My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend

My Fake Billionaire Damaged Boyfriend JADE STYLES Copyright 2023 by Jade Styles - All rights reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. Contents 1. Izzy 2. Izzy 3. Dimitri 4. Izzy 5. Izzy 6. Dimitri 7. Izzy 8. Izzy 9. Dimitri 10. Izzy 11. Izzy 12. Dimitri 13. Izzy 14. Izzy 15. Dimitri 16. Izzy 17. Izzy 18. Dimitri 19. Izzy 20. Izzy CHAPTER 1 Izzy Seattle foot traffic is a different beast. I didn’t want to take the underground train because small and enclosed spaces freak me out. Put that little room on wheels, and I may get sick. But the bus isn’t any better. People standing and sitting, movement pumping through the public transportation vessel constantly and making my head spin with who would sit next to me, where I would sit, and so on. Walking seemed like the best bet, but it hasn’t gone well so far. My heels are too tight, my pencil skirt pins my knees together, and my blouse feels a bit too tight around my chest like I wore the wrong bra. I got myself together in a hurry, forgetting my umbrella, but I duck into Ivica Tech. It’s a large, glass building with iron and steel frames around each windowpane, men already working on the side, descended on ropes, as they clean the windows. It seems rather useless, given the gray skies overhead, but in the last few days I’ve spent exploring my new home city, I’ve realized it’s just a staple of the area. Reading the legend on the wall, I find my office number and take the elevator to the top floor, a little surprised a new hire-on malware coding professional would be on the top floor with the executives, but that doesn’t seem to be an issue here. I pace through the top floor, my ankles on fire by now, but still clutching my briefcase to hide the unease in my legs while I can’t part my thighs much more than a few inches before my skirt tightens on my hips. “You must be Izzy Bellerose, right?” a meek voice asks. I turn towards the dainty receptionist in a plaid dress better suited for a Scottish fair, her hair combed back into a ponytail with eyes like blunt sapphires. She outstretches her hand, a manicure befitting a celebrity greeting my hand as I shake her palm accordingly. “Yeah, that’s me. Am I on the right floor?” “Yes, ma’am, you are,” she replies dutifully. I swallow her ma’am comment. I’m only twenty-five, young blood in this industry, but I guess it makes sense that I look older in this setting. My thrifted skirt and mother’s blouse have aged me, and I’m sure my long, dull hair hasn’t helped, my chocolate locks once curled with the iron this morning have already fallen in the humid and moist air outside that constantly threatens rain. “I’m Gwen,” she states, holding a grin on her pink lips, “I work directly under Mr. Ivica.” “Oh, okay. Is he in today perhaps? I would like to introduce myself.” “He’s not here yet. He’s on his morning break with a close business partner of his, but he will come by and introduce himself when he does arrive. I can show you to your office in the meantime if you’d like.” “Yeah, that’s great.” I try to not outright cheer at the fact that I have my own office. Me. Izzy Bellerose from a tiny waterfall town in Oregon is a big city girl now, with her own fucking office. If people weren’t watching me follow Gwen to my new office, I would fist-pump the air and high-five myself on this milestone accomplishment. “Hey, are you sure this is mine?” I ask, double-checking the number outside the oak door. The number matches, but there must be a mistake. “Wait, so I really have a corner office next to the CEO?” “Yes, ma’am,” she gleams. “He wanted to keep you close as his new head of coding.” “Wait, I was under the impression I was hired for an entry-level job. What do you mean by the head of coding?” “I’ll let Mr. Ivica know your concerns and he can get back to you when he gets back to the office. For now, get settled in, enjoy the coffee break room down the hall, or feel free to go to the loft floor for the barista-made pleasantries in that coffee shop.” I try to scoop my chin off the floor. Act like you’ve been this successful before! Though, it feels impossible to hide my excitement at my newfound successes. I’ve never done much more than live in my parent’s old house and hack into hacker sites to dismantle them for fun. I took online courses for the basics in coding and malware, but Ivica Tech sent out a task for people to cut through an online simulation and solve the malware issue. It was part of the application process, and I did it successfully, but I never imagined I’d be promoted before even arriving to take my lowly entry-level job. Still, it’s hard to turn down a corner office with views of the city. I can’t help but graze the glass, admiring the towers near and far through the weaving placement of Lake Washington. It’s an interesting urban city thrusted into the wonders of waterways and bushy parks. It’s nothing like home, but it’s home now, so I could get used to it. I trace the mahogany desk and the chocolate leather chair in my office, the shelves on the wall stuffed full of files and packets that I don’t think I can read in one