Page 174 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

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"Swoon, I'll catch you."

—The English Patient. Director: Anthony Minghella

Sin

"Have a good day, Sir." Peter pulls up to the curb in front of my office. I lean across and open the door of the Aston Martin, as he comes around.

"I got this." I wave him back.

His gaze widens, then he nods and retreats.

Max bounds out of the car, straining at the leash. He pauses in front of the homeless man next to the entrance.

His sign today reads, "Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day..."

I pause in front of him, "Bloody fuck. Can't you write something a little less depressing?"

He stares up at me.

I pull out my wallet, "There's a job waiting for you" I nod toward the building. "If you need one. Not that I'm one to mock your lifestyle, but so you know, if you change your mind."

He tilts his head.

Right. So all of a sudden I am some kind of a do-gooder? Trying to change the world? Not. It's Bird who's affecting me. Maybe I am so happy that I want to share my good fortune with the rest of the world? What-fucking-ever. I pull out a few bills, drop them into the hat in front of the man.

Max races toward the entrance, pulling me in his wake.

"It's from Darkness."

"Huh?" I turn, blink.

"A poem by Byron." Homeless Man stares at me. The fuck is up with that vacant gaze of his? Is he high on something?

A prickle of unease grips me. "Byron? You mean the poet or the Capo of the Mafia?"

He picks up the bills and pockets them. Then gathers up the hat, slams it on his head, without losing a single coin or bill. He strides away, board tucked under his arm.

The fuck?"Hey, hold on." I stalk forward and Max whines. I pause glance back.

Max wags his tail, pivots toward the office building. He whines, then tugs at his leash. "Jesus, hold on, you mutt."

I turn around to find Homeless Guy has disappeared.

What the fuck just happened there?

I rub the back of my neck, then prowl toward the entrance. Max keeps pace.

I shove open the door and he bounds ahead, dragging me along into the building that I own. Fuck my life.

He, flops on the ground in front of the receptionist's desk.

She smiles at the puppy.

I scowl. All of that sweetness that the bugger leaves in his wake is seriously cloying. But Bird had insisted.

It had been her gift to me on the first anniversary—the first month of her moving in with me. She'd made me promise I'd take the little fucker to work, and me... Well, I couldn't have refused her.