The Fake Fiancé and the Grumpy Billionaire

The Fake Fiance and The Grumpy Billionaire LIZZIE LAKE Copyright © 2023 by Lizzie Lake All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. First Edition Contents 1. Enzo 2. Penelope 3. Enzo 4. Penny 5. Enzo 6. Penelope 7. Enzo 8. Penelope 9. Enzo 10. Penelope 11. Enzo 12. Penelope 13. Enzo 14. Penelope 15. Enzo 16. Penelope 17. Enzo 18. Penelope 19. Enzo 20. Penelope 21. Enzo 22. Penelope 23. Enzo 24. Penelope 25. Enzo 26. Penelope 27. Enzo 28. Penelope 29. Enzo Penelope Acknowledgments About the Author Blurb “Enzo and Penelope are engaged!” Penelope: With five little words, my world completely changed. Just two hours ago, I met Enzo Jennings – arrogant, uber-rich, tech mogul turned candidate for Senate. He’s gorgeous, of course, but I have nothing in common with the A-list blonde women he usually takes to bed. That’s why they chose me, though, right? Because I am better for his image? But what about my image? I’ve lost my job over this, and now I have to play fake fiancé with a man I’m not sure I even like. When the stakes get higher, and the lines between personal and professional get murkier, will I be able to see this through…or will I be left with nothing? Enzo: I do not do relationships. Ever. Now I am stuck in a fake relationship with a woman who makes me question everything I know about myself. She cannot know how I feel about her. This has to end come November. CHAPTER 1 Enzo “Mmmm,” a sleepy voice moans as I get out of bed. “That’s a nice view.” I pull on my boxer briefs and look over at my shoulder at the named woman in my bed. Her breast is exposed. “Same to you,” I say. She does have a beautiful body, beautiful tits. If I were a different man, I might go over and have a taste, take a second run. I’m not a different man, though, and I have a strict one-and-done policy. Instead, I grab running shorts and a t-shirt from my closet, pulling them on while the woman stays put, staring at me. “We could have a quick replay,” she suggests, smiling, patting the empty space beside her. “It’s barely dawn.” “My days start early,” I answer, grabbing for my socks and running shoes as I head into the en suite. “We’ve got to get you out of here before the press catches you making a walk of shame.” “Ohhh,” she pouts, now standing totally naked at the threshold between my bedroom and bathroom as I brush my teeth. She’s blonde and willowy with aforementioned great tits and an ass that’s just as tantalizing. “But it was so fun, what we did. And why would I be ashamed to be with you?” I give her one of my cockiest smiles, looking her up and down. “It was fun, but I really do need to get my day started. Take the elevator to the parking level and my driver will take you wherever you need to go this morning. I’ll be back in an hour and I need you…not here.” Brushing past her, I head to the kitchen and pull my airpods off the charger before opening up the running app on my smartwatch. The naked woman – and yes, you guessed it, I have no idea what her name is – is gathering her things, pulling on her clothing. She looks like she just sucked on a lemon. It’s not the first time, by far, that a woman has harbored notions about being the one to rock my world enough to make me want more. More than once. More than sex. More than dating. And while I generally like the idea of excess, more is not what I want when it comes to relationships. Hence, my policy is one-night-only. I ride the elevator down with the blonde, telling my driver to take her wherever home is. She doesn’t leave her number. She doesn’t say goodbye. She just slips inside the town car, disappearing behind heavily tinted windows. Patrick says, “I’ll let Katharine know you’ll be back in an hour.” I nod and take off, rap music flooding my head through my airpods, the beat pushing each step as I run through the streets of DC’s West End. I run through Georgetown, with its quaint, older homes, and then through GWU’s campus. DC has become my second home, because a lot of my tech work had me here visiting with think tanks and talking with venture guys. I sort of fell in love with the city, and with the idea of running for office. Near the end of my ten-mile run, I see him. Behind a tree, a paparazzo shoots photos of me, drenched in sweat, pushing my last few hundred feet. I flash him a grin. I know I look good. I know my workout tee is clinging to my chest. I know the work I did to get it to look like that, so I damn well don’t mind having someone take a picture of it. It shows hard work, commitment. I’m up earlier than most, out starting my day by doing something healthy. That looks good to a prospective voter. Slowing my pace, I enter through the front door this time. Ernest, the elderly man who serves as concierge for our ten-story, luxury condo building, waves and says, “Lookin’ good, Mr. Jennings.” “Thanks, Ernest. Gotta work off those cannolis your wife keeps sending me.” He