet in that damn blue dress, and my brain short-circuits. And that kiss on the cheek? her touches on my body? her linking fingers through mine? And her godamn strawberry fragrance? I was gone, all sense of control thrown out the window.

I grit my teeth, throwing the covers off me. I need to get it together. From now on, I’ll avoid putting myself in situations that blur the lines between what’s pretend and what’s... not. No more hands on her thigh, no more getting swept up in whatever this is. It’s not smart. It’s not needed.

I glance over at the rough draft of Yiren’s business pitch sitting on my nightstand. I stayed up all night working on it. Maybe that’ll smooth things over—if she’s even talking to me. She hasn’t come out of her room yet, which means she’s still angry. Right, because you handled everything so well last night.

I stand up, grab the draft, and head over to her door. I slide the paper underneath and knock lightly.

A muffled groan comes from the other side, followed by some unintelligible muttering.

I knock again, a little louder this time, and am greeted by a loud thud against the door. Something definitely just crashed. I grimace, stepping back. Okay, Plan A is dead. Let’s not disturb the beast.

I make my way to the kitchen and start fumbling with the coffee machine. Bear sits in the corner, watching me with those judgmental eyes of his, his tail thumping on the floor like he’s holding me accountable.

"What? I didn’t do anything," I mutter defensively, raising my hands in surrender. Bear lets out a low growl, clearly not convinced, before sauntering over to the bedroom.

Exactly five minutes later, I hear the sound of slippers, and when I turn, there she is—still in that damn blue dress and lots of attitude. Makeup gone, hair a wild mess, and looks absolutely like a walking sin . The Worse? Last night she was missing panty but in the morning she’s missing panty and bra both. The saga of missing undergarments continues. Is it her thing now?

Why does she always have to look so effortlessly... something?

I blink, trying to shake the thought from my head, but it’s too late. The image of the shape of her gorgeous breast pressed against the silk fabric is already burned into my mind.

Damn it, Jun, don’t stare.

Bear trots behind her, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Of course. Traitor.

Without saying a word, Yiren walks right up to me, snatches my coffee mug I’m drinking from, and takes a sip. The second the coffee hits her tongue, her face scrunches up in disgust.

"Seriously?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "What is this?"

I shrug. "Coffee."

"Have some shame," She makes a face, holding the mug away from her like it’s poison. "This is an insult to all coffee drinkers."

I reach for the mug, but she pulls it away, hissing. "I’m not giving back your apology drink."

"You wish," I say, smirking.

"Keep telling that to yourself." Yiren glares at me playfully before taking another sip, her face crumpling even more. "God, it’s even worse the second time."

I reach for the mug, but she pulls it away, growling softly. "Try again and I’ll pour it over your head."

I raise both hands in surrender, a chuckle slipping out before I can stop it. "Fine, fine. Keep the sludge. I’ll make something better later."

"You couldn’t make a decent cup of coffee if your life depended on it."

We share a moment of playful tension, her smirk daring me to try and take the coffee back. "You really think you can take everything?"

"Everything?" she echoes, raising an eyebrow. "No, just this coffee. The rest of the stuff is still up for grabs."

I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s impossible.

******

I notice she’s reading the draft I slipped under her door earlier. My heart quickens—why am I nervous? It’s just a business pitch. But for some reason, I’m waiting for her reaction like it’s some kind of judgment day.

Her eyes skim over the pages, and then her mouth drops open in surprise. "Man, this is... amazing. Like, genius-level amazing. No wonder you are so rich! Any person with this kind of talent by his side will be rich."

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the genuine admiration in her voice. "Yeah?"

She nods, still scanning the paper. "No way any investor would turn this down. The way this guy— Bruce-- has framed everything—it’s perfect."

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Her words touch something deep inside me. No one ever notices the hard work, the talent. It’s usually just the same tired judgments: rich kid, spoiled, inherited wealth. But she sees more than that. And it hits harder than I thought it would. My heart is doing somersaults inside my chest for the compliment I received from my enemy. Wow.

She puts the paper down and grabs her phone, immediately punching in Bruce’s number—the one I left on the draft. I watch as she sends him a message.

A second later, my own phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s the message she just sent to "Bruce." My fingers twitch toward my phone, but I stop myself. I can’t blow my cover just yet.

So I just kept my eyes at her, my eyes flicking down to her dress before I could stop myself. The way the blue fabric clings to her, the thin straps that show off her bare shoulders... It’s hard to look away.

She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.

"Something wrong with the dress?"

"You’ve seriously been living in that dress since last night," I tease, raising an eyebrow. "Not that it’s my business, but... comfortable?"

She winces, her shoulders slumping just a little. "Actually... I’m stuck."

I blink. "Stuck?"

****