Holiday Hoax: A Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (The Cartwright Family Book 1)
Holiday Hoax: Chapter 8

I pull up to Georgia’s apartment complex and cringe. It’s in a run-down part of town, and the paint on the building peels away from the concrete wall.

I lock my vehicle, remove a suitcase and matching overnight bag from the bed of my truck, and carry them up the steps. Annoyance fills me when I reach for the doorknob. It’s not locked. Anyone can walk right in.

She’d be a prime target for all sorts of crimes just by walking to her car.

After she gets my money, she can move.

She’s not getting that million dollars. She’s only getting a hundred thousand. She’ll use it for her bakery and stay here.

I make a mental note to gift her a five-year free lease at one of my condos near the office as a parting gift once the annulment is signed.

That’ll soften the blow when she doesn’t get the million dollars.

The old elevator creaks as it makes its way to the ground level. I step inside and wonder when it got serviced last. The entire lift shakes on its way to the fifth floor, then comes to a jolting stop.

I shake off my irritation and step off the death trap, strolling down the hallway that’s just as outdated as the front of the building. When I get to Georgia’s unit, I knock.

The smell of sugar faintly swirls in the air. It makes my stomach growl as I wait. And wait. And wait some more.

My stomach churns, and I knock again.

Did she change her mind?

I should have closed this deal last night.

The sound of her releasing a security chain fills my ears. It only adds to my frustration. She should have a dead bolt, not just a chain that someone can easily cut through. The door opens, and my heart skips a beat.

Georgia’s long blonde hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders. She’s wearing brown knee-high boots and a long-sleeved, blue floral dress. A worn denim jacket caps off the outfit. Her skin glows, competing with her doe-eyes and lush mouth that I’m more than willing to have on mine.

She chirps, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Cartwright.’

My lips twitch. I love it when she calls me Mr. Cartwright. Or Sebastian. Hearing her say my name in her sugary-sweet voice stirs so many deviant thoughts. One way or another, I’m making her mine during this fake marriage. She’ll be begging me for it, and I can’t decide if I’ll make her call me Mr. Cartwright or Sebastian when she does.

I’ll switch it up depending on how I have her.

‘I think it’s best if you stick with Sebastian from now on. My family will think it’s odd if you don’t.’ I drag my gaze over her body, lingering on her tits and between her legs, then slowly lock it on hers. Flames ignite on her cheeks, and I lower my voice and add, ‘Until it’s more appropriate, that is.’

‘More appropriate?’ she questions, nerves filling her expression.

‘Yep.’ I step inside, and she retreats. I push the luggage in front of her.

‘What’s that for?’ she inquires.

‘This is for you. Go fill it,’ I order.

‘I have my own luggage.’

I snort. ‘Of course you do. What’s the brand?’

She wrinkles her forehead. ‘What does that matter?’

I cross my arms. ‘It matters because my wife wouldn’t be rolling around non-designer luggage.’

‘What’s wrong with an off-brand?’ she challenges.

I fake a yawn. ‘You’re smart. Figure it out.’

She tilts her head and gives me a disapproving look.

I shake my head, relaying, ‘There’s no way my wife wouldn’t have the best of the best. Did you forget I’m rich?’

She rolls her eyes, stating, ‘So I have to be a snob?’

‘Why does having the best make you a snob?’ I ask.

She huffs. ‘It shouldn’t matter what brand your luggage is.’

I point to the suitcase and overnight bag. It’s a new luxury brand called Southern Gal. It’s a white cream with brown and gold leather trim. When I saw it, I thought it looked perfect for her, especially going to the country. It’s nothing my previous fiancées would have chosen, but they were more into Dallas high society. But part of the reason I chose Georgia is that she’s not like them. I’m confident she can do Dallas high society or country. I question, ‘You don’t like what I chose for you?’

She studies it, then refocuses on me. ‘It’s a beautiful set.’

A spark of satisfaction ignites in me. I’m glad I got it right and she approves. Then I reprimand myself for caring what she thinks.

I’m not going to get close to this girl.

I’m going to use her for what I want. Then we’re both moving on.

The last thing I need is someone messing with me again.

‘Good. Glad you like it. Go switch your stuff out,’ I assert.

She puts her hand on her hip and tilts her head up at me. ‘Don’t be bossy, Sebastian. If I’m going to be your wife, you don’t get to boss me around like in the office. You need to treat me with respect.’

I lean into her ear. ‘If you want me to treat you like you’re my wife, then we’re going to have to eliminate this no-sex thing.’

Her face turns as red as a cherry tomato. Her blue eyes spark against her flushed cheeks, turning my cock harder.

There’s a knock on the door. I tear my gaze off her and open the door, instructing, ‘Huck, come on in.’

Huck steps inside, removes his cowboy hat, and nods to Georgia. ‘Ma’am. I assume you’re Ms. Georgia Peach?’

Georgia beams. ‘Yes, I am. And you are?’

He holds his hand out. ‘Huck Peterson, the attorney.’

‘Nice to meet you. Even if it’s for this weird arrangement that Sebastian and I have,’ she says, giving me an uncomfortable look.

Huck chuckles. ‘Ms. Peach, there’s no need for any embarrassment here. I’ve had a lot of strange contracts in my life, and I can assure you, this isn’t the craziest.’

‘No?’ she questions.

‘No, ma’am. Is there a place we can sign?’ he inquires.

‘Sure. Why don’t we go to the table?’ she suggests.

I step between them. ‘Hold up. Georgia, go pack.’

Her eyes turn to slits. ‘Why do I need to pack now? Don’t you want me to sign?’

‘I have another issue I need to talk with Huck about real quick.’

‘About our prenup?’ she quizzes.

‘No. Something that doesn’t concern you,’ I lie. ‘Can you please go pack and give us a minute?’

Distrust fills her expression, but she finally leaves the room, wheeling the suitcase and overnight bag behind her.

When she’s out of earshot, I keep my voice low and ask Huck, ‘The revisions are all done?’

He nods. ‘Of course.’

I glance behind me to ensure she’s still unable to hear, then inquire, ‘And I’m protected?’

‘Stop asking dumb questions,’ he demands.

I pat him on the back and go to the table. I sit down and take in Georgia’s apartment.

Unlike the rest of the building, everything looks fresh and spruced up. The appliances, counter, and fixtures are outdated, but the paint looks new. A rustic vibe makes it feel homey, and bright fake flowers add a bit of cheer.

It’s so her.

It’s the opposite of my sleek, modern penthouse, but I like how she’s made the drab place feel warm and cozy.

Huck puts his briefcase on the table, then pulls out a set of paperwork and several pens. He asks, ‘Do you want to look through it?’

I snort. ‘That’s what I pay you for. Remember the big bucks?’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he grumbles.

Georgia comes bouncing out of her bedroom, dragging the suitcase and overnight bag. I get up and pull the chair next to mine out. She sits, and Huck pushes the paperwork toward her.

He asks, ‘Would you like me to review this with you, Ms. Peach?’

She straightens her shoulders and picks up the paperwork. ‘Let me read it first.’

The prenup isn’t as long as the other’s Huck wrote for me, but it feels that way. Georgia reads every single detail.

Halfway through it, I question, ‘Didn’t you review it last night?’

‘Yes, but I’m making sure it’s the same one,’ she admits.

‘Do you think I’m going to screw you over?’ My chest tightens, which surprises me. I never feel guilty about getting what I want. And it would be negligent to give her a million dollars for doing barely anything. The hundred thousand she’ll end up with is more than fair.

She scoffs. ‘I don’t put it past you, Sebastian. And didn’t you learn in school that you’re supposed to read contracts before you sign anything?’

‘That’s what I have my attorney for,’ I reply.

She smirks. ‘Yeah, your attorney. Not mine. No offense, Mr. Peterson.’

He chuckles. ‘No offense taken, but I assure you it’s the last revised version I sent you via email.’

She gives him a big smile, lacing her voice with honey, asserting, ‘Then you won’t mind if I continue to read it over so I’m comfortable signing?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, ma’am. I’m here to answer any questions you have as well.’

‘Great. Thank you.’ She returns to reading the paperwork.

I sit back in my seat, tapping my hands on my thighs, getting more nervous the longer she takes to read.

She finishes and reaches for the pen. She signs her name, and relief fills me.

‘You’ll need to initial each page as well,’ Huck instructs.

She doesn’t hesitate and obeys. Then she shoves the papers at me. ‘It’s your turn.’

I scribble my initials and signature and hand the pen to Huck.

He notarizes the document, then states, ‘I’ll email both of you copies later today.’

‘Thank you,’ Georgia chirps.

‘Great. We need to get going,’ I announce, rising.

Huck puts the papers in his briefcase and places his cowboy hat back on his head. He nods to Georgia. ‘Ma’am. It was nice meeting you.’

‘You too. Hey, I have something for you.’

‘Oh?’ he asks.

She goes to the counter and picks up a small box. There are four larger ones next to it. She states, ‘This morning, I baked cupcakes for a birthday party and also to take to Sebastian’s family. I set these aside for you.’

Of course she did.

That’s why it smells like sugar in here.

Huck’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. He drawls, ‘Well, aren’t you a sweetheart. Thank you.’

She hands him the box and adds, ‘There’s a variety in there. Hope you love them.’

‘I’m sure I will. The grandkids are coming over today, so it’ll be a nice treat for them,’ he declares.

I wouldn’t have thought her expression could get any happier, but it does. Something stirs in me, but it’s not the normal annoyance I feel. I try to place what it is, but I can’t. All I know is it makes me feel good.

I shake off whatever it is, then watch Huck kiss her on the cheek and thank her again. ‘Sebastian,’ he states, then leaves.

Huck kissed her before I did.

That’s just wrong.

‘Okay, soon-to-be Mrs. Sebastian Cartwright. Let’s get moving,’ I order.

Georgia freezes. A scared look fills her expression. Or maybe it’s disgust?

Does she despise marrying me that much?

She opens her mouth, shuts it, then paces her small apartment. ‘I feel like I’m forgetting something.’

‘You’re not.’

‘But I feel like I am.’

I assure her, ‘If you forget anything, I’ll buy it for you when we get to town.’

‘I don’t know what it is,’ she frets. Her breath shortens, and I wonder if she’s a few steps away from an anxiety attack.

Time to show her the perks of having my last name.

I close the distance between us, and she retreats until she’s up against the wall. I slide my hands on her cheeks, tilt her head up, and lower my mouth an inch from hers. I murmur, ‘I know what you forgot.’

‘What?’ she breathes.

I press my lips against hers, parting them with my tongue. She gasps, then pushes her palms on my chest.

I slide my tongue deeper into her mouth, moving closer until my heart is pounding against her frame. She whimpers, begins flicking her tongue against mine, and her hands relax.

Jesus Christ. Ms. Georgia Peach is the best kisser I’ve ever had the pleasure of putting my mouth on.

It’s not what I expected.

I thought she’d be decent but that I’d have to train her on everything.

I couldn’t have coached her to kiss like this. And I’d never have guessed she’d create the heat racing through my blood only from a kiss.

Her tongue teases me, and my cock twitches against her stomach. Her knees buckle, and she moves her hands up my chest. She glides her fingers up my neck and into my hair, slightly tugging on it.

I groan inside. This woman is a surprise in so many ways, but this…well, this is only going to make me more impatient to have her.

Where did she learn to kiss like this?

I retreat a bit but can’t resist and go back for some more. Sugar swirls with her rose perfume, and I lose myself in her. The room disappears. It’s her and me and all the thoughts of what I want to do to her.

I slide my hands under her dress, grabbing her round ass I’ve been dreaming of groping. I mumble, ‘We can be late.’

‘Late?’ she whispers, then her tongue darts back against mine.

I kiss her some more, then test out the waters. I slip my hand to the front of her body and drag a finger over her slit, groaning inside when I learn she’s already wet. I demand, ‘Show me your bedroom.’

She freezes, then removes her tongue from mine and shuts her mouth. A mix of emotions appears in her eyes.

Does she want to fuck me?

Yes. Those are fuck-me eyes.

Will she let me?

I drill my gaze into hers, challenging, ‘Let’s move this to the other room.’ I inch my finger over her panties again.

She squares her shoulders and pushes me away from her. She steps out of my grasp and asks, ‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought we should get our first kiss out of the way. You don’t want to look out of sorts when it comes time for our PDA. It didn’t seem like you weren’t enjoying it,’ I taunt, then sniff my fingers.

She gapes at me, watching as I lick my digit.

Her eyes widen. She continues looking at me like she’s not sure what just happened or what she should be doing.

But one thing is clear. She’s not disgusted by my little display. I’ve seen enough women to know what category they’re in, and it shocks me to realize she’s not offended. That only gives more fuel to my overactive fantasies.

How filthy will she let me get with her?

We need to be naked right now.

I know what will get her to shed that dress…

I reach into my pocket and pull out a ring box. I hold it in front of her. My gut flips, surprising me again.

It’s strange. I’ve bought four different engagement rings. But I was never nervous when I asked any of those other women. There was never a question in my mind about whether they would say yes or not. But everything about giving Georgia a ring creates a nervous circus in my belly.

‘What is that?’ she asks.

‘Open it,’ I encourage.

She takes a deep breath, then opens the box. Her head jerks backward, and she opens her mouth, closes it, then bites on her lip. It’s not the expression I expected.

‘You don’t like it?’ I blurt out.

She swallows hard, then takes the ring out of the box. ‘Ummm…it’s a beautiful piece.’

‘A beautiful piece? That’s a four-carat flawless diamond from Tiffany’s,’ I state.

‘Yes, I can see that,’ she utters.

‘But you don’t like it?’ I ask, confused. All the women I’ve dated would have been more than pleased to flash that ring around town.

‘I um… I think I’m not used to wearing such an over-the-top ring,’ she admits.

She doesn’t like it. How is this possible?

She quickly adds, ‘But I guess it’s what your wife would wear, right? Something really big?’

The disappointment I try to shake off doesn’t go away. I shouldn’t care if she likes it or not, but it bugs me.

Maybe she’s trying to trick me into thinking she doesn’t like it.

She only wants me to think she doesn’t care about money or material things.

I remind myself that she tried to get a million dollars out of me, so I shouldn’t buy this little act of hers. But if Georgia is lying, she’s doing a hell of a job. She’s still uncomfortably assessing the ring. I suggest, ‘Why don’t you try it on?’ I take the ring and then shove it on her finger.

She holds her hand out, staring at it and continuing to furrow her eyebrows.

It does look huge on her.

Every woman wants a ring that big.

She smiles, but I think it’s forced. She clears her throat and says, ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.’

My erection loses all steam. I realize there’s no way I’m getting in her pants right now. I ask, ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ She grabs the handle of her suitcase.

‘I’ve got that,’ I state. I take it away from her and lead her toward the door, rolling the luggage with me.

She stays quiet, and we leave her apartment. She takes a key out of her pocket, locks the door, and we go to the elevator.

‘Oh shoot! I need to go back!’ she exclaims when the elevator arrives.

‘What for?’ I ask.

‘The cupcakes!’ She rushes down the hall.

I groan and hold my hand against the doors for so long, a loud beep fills the air.

Georgia reappears, puts the four boxes on the ground, and relocks her apartment. She picks them back up and joins me. We get in the elevator, and it screeches.

‘This is a death trap,’ I grumble.

She winces, confessing, ‘The building needs a bit of TLC.’

I grunt. ‘A bit? This place is falling apart. You really should live somewhere that at least has a front door that locks. Oh, and that chain needs to go. You should have a dead bolt.’

‘No one’s ever bugged me. My neighbors are all nice,’ she claims.

I shake my head, declaring, ‘It’s not safe.’

The elevator slams to a stop, and I clench my jaw. The doors open, and I motion for her to go first. She steps out and we continue outside.

I put the luggage in my covered truck bed, the boxes of cupcakes in the back seat, then I open the passenger door for Georgia.

She scoots in, and her dress hikes up her legs. My erection springs forth again. She catches me ogling them and tugs at the fabric.

I tear my gaze off her and get in the truck.

There’s a two-hour drive ahead of us, and all I can think is how delicious my new little peach will be when I finally bite into her.