Page 334 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Penny

The receptionist gasps. I freeze. Did she say what I think she did? I try to glance over my shoulder to get a good look at her, but he tightens his grip in my hair, and holds me in place.

"You shouldn’t have come here," he growls.

"So you can keep fucking your… your whore?" she spits out.

I draw in a sharp breath. When he calls me his whore, it feels like the most beautiful phrase in the world. Coming from anyone else, it makes me feel dirty and used. I try to pull away from him, but does he let me? Of course, not. He presses my head into his chest and holds me in place.

Before I can say anything, footsteps sound, then a new voice cries, “There you are, Bobbie. I’m so sorry, Mr. Warren.

I took her for a walk and my back was turned for just a few seconds, and she took off with my purse.

Before I could get to her, she’d flagged down a cab. I managed to follow her here and—”

He must have raised his hand because her voice cuts off.

"Can you please take her back? I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says in a neutral tone.

“Of course,” the new arrival replies.

The woman who’d burst in earlier protests, but a moment later, I hear them leave and the door closes.

Silence descends, filled with the kind of tension I thought we put behind us.

I was sure we were beginning to communicate with each other, that we were going to find a new balance, perhaps a way of becoming husband and wife in the truest sense, but this…

This turn of events is something I did not anticipate.

I push against his shoulders, and this time, he releases me.

I scramble off his lap. His stupid dick slides out, leaving me empty and wanting, and Ohhh!

What’s wrong with me? That woman claimed to be his wife, and I can’t stop yearning for this man.

Loser. Loser. What a loser. I manage to slip into my panties, then pull on my jeans and zip them up.

I straighten my bra, then thread the one remaining button on my jacket through the eyehole, sans camisole, since he shredded that.

By the time I turn to face him, he’s zipped up his fly, smoothed his hair, and is leaning back in his chair.

I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. "Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s not what it sounds like."

"So, she’s not your wife?"

He hesitates. "You’re my wife."

He hesitated. Oh, my god, he paused before he said the words I wanted to hear from him.

"Who is she, Knight?"

His gaze narrows, no doubt, because I called him by his name. Too bad. Right now, I’m not in the mood to call him by the name he prefers. And if that makes him mad, then bully for me.

"Who is she?" I ask again.

"Why don’t you sit down first?"

I shake my head. "Oh, no, no, no. Don’t go all polite now. Don’t tell me to sit down, like my knees won’t be able to hold me up after I find out who she really is."

"She's the wife of one of my team members who was killed when we were taken captive. When I returned, the first thing I did was go to each of their homes and break the news to them in person. When I told her about her husband, she couldn’t take it.

She fell unconscious. When she woke up, she was convinced I was her husband. And I—I went along with it."

"You went along with it."

"She’d had a psychotic episode. I felt responsible for what had happened. Of course, I went along with it."

"So, you let her believe you were her husband?"

His jaw firms, but he nods.

"And she thinks she's your wife."

He nods again. "I admitted her to a hospital, made sure she got the best care. Adam and I go to see her every day."

"Adam—your friend, and the only other team member who survived. That Adam?"

"It’s why I make it a point to meet him every morning. We jog, then we go and check in on Bobbie."

I wince. "That’s her name? Bobbie?"

He jerks his chin. "It’s the least I can do."

"And I’m not holding it against you." Except, I am. I don’t know why, but when she said she was his wife, it was as if something inside me broke.

Maybe, subconsciously, I knew something like this was going to happen.

After all, for the first time in my life since my mother got sick, I'm happy. I was sure I’d found a man I could love for the rest of my life.

I should have known better than to believe in that feeling.

If things can go wrong for me, they will.

Don’t I know that by now? I square my shoulders and paste my usual bright smile on my face.

I resolved not to do that again, but this situation, where I find out everything my husband has told me so far is fake, deserves nothing but a fake smile.

"Right, then.” I widen my smile until I’m sure my features are going to crack. “So, she’s your wife—"

His jaw tightens. "She thinks she’s my wife. You are my wife."

"Semantics."

He rises to his feet and keeps rising, so I have to tilt my head back to see his face.

And I’m not going to look away. I’m not.

I can see this through. It doesn’t mean anything…

Except, it does. The anticipation and excitement in her voice when she announced she was his wife…

You can’t fake that. She really does think she's married to him. And what he and I have is a piece of paper telling us we are. He doesn’t love me—perhaps he’s falling for me, but he’s made it clear, he can never love me.

Also, he owes it to his friend and teammate to—

"Stop, don’t go there in your head."

"Excuse me?" I say in a very polite voice.

He grits his teeth. "You will not think those thoughts that are going to cause you distress."

"Oh, so now you’re suddenly concerned about my well-being?"

"I’ve always been concerned about your well-being," he says in a hard voice that makes my nerve-endings flare. I push away the desire that coils in my belly.

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I show you how much I desire you."

"You fucked me. Big deal." I raise a shoulder.

He shoves his hand into his pocket, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him do that. Funny how, in a matter of weeks, I know when his body language gives away his true state of mind.

"I fuck you because that's the only way I can show you what you mean to me," he says in a low voice.

I raise my hand. "Look, you don’t have to try to claim you have feelings for me, because we both know you don’t."

He firms his jaw but doesn’t deny what I said. He. Doesn’t. Deny that he has no feelings for me. I knew it. Of course, I did. But when he confessed to allowing another woman to pretend that she's his wife— It all feels too overwhelming.

"I need to leave." I glance down at my ruined jacket. "Damn it, and everyone outside is going to know what we’ve been up to."

"You’re my wife. Who cares if they speculate what we’ve been up to?"

"I’m also your employee, so I care." I jut out my chin.

"In which case,"—he widens his stance—"you’re fired."