Darkly His: The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

She won the local cooking competition again.

Merry Steele was still smiling as she finished thanking the townspeople for their support and for choosing her kitchen again.

She hoped this win would finally revive her failing Merry's Kitchen. Rumors had been killing her business, and she needed every set of eyes and mouths in that crowd.

She stepped down the wooden staircase behind the podium while her friend and co-host, Samantha, continued speaking in that forever-loud voice of hers.

She looked at her bank statement and frowned, pushing a hand into her hair with fear.

She needed fresh air.

Merry didn't make it past two steps when she froze.

Her breath died.

Holy Christ...

Standing right in front of her was Damon Blackwell. Dark, dangerous and devastatingly handsome. His sculpted face, his sharp jaw, those cold blue eyes that always saw too much.

Two bulky men in dark suits stood on either sides of him, though he looked like the only protection they needed.

Damon stood tall and proud, but he looked surprised too.

Of course, there was enough to surprise him.

By seeing how his eyes quickly flickered to her bosom and down, Merry knew he had also acknowledged that she'd gotten curvier through their years apart.

He didn't waste time.

Just gave a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes and said:

"Talk?"

Her voice had disappeared, but her body didn't. She nodded and followed him before her pride kicked in and she matched his long strides.

"We can talk here," she said sharply.

He stopped. Turned. Amused.

A single look and his guards retreated even though they didn't stand far.

Merry crossed her arms.

"What do you want, Mr... Blackwell?"

His face hardened.

Dauntless and angered at realizing he was trying to make her feel nervous, she looked him straight up in those deep blue eyes and for a moment, he was surprised she could dare. He continued.

"Miss Steele, I'm here with an offer."

He paused.

"Your kitchen is going down, I hear." he said lightly.

Silence.

"I'll take that as a yes. I'm glad to confirm you're good at what you do, so I want you as my cook. It comes with perks. You will also pretend to be my fiancée..." His eyes dipped to her mouth. "...and you'll be my fuckmate until December 31st."

The world went quiet.

Merry looked away from his face, her heart beating like a wardrum.

Her mind was going berserk with thoughts.

Crazy thoughts and then she realized....

She was heating up and sexual thoughts swamped her mind.

He'd only said the word FUCKMATE and....

Was it the way he said it or....?

Was it the whole idea of it?

She forced her voice steady.

"What made you think-?"

"You need the money," he cut in.

"Don't." She glared. "Go away from me."

"The pay is a hundred thousand dollars a week. I expect your answer at ten in the morning."

"Damon, I hate you."

"You'll need to decide on that also. But I don't give you leave to. If there's anyone who should be hating the fuck out of the other person...." His voice was beginning to increase but he paused and internally corrected himself.

He only sent her a humorless smile and stepped back, straightening.

He turned and walked away, ignoring the crowd, moving like a man no one dared touch.

Merry stood trembling, lips quivering, trying not to fall apart.

Samantha saw everything and stormed toward her, heels clacking, her chest banging.

"Holy hell, Merry! What.... what does Damon Blackwell want? How did he find you? Oh my god....I'm not very good at calming you down but that was your campus...."

Samantha couldn't even finish for her lips rounded in an 'O'.

Merry wiped her mouth and ran a shaky hand through her hair. Samantha guided her to the porch swing-her place of calm.

"Sam... Damon wants me to be his cook."

Samantha blinked. "Father lord- What does that even mean?"

Merry explained quickly, voice uneven.

Samantha shook her head and took Merry's shoulders, squeezing gently.

"This is insane, Merry. Fucking crazy but listen. Think with your heart and your brain. If you want it, you choose it. If not, walk away. You know who you are, girl."

"I'm ashamed to know I want to but.... Why did he find me? Why did he meet me in particular? What does he want with me?"

But Merry couldn't say what scared her most-the spark between them that came alive the second she saw him, or her fear that he didn't feel it too.

Dangerous chemistry rushed back. His hands. His mouth. The memories she had buried for years.

And then a slow smile curled on her lips.

"Of course," she whispered. "I'd love to find out."

****

****

Merry parked outside H-E-B, stomped out her cigarette, and walked in to the pharmacy aisle. She reached for three boxes of Durex condoms without shame, paid, and strutted out.

People stared. She didn't care.

Her dress was shorter. Her heels higher. Her mind set.

She couldn't stop imagining Damon naked.

She knew exactly what he was doing-but she could control her feelings. This was just a game.

And she would win.

She got into her car humming softly, adrenaline and lust mixing in her blood.

She was ready.

Merrillyn zoomed off.

Ready to face Damon Blackwell.

Ready to shock him.

Ready to drown him.

****

****

She gave small smiles to the staffs who stared at her. Only courtesy made them look away and mind their businesses.

Of course, she was breathtakingly hot.

Secretaries and receptionists were everywhere.

Merry stepped past the BLACKBYTE reception desk and caught a few lingering stares from the staff.

It was precisely 10:00am when the secretary finished recording Merry's information and calling Mr Blackwell.

The blonde lady then showed Merry the elevator that would take her to floor 67. She then informed Merry that the door opposite the elevator was where she would be directed to and an assistant would help her.

She explained that floor 67 was the waiting room for visitors and Mr Blackwell would pick her there.

Merry nodded and turned only to see Damon Blackwell casually striding past. Their eyes met and Damon stared her down like she was some unwanted air.

Merry didn't mind.

Taking the cue, Merry walked after him.

With the help of his personal key card, they were heading for executive floor 70.

Merry raised her chin and looked at him.

"You seem very eager for me."

"As I said, you're likely going to make a good cook."

"Likely." She said, dryly. "You came yesterday with more polished words. They caught me unawares."

Silence.

"You shouldn't have worn what you're wearing." Damon said and looked at her.

She looked him squarely on the face.

"You elaborated the nature of the business, didn't you?" She asked, softly and touched his arm.

He looked up at the dark, nearly-invisible elevator ceiling.

She knew she was scaring him and nostalgia hit her.

A memory of them talking about how they saw the future where she'd touched his arm, asked him if they'd be together after graduation-in that soft voice -and he'd stared up at nothing and she'd laughed it off.

Now, she had a gentle hand on his arm and it seemed to take same immediate effect which he clearly didn't like.

"Billionaire, you need a woman, huh?" She cooed. "What for?"

"And you shouldn't be touching me, Miss Steele."

"Why so?"

"We've not concluded. You need to keep the good impression."

"I meant, why do you keep everything so friggin' official, Blackwell? Yeah, you'll pay but I'd be happy if you dropped the whole "missy" thing."

He looked at her now and his eyes were dark with anger.

At that, he grabbed her hand off his arm and pinned her back to the wall.