Page 384 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"I’ve been waiting for so long to meet you.

My prayers have finally been answered," Grams gushes. The emotions pour through the phone, and I freeze. Oh wow, she does believe we are engaged to be married. And she’s happy about it.

Considering I don’t have anyone else in my family I needed to notify about the breaking news of my fake engagement, it’s overwhelming to have this kind of reaction from someone who clearly cares for him.

I hold his gaze, then glance away. "That’s a very sweet thing to say, Grams."

"You two look so cute together. And you only have eyes for each other. I knew when he finally fell it would be for a woman who’s strong and confident. Someone who won't put up with his shenanigans."

I chuckle. "You haven’t even met me and—"

"And I’m good at reading the nuances, young lady. That kiss between the two of you is somethin' else. And he has eyes only for you in every picture. He’s smitten, Giorgina, and with good reason. From what I gathered, you have a firm head on your shoulders. And you're beautiful, too!"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Thank you, I guess?"

"So, when am I seeing the both of you?"

I glance up at Rick who murmurs, "Tomorrow?"

"Tonight, for dinner," Grams announces.

"Ah, well, I’m at work and—"

"My time is short, Giorgina. Every minute wasted is one I won’t get back. I’m going to see the two of you this evening at dinner. You tell that grandson of mine to bring you home by six p.m."

"But Grams—" the phone goes dead.

I lower it, and he takes it from me, sliding it into his pocket.

"I assume you heard that?"

"Loud and clear." He rubs the back of his neck. "You don’t have to come. My grandmother can be a handful, but if you’re uncomfortable with it—"

"I’ll come." I reach for my skirt and slip into it, then pull on my blouse before shrugging into my jacket. "I mean, that’s one of the reasons for this entire charade, isn’t it?"

He nods slowly. "I don’t want you to feel compelled to do something you’re not comfortable with."

"The only thing I’m not comfortable about is that your Grams sounds genuinely excited about our engagement, and it doesn’t feel right that we’re acting out a farce in front of her, you know?"

"But the end result is that she’ll agree to the procedure that'll give her a chance to live."

I nod slowly. "Couldn’t you have done this for real?"

"Done what for real?"

"Found a woman and gotten engaged to her?"

"What’s this then?" He points at the space between us.

"You and I both know our engagement is as fake as the snow in that indoor ski-resort in Dubai."

"Dubai has an indoor ski-resort?" He frowns.

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

I throw up my hands. "You know what I’m trying to say here. Your grandmother seems to think we’re engaged."

"That was the idea. And our little interview earlier with the journalist clearly did the trick."

"But she sounded so thrilled and so looking forward to seeing us…" I lock my fingers together in front of me. "It doesn’t feel right."

He scans my features. "It’s bothering you, huh?"

I nod.

"If it’s making you uncomfortable and you don’t want to go through with this, then—"

"That’s not what I’m saying, either."

He rubs at his temple. "I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me here, Goldie. Do you want to meet my grandmother or not?"

I draw in a breath. "Yes, yes I do. She’s looking forward to seeing us. I don’t want to let her down."

"Okay, good." He seems relieved. "Let’s take it one step at a time. Let’s get through dinner today and we’ll take it from there?"

"Am I over-dressed?" I run my sweat-soaked palms down the fabric of my dress. Thankfully, I packed a range of clothes in my suitcase when I moved from L.A. I might have left in a hurry, but I had enough presence of mind to pack my favorite outfits, which include this pale blue, silk shirt-dress that comes to below my knees. It’s made of a flowing crepe de chine fabric with a collar, a wrap detail bodice, and a belt that cinches in at the waist. It’s timeless and elegant and something I know makes me look good.

After that call with his grandmother, he left me in my office to get on with my work and promised to be back to pick me up at four-thirty p.m. I told him he didn’t need to, but he said we should for the sake of appearances.

Of course, Edward is in his office down the corridor from me, as are his assistant and the admin and finance teams, so I suppose he’s right.

Also, his grandmother was right. I saw the pictures from the interview, and the one of us kissing is smokin’.

And the other pictures all have Rick looking at me like I’m the love of his life.

There’s even a slight curve to his lips in one, and his eyes have this look of adoration that made my heart go flip-flop.

Ugh, he’s a better actor than I am; other than the kiss where I’m leaning into him, I look a little uncomfortable, like I’m not sure what to do with myself.

Fact is, as a PR professional, I’m used to managing the profiles of my clients.

But now that I’m in the spotlight myself, it’s making me realize I don’t like having the attention on me.

I've also gained a new understanding of how difficult it is for clients to keep their composure when they're faced with prying questions. Still, it’s already been worth it. That look of shock on Dennis’ face when he’d found out I’d moved on made it worth it.

And if this coerces Grams to get her operation, then it’s worth all the scrutiny over my life and having to share living quarters with the Grumphole, right?

"Well?" I turn to him. "Am I dressed appropriately for this visit?"

He eases the car to a stop at a traffic-signal, then turns and drags his gaze down my face, my chest, my legs, which I cross over each other.

My skirt slides up my thighs. He takes in the skin exposed above my knees, and goosebumps pop on my skin.

I resist the urge to pull down the fabric and cover myself up.

"You haven’t answered the question," I remind him.

He brings his gaze up to my face, and his blue eyes flash with desire before he banks it. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

Heat flushes my cheeks. This man… He makes me blush like I’ve never been complimented before.

Which I have been, but coming from him? It’s different.

It’s special. It’s personal. It feeds something primitive inside of me.

Something I can’t understand, something that makes me want to please him even more.

Something that makes me want to earn his praise and feel contented.

The signal changes, and he faces forward before taking his foot off the brake.

His thick fingers grip the wheel with practiced ease.

He’s changed into slacks and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

As he steers the car, veins stand out on his forearms. The dark hair peppered there, the chiseled muscles that flex as he drives…

All of it elicits a familiar prickling between my legs.

I squeeze my thighs together to assuage the emptiness that yawns there.

The emptiness which is now stamped by the shape of his cock.

He must sense it for he growls, "Spread your legs."