Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire

YIREN

"I'm sorry."

I wince, gripping the phone tighter. "Okay. Let me know if you find anything." I've scoured every job agency and sent emails to every company I can think of.

But Monika has slammed every door shut. I'm even willing to relocate, but still—no luck.

"But—"

I perk up. "Yes, tell me?"

"We have some inside info... Monika blacklisted you."

My heart drops. That explains it. No wonder no one wants to touch me. Monika's got pull—she's practically royalty in this industry, a sitting member of the Architects Association.

"Oh."

"Wait, there's one approval—just came through an hour ago."

Hope flares. "Really? That's great!"

"It's a Senior Architect post. The salary is on par with your previous job, but there's one condition. You'd have to relocate to Africa. I'm forwarding you the details now."

And just like that, the premature celebration dies. It's not that I'm against moving to Africa, but I'd hoped for something... closer. More familiar. Somewhere I can start over, but still feel grounded.

"Everything loaded. Check and sign the receipt."

I glance back, catching Charles glaring at me through a cloud of cigar smoke.

"Okay. I'll check it," I say halfheartedly as I hang up the phone.

"Thanks, Chang. You're the best!" I throw a smile his way, even though his moodiness is legendary. His shop is an architect's dream—or nightmare, depending on how well he likes you. He's got the best materials at competitive prices. The only catch? If Chang doesn't like you, you won't get a thing.

I give the load on my pickup truck a quick once-over. "The boys will be at your place in an hour," he grumbles. Skilled labor, too—carpenters, painters, electricians. Chang is a one-stop solution, though no one dares ask him for a discount.

I sign the receipt, cash in hand—because that's how Chang likes it—and make my way back to the truck. As I drive, my eyes land on something familiar, a piece of my past sitting right on the corner.

Oh, yes.

It's still there. The food truck.

I can't help but smile as memories flood back. Jun, me, and my mom used to come here all the time. Whenever Jun and I fought—and we fought a lot—Mom's way of restoring peace was to bribe us with a meal from this truck. We'd fake smiles and pretend to get along, just long enough to score a plate of noodles.

The owners are from Imperial City, and their food? It's home. Jianyu once said it, Jun's older brother. At the time, I didn't get it. But now, as the years stretch between us and that past, I understand. The three of them—Jun, Jianyu, and Shishi—were raised by a caretaker, far from their real home. Brutal.

I sigh, debating. Should I grab some food for Jun? He'd appreciate the nostalgia. But then again...

He's an ass.

Besides, I owe him for the food from last night. Though he'll probably think I poisoned it if I bring anything back.

Still, it could be... a nice gesture? For the sake of the truce we have.

I keep driving, pushing the idea out of my head. No point wasting money on someone who's bound to make a snarky comment about it.

Then I slam the brakes.

Damn it.

U-turn.

*****

By the time I pull up to the building, the boys are waiting at the security gate. After clearing checks, we take the service elevator up, hauling the materials.

I set the food packets on the kitchen counter and walk them through the work for each room. Zian wants to create a mini-gym in the guest room for his kids, and a small nook for diaper changes and a crib. His sister's bringing a newborn—a little two-week-old boy. Cute.

I step into the main bedroom, and last night's memories flood back, heating my cheeks. The air still carries that mix of citrus and spice—his scent. God, why does it smell so damn good? His Kindle is still sitting on the nightstand, with reading glasses neatly beside it.

A man who reads... and wears reading glasses?

No, Yiren. Stop. Just stop.

I shake my head to clear the image of Jun lounging in bed with his Kindle, glasses perched on his nose, bare chest—

Stop. Thinking. Dammit.

I crank up the music, trying to drown out my thoughts and dive into work. The boys work quickly, following my lead, and the jungle-themed wallpaper for the kids' room looks adorable. But the black bedsheet is an eyesore, so I swap it for one with baby pandas.

We wrap up at six, the boys heading out for the day. I'd planned to stop too, but there's one last task—installing the climbing blocks on the wall. It's simple, just large Lego-like pieces that need to be drilled in.

Sixty-eight blocks.

Which means 204 holes.

Awesome.

I drag the heavy aluminum ladder over, preparing for a long night. I manage the first hole in twenty minutes—my shoulder already sore—when my phone rings. The screen lights up with a photo of thirteen-year-old Jun, mid-nose pick. The name reads: Uncle Juju.

I hit speaker. "Is it safe to come home?"

No greeting. Classic Jun. Straight to the point.

"Yeah, I just finished hiding a crate of venomous snakes laced with pheromones."

He snorts. "Snakes on a Plane? Really? I expected more from you, something out of Saw."

"Still scared of creepy crawlies, huh?"

I can almost feel his glare through the phone. Jun's never been a fan of anything that crawls, even lizards and spiders used to send him running.

"I'm just giving them the respect they deserve. They're tiny ninjas."

His deadpan delivery sends me into a fit of laughter, my stomach aching. Damn him for being funnier than I remember.

"Seriously though, are you still at Zian's?"

I compose myself. "Yeah, installing wall-climbing Legos. Why?"

A pause. "Why you? Don't you have people for that?"

Wait, is that concern in his voice? Nah. I must be imagining things.

"Why do you care?"

"Don't want to deal with the paperwork if something happens to you."

Snarky and thoughtful. Classic.

"My team clocked out for the day," I say, kicking the drill by my foot. "I'm a big girl. I can handle a few measly holes."

"Sure doesn't sound like it."

"In your dreams."

He whispers something to Bear in the background, then asks, "Ordering dinner. Should I get enough for two or just me?"

My heart skips. Is this why he called? But his next words ruin the moment.

"Last night, you practically inhaled everything, left me with crumbs."

I didn't... Did I? Maybe the chicken tikka is my weakness. Ugh, I shouldn't have bought him food.

"Well, I didn't eat it—I rescued it, gave it a better home in my stomach."

His laughter echoes through the phone, rich and carefree. And maybe a little contagious.

"Actually," I bite my lip, "don't bother ordering dinner. I picked up something from Auntie Tintin's food truck."

A long pause. "Wait... the Auntie Tintin's?"

"Yup. Same lychee pork, dan-dan noodles, and steamed fish."

He goes quiet for too long. "Some memories stick."

"Aww—"

"And some are nightmares. Like you."

Dick.

"Truce, Jun. Don't forget, we need to return this house to Zian ghost-free."

He laughs. "I'll be home in twenty. We'll eat together."

We'll eat together.

Three simple words, but they send my heart flipping and stuttering in ways I wish it wouldn't.

Am I... swooning?

I'm so distracted, I lean against the ladder without thinking, and the damn thing slides. My sneakers lose their grip on the polished floor, and I go down with a yelp, arms flailing, knocking over the entire box of climbing blocks. They rain down on me as I hit the floor hard, flat on my back.

I lie there, staring up at the white ceiling, chuckling.

Then I hear it—the ladder.

Oh, no—

Crash.

Darkness.

*****