Faking It with the Billionaire Alpha

Freya's POV

The hotel suite was ridiculous.

Marble everything. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. A sitting room bigger than my entire apartment. The kind of space that screamed money so loud it practically echoed.

I kicked off my heels the moment we entered, leaving them abandoned near the door. My feet screamed in relief. Those fuckers had been torturing me since noon.

"Drink?" Asher moved toward the mini bar with the confidence of a man who owned every room he entered.

"Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Smart man.

I sank into the plush cream sofa, tucking my legs beneath me. The black dress bunched around my thighs, riding up in a way I should probably care about. I didn't. The day had been long enough that propriety could go fuck itself.

Asher returned with two glasses. He handed me one, then settled into the chair across from me. His jacket was already gone, discarded somewhere between the door and the bar. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of dark hair and defined muscle underneath.

Don't stare. He's paid help. Expensive, gorgeous, paid help.

I took a long sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

"So." I set my glass on the coffee table. "Let's talk business."

"Business." His lips curved. Those gray-blue eyes glittered with amusement. "You want to discuss my fee now?"

"I want to settle accounts. You delivered." I gestured vaguely at the suite. "Hence the upgrade from hotel barto hotel suite. Consider it a tip."

"A tip." He swirled his whiskey. "Generous."

"I'm a generous woman." When I'm not being publicly humiliated by my cheating ex-husband. "So. How much do I owe you for today's performance?"

Asher studied me over the rim of his glass. The silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Electric.

"Ten thousand."

My eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Standard rate for a gig like that. Public appearances, emotional labor, kissing you in front of two hundred judgmental werewolves." He shrugged. "Hazard pay."

A laugh escaped me. Genuine. Surprised.

"You're charging me hazard pay for kissing me?"

"Best kiss of my life, sweetheart." His voice dropped. "But I'm a professional. Can't let personal enjoyment interfere with billing."

My face flushed. Heat crept up my neck.

He's flirting. He's a gigolo. Flirting is literally his job.

"Fine." I reached for my clutch, abandoned on the side table. "I'll write you a check—"

"Hold on." Asher leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "There's another option."

I paused. "Which is?"

"Monthly retainer."

"... What?"

"Think about it." His eyes locked onto mine. "Your ex isn't going to give up. I saw his face today. That man's obsessed. He'll keep coming back, trying to win you over, making your life miserable."

My stomach twisted. Because he was right. Caleb didn't let go easily. Never had.

"And?" I asked carefully.

"And having a fake fated mate on retainer would solve that problem." Asher's voice was smooth. Reasonable. "Public appearances. Social events. Sending the message that you're unavailable. Taken. His loss."

I stared at him.

"You're suggesting I hire you... long-term?"

"I'm suggesting you invest in your freedom." He swirled his whiskey again. "Twenty thousand a month. I'll be your plus-one for any event. Your pretend mate whenever Caleb gets ideas. Your verbal attack dog when his new girlfriend gets mouthy."

Twenty thousand. A month.

That was insane. That was ridiculous. That was—

"Deal."

Wait. What?

My mouth had apparently disconnected from my brain. Asher's eyebrows rose.

"Deal?" he repeated.

"I—" I cleared my throat. "I mean. That's reasonable. For the services described."

You're drunk. You're definitely drunk.

"Perfect." He raised his glass. "To our new arrangement."

I clinked mine against it. The whiskey sloshed. I drank it anyway.

The alcohol was hitting harder now. Warm and fuzzy around the edges. Making me say things I shouldn't.

"You know what the worst part is?" I slouched deeper into the sofa. "Not the cheating. Not the public humiliation. It's the small shit. The shit I put up with for five years."

Asher set his glass down. Gave me his full attention.

"Tell me."

So I did.

"He couldn't cook. Couldn't clean. His mother still did his laundry. I found that out year three." I let out a bitter laugh. "His fucking underwear. His mom washed his underwear. A grown-ass Alpha werewolf."

"Jesus."

"And he'd leave dishes everywhere. Everywhere. I'd find crusty cereal bowls in the bedroom. In the bathroom. Once found one in his office, growing something that looked sentient."

Asher's nose wrinkled. "That's horrifying."

"He never remembered anniversaries. Or birthdays. I planned every date, every vacation, every dinner reservation." My voice cracked slightly. "I wanted to feel wanted. Just once. Just fucking once."

The words kept spilling out. Whiskey-loosened and raw.

"And the sex—" I stopped. Laughed humorlessly. "God. The sex. Five years of faking it because he couldn't find my clit with a map and a flashlight."

Asher went very still.

"He'd just... jackhammer away. Two minutes, tops. Then roll over and snore." I drained my glass. "Small dick. Mediocre tongue. Zero interest in actually pleasing me."

"Freya."

Something in his tone made me look up. His eyes had darkened. Intense. Unreadable.

"What?"

"Any man who makes you feel like an afterthought is a fucking idiot." His voice was low. Rough. "You deserve to be worshipped. Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath."

The air between us shifted. Charged.

"You're a client," he continued, leaning forward. "So I shouldn't say this—"

"Say what?"

"That if you were mine, I'd spend hours learning your body. Every sound you make when you're turned on. Every spot that makes you shiver."

My throat went dry.

"That I'd never let you feel unwanted. Or unappreciated." His gaze dropped to my lips. "That I'd make you come so many times you forgot any man existed before me."

Shit.

This is a bad idea.

This is such a bad idea.

Then he kissed me.

I couldn't say who moved first. Maybe we both did. But suddenly his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding, and every thought in my head evaporated.

His hand slid into my hair. Tilting my head back. Deepening the kiss.

I opened for him. Let his tongue sweep inside, tasting whiskey and something darker. Something addictive.

A moan escaped my throat. Embarrassing. Needy. I didn't care.

He pulled me onto his lap. I went willingly, straddling him, knees sinking into the plush cushion on either side of his thighs. My dress rode up dangerously.

His hands found my waist. Then my hips. Then lower, cupping my ass through the silk.

"Fuck," he growled against my mouth.

Yes. Fuck. Please.

My fingers worked at his buttons. One. Two. Three. Until his shirt hung open and I could feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my palms. Dark hair. Defined muscle. Warm skin.

He yanked my dress down over my shoulders. The silk pooled at my waist, leaving my chest bare except for the thin lace of my bra.

His mouth trailed down my jaw. My neck. My collarbone.

I arched into him. Lost. Desperate. Wanting.

"Asher—"

"Tell me to stop." His breath was hot against my skin. "Tell me to stop and I will."

I didn't.

I kissed him instead.

Hard.

Everything blurred after that.

---

Sunlight hit my face like a personal attack.

I groaned, rolling over. My head pounded. My mouth tasted like whiskey and regret.

The bed was empty.

I blinked, forcing my eyes open. White sheets. White pillows. White everything.

Where the fuck—

Memory crashed back.

The suite. The whiskey. Asher. His hands. His mouth. His—

Oh God.

I sat up too fast. The room spun.

The other side of the bed was cold. No warmth left in the sheets. No sign anyone had been there at all except for the faint indent in the pillow.

I grabbed my phone. 9:47 AM. Six missed calls from Darren.

Darren.

I hit call.

"Finally!" he shrieked before the first ring finished. "I've been calling all morning! Did you hire the guy? Didhe show up? The Velvet Room owner won't tell me anything because of their stupid confidentiality policy!"

My stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the owner said no one checked out any of their employees yesterday! She has no record of you taking anyone from The Velvet Room!"

The room tilted.

"What?"

"Freya, did you hire a male model yesterday or not?"

I stared at the empty bed. The cold sheets. The indent in the pillow.

The man who'd known exactly how to play the crowd. Exactly what to say. Exactly how to kiss.

Asher.

Holy shit.

Who the fuck did I sleep with last night?