Page 14 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

4

“Y’know, I could eat a peach for hours.”

— Face/Off. Director: John Woo

Sin

"Have a good day, Mr. Sterling."

Peter my chauffeur pulls my Aston Martin up to the curb in front of my offices. The heritage building on the South Bank is prime London property that I acquired after a bitter bidding war. It does the job, I suppose. I swing open the door and Max bounds ahead. He pauses in front of the homeless man next to the entrance.

His sign today reads: The Devil returned to Hell by two.

I approach the homeless guy, drop a wad of bills into the upturned cap in front of him. "Byron, again, huh?"

As always, his face doesn’t change expression. The two of us are similar that way.

The degree of separation between the man in the palace and the one on the street is less than seven, son.

My father’s words echo in my head.He hated the homeless. Perhaps it struck something primal in him. This dread of losing everything, finding himself out on his luck, had intensified after the incident. He'd lost his job soon after, hadn't been able to afford the money for my mother's cancer treatment, if it had not been for my friends. Yeah, I have a few… Six, to be precise. The kind who’d stab me if I turned my back on them.

Figuratively speaking… In business, I mean.

Best if you never trust anyone, not even your friends. There is no way you can be hurt then, right?

I walk toward the heavy glass door where Max waits for me. I push it and he bounds ahead of me. The receptionist glances up; her face flushes.

"Good morning, Mr. Sterling."

I frown. "How long you been here?"

She blinks.

"You deaf, girl?"

"N… no." Color fades from her cheeks, and her color matches the wall behind her.

"Answer the question."

She gulps. "A week."

"You’re fired."

"But…"

"You're on probation so no need to go to HR; you can leave right now."

She splutters, "My fault, Sir?"

"Don’t like your face."

That is true. Also, because I am getting a little tired of her loss of composure every time I walk by. Reminds me of what my position in this city is all about. Something I hate.

I walk up to the elevator, the doors swish open, and I step inside. Seems the elevator maintenance company can keep their contract... For now.

"Stop." A hand appears in between the doors, halting their progress. A woman steps in. "Sorry… I can't afford to be late, I—" She looks up.

Green eyes stare at me, pink hair tied up into a knot that is already coming undone. The pale creamy skin of her neck colors. It reminds me of someone. I snap my gaze to her face and her jaw drops open. "You?"