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  The Billionaire and the Bad Girl

  Bella Love-Wins

  Bella Love-Wins Books

  Contents

  The Billionaire and the Bad Girl

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  Blurb

  Epigraph – Vanessa

  1. Vanessa

  2. Liam

  3. Vanessa

  4. Liam

  5. Vanessa

  6. Liam

  7. Vanessa

  8. Vanessa

  9. Vanessa

  10. Vanessa

  11. Vanessa

  12. Liam

  13. Vanessa

  14. Vanessa

  15. Vanessa

  16. Liam

  17. Vanessa

  18. Liam

  19. Vanessa

  20. Liam

  Epilogue – Liam

  Bella Love-Wins

  Bonus - Sneak Peek Preview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Would You Like More of These Couples?

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  Other Books by Bella Love-Wins

  The Billionaire and the Bad Girl

  A Fake Girlfriend Romance

  Bella Love-Wins

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  The Billionaire and the Bad Girl

  Copyright © 2017 Bella Love-Wins.

  Written by Bella Love-Wins.

  All Rights Reserved.

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  Blurb

  Fake Girlfriend...Real F*ck Buddy... More sparks than I bargained for.

  Vanessa

  Liam O’Sullivan just told the world that I’m his girlfriend.

  He’s a liar — there’s a difference between making a commitment and casually hooking up with him for years on account of his generous… package.

  But that commitment changes everything for me. One little lie sets my career into motion, but also puts the spotlight directly on us… the happy couple.

  He’s an arrogant, filthy-talking, sexy bastard with questionable family ties… who just changed my world for the better.

  Almost overnight, I start to reap the rewards of what Liam sowed by saying those three words.

  But it’s a lie he told just because he could. We can’t keep this up forever. I force him to agree that we’ll end the charade as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

  I’m a smart girl. No biggie at all. I’m certain I can handle it.

  I just don’t expect to fall in real love with my fake boyfriend.

  Epigraph – Vanessa

  My grandmother’s love for gardening should have rubbed off on me. To this day, I don’t know why it didn’t. I spent a lot of my childhood following her around as she did outdoor work. I recall spending several weeks every summer at her place. And for four of my pre-teen years, I was with her for the entire summer break. Mostly to get away from my parents. Well, my mother, to be honest.

  So, I watched Grams in her garden. And I listened.

  She used to clear out a section of the flowerbed for some stubborn wildflowers that kept coming back every spring. The pink creeping daisy, if I remember correctly. Her summertime landscape artist would complain about it every year. He could never understand why she would taint his masterpieces with despicable “weeds.” His words. Personally, I always thought he was a bit of a dick.

  Grams would tell him that wildflowers can be beautiful too. And every time they bickered about the backyard, she’d remind him of the interlocking brick flowerbed edging he installed, including one between his flowers and her weeds.

  One day when I was about ten, I asked her from my spot on the back porch why she separated her wildflowers from the other blooms if she loved them so much. I’ll never forget her answer.

  “They’ll spread until they take over the entire backyard. Wildflowers can’t be contained,” she told me once. “They thrive when they’re challenged, when they’re free.”

  1

  Vanessa

  I look out at the stunning view of Upper West Side, Manhattan from my brother, Dylan’s penthouse condo. If I crane my neck enough from the balcony, I can see the bright pink signage of Petit Bijoux, my new favorite designer shoe store.

  Fuck. Some retail therapy’s in order, but other plans keep me here.

  I can’t bail. It’s my childhood friend, Jackson, and his fiancée, Dahlia’s night. As usual, I’m one of four people here without a date, even though we were all invited to bring a plus one. Dylan has Emily, his fiancée of a couple of years. Jackson’s brother, Jace, is married to Cherry, another childhood friend of ours. Realistically, none of us single folk are so inhumane as to bring a date into such a close-knit, complex dynamic. Caleb and Foster are the single guys, close friends and business partners with Dylan, Jace, and Jackson. And Rosa’s free like me. She’s a school friend and former roommate of both Dahlia and Emily. Rosa also has some sort of strained history with Caleb, and she happens to be employed at Knights Capital with all the guys around the table.

  Tonight’s ten-guest dinner party has been in our calendars for weeks. Jackson and Dahlia are finally taking steps to plan the final details of their wedding, which takes place in a few weeks.

  Which is why I’m cringing.

  I hate weddings, in general.

  Long term relationships too.

  Matter of fact, I’d add love and romance to the list.

  My attitude toward all things couple-ish has nothing to do with this particular pair. I like Dahlia, and have known Jackson since we were in kindergarten. They’re great for each other. My issue is with the unrealistic goal western society has, of finding ‘the one’ and building an entire life with that person. For life. Like the jail sentence for violent murderers. To me, the institution of marriage is outdated and impractical. Human beings weren’t built for monogamy or life-long romantic connections. Statistics support my viewpoint too. Over half of all marriages end in divorce. I’d bet that for at least half of the remaining marriages, someone’s thinking about divorce.

  “More wine?” asks the server helping out Emily, the host for tonight’s gathering. Emily prepared the entire six-course meal from scratch, and we’re all lucky to have her tonight, on a weeknight, when she could have been serving her patrons at the restaurant she opened about a month ago.

  “Please,” I answer, holding out my glass.

  By the time dinner is served, plans are more or less in order.

  Emily’s the maid of honor. Jace is the best man. Cherry, Rosa, and I are bridesmaids, along with Dahlia’s sister from Utah. Dylan, Caleb, and Foster are groomsmen, and Dahlia will add a first cousin from her hometown as well. They’re hiring an event planner next week. It’s perfect because Chef Emily also wants to have input on the wedding reception menu above everything else.

  Somehow, the conversation turns t
o relationships. It’s not a stretch, with all the sickeningly loving couples around the table, contrasted with us, four die-hard single people. I do my best to act excited for the sake of the entire purpose of tonight—firming up the wedding party details. It’s all great until my brother, Dylan, asks me what I have against commitment or something long term.

  I tap on my coffee cup as a server passes with a coffee decanter, hoping someone will change the subject. My intention tonight is to keep the conversation light, so I won’t have to say a word to mess with anyone’s happiness. To each his own. That’s my mantra.

  But no one speaks.

  In fact, they all look pretty curious to know my answer.

  “Sorry, what was the question?” I ask, although I know what it was.

  Dylan shakes his head. “Don’t even try. You heard me, unless you developed selective hearing overnight.”

  “All I’ll say about it is this. Love and relationships aren’t for everyone.”

  “And why not you?” he presses, taking a drink from his whiskey glass but keeping his eyes fixed on me.

  I squirm a little in my seat because I’d rather have my eyeballs removed from their sockets with a spoon than talk about this with brother dearest.

  “Maybe I’m not ready,” I say.

  It’s a lie. I’m never getting into a serious relationship, let alone walking down the aisle. Keep it light. Keep it moving. That’s what works for me.

  “What about a little romance from time to time?” Dahlia asks.

  “I romance myself. Chocolates, flowers, wine, lingerie. I spare no expense.”

  That reply elicits a smile from Rosa sitting beside me. She gives me a wink, and we clink glasses in solidarity.

  “And the idea of soulmates?”

  I shake my head. “Um, that would be a ‘no’ for me.”

  “Haven’t you ever met someone and knew instantly that the two of you had something special?”

  “Chemistry, sure. Connection? Never.”

  This statement is also a lie. Well, a part-lie. I feel something for one person. Liam O’Sullivan. He’s my regular hookup, and has been for years. His number is the first one in my contact list under the following folders:

  Booty Calls

  Friends With Benefits

  Guys Who Like to Keep my Fuck-Me Shoes on While They Fuck me

  Ginger Guys I’d Like to Fuck Again

  Damn Good Sex

  Ten or More Inches and Knows How to Fucking Use it

  But we’re from different worlds. Liam wants more—which he’s hinted at a few times but not often enough to make me bolt. Even if something’s lurking behind the fantastic time we have in the bedroom, it doesn’t mean I’ll ever want to act on it.

  Caleb turns slightly from the seat opposite me, and a lock of his tousled blond hair falls over his forehead. “What about you two?” he asks Dylan and Emily, pushing his hair out of his face. The conversation goes quiet, and instead of letting the table topic move along, he adds insult to injury with, “Do you both like the sanctity of perpetual engagement, or is Vanessa rubbing off on you, Dylan?”

  Bad idea. Everyone around the table knows that Dylan and Emily have been engaged for a couple of years. I’ve lost track of exactly how long. We also know it has more to do with the fact that Emily was fresh out of the culinary program at Columbia when Dylan proposed after just six months of them dating, and she’s spent the last couple of years working on her career. After that, she launched her own restaurant a few months ago.

  “Do yourself a favor, Caleb,” I say. “Stop talking.”

  He probably believes that I’m defending my brother, but I’m not. It’s called standing up for my right to defy any and all societal views around relationships. “See, this is yet another reason I stay single. You start dating someone, then everyone and their brother believe they have a right to look in on your cozy little bubble and judge you based on their own standards. Expectations and societal pressures amplify around couples. If they’re dating, everyone wants to know when they’ll get more serious. When they’re close, people want to find out when the loving couple’s getting engaged. Then married. Then they must have kids, or someone’s gonna start asking what’s wrong with them.”

  My nostrils are flaring by the end of my tirade. It’s justifiable, but it’s not usually this easy to get my feathers ruffled.

  “More drinks anyone?” Jace asks in a casual tone that still gets his point across while ignoring the elephant in the room. “In keeping with the reason we’re here, I propose one more toast to my big bro and his lovely Dahlia. May you and your top-notch wedding planner have zero hurdles on the road to nuptial bliss. And if you stumble, feel free to follow my lead. I’ve left breadcrumbs.”

  “To wedding breadcrumbs,” Jackson agrees.

  Raising a glass, we all echo the toast. I’m mostly relieved that the attention has moved away from my private life, but I’m not pleased that it’s at anyone else’s expense. Case in point, Emily stands and excuses herself from the table to check on dessert, but we all know why she’s stepping away. At least I do. If Dylan had his way, they’d be married with a couple of kids by now. He wants it all. He wants what he believes our parents had for about a minute.

  I don’t talk much about the fact that Mom looked at her parenting role as a burden, a barrier to the career that meant everything to her. Dylan has some idea about it, but he’s a guy. And a geek. He spent half of our childhood locked in his room, staring at ant farms, playing video games, and entrenched in his overall nerdiness. It explains his idealistic view of relationships, and my apathy for anything remotely close to the topic.

  The thought of my mother immediately brings my deep-seated bitterness toward her to the surface. I lift my hand to the yellow gold locket from my grandmother for some solace. She gave it to me before she passed, and it’s everything to me. They were so different. It continues to rattle me that I had so much more in common with Grams than I do with the woman who brought me into this world. Mom may have given me life, but she sucked it all away. I wish Grams were here. She could have told me what to do to fix it, and I wouldn’t have been stuck trying not to turn into my mother.

  As Dylan follows Emily to the kitchen to make nice, my phone’s text notification buzzes inside my purse sitting at my feet. I’m suddenly grateful that I didn’t leave it hanging in the foyer closet.

  “It’s probably the office,” I say quickly, but no one really notices. Each remaining couple is now engaged in hushed, intimate one-on-one conversations. Foster’s doing his usual detached thing, with his eyes glued to his phone screen. Caleb’s flirting with Rosa, who seems to be in the mood to tolerate him a bit. Picking up my purse, I get to my feet. “I’d better take this.”

  It’s my opportunity to skip dessert and make a quiet exit. A quick glance at the unlocked screen tells me I make the right call by deciding to duck out.

  It’s Liam.

  Master of the bedroom.

  An even better reason to leave.

  He’s number one on all my naughty lists for a reason.

  And I’m confident he knows the effect he has on me. He must, because every time he hints at wanting to get closer, I put some distance between us, but I’m also the one who reaches out to mend fences.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Because he’s that good. The man has an uncanny ability to ignite every inch of my body with his mouth, teeth, hands, and the twelve thick inches of pleasure he’s packing between his legs.

  I’m aroused just thinking about it, so I open the text app to check his messages.

  Liam: Hi sexy.

  Me: Hi yourself. What’s up?

  Liam: You free tonight?

  Me: At a dinner party atm. Why?

  Liam: How about after?

  Me: Maybe. What do you have in mind?

  Liam: Dessert. My place.

  Me: I’ve got an early meeting in the a.m.

  Liam: Just get here fast.

  Me: I’m not s
ure…

  Liam: You think better after I wear you out a little. Or a lot.

  Heat rises to my cheeks and my core clenches. The man is right. I also sleep like a baby after he’s finished with me. Which gets me thinking.

  Me: Make it my place, and we’re on.

  Liam: That’s my girl.

  Me: Come by in an hour. The doorman will let you up.

  Liam: Looking forward to it.

  Let the good times roll.

  Minus the complications.

  2

  Liam

  I let myself into Vanessa’s condo about an hour after our last text message. We’re used to this routine. She knows to leave the door open for me once the doorman calls her to announce that I’m on my way up.

  She greets me in her usual way, wearing light pink barely there lingerie that she knows I like.

  “How was your weekend?” She asks, her hands already working to undo the buttons down the front of my shirt.

  “Better now.” I’ve been craving her since the last time we got together. I want to fuck her, to take that body hard. And that mouth.

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  She quirks an eyebrow as she waits for my answer. The thing is, I’m not here to talk tonight. My hand buries into her hair, and I close the distance between our faces until our lips are just inches apart.