Fake Fiancee To The Billionaire

"Jason?" I exclaimed, standing in front of a mostly naked man. But instead of admiring his chiseled abs or muscular chest, my gaze was fixed on a small tattoo on his hip. How on earth did that happen? The towel drying his hair slipped down, revealing my high school ex-boyfriend right before my eyes.

His gray-blue eyes showed no emotion as they scanned me. Shouldn't he be even slightly curious about why I was in the men's locker room at Dupont Analytics? I mean, what kind of company dedicates an entire floor to an employee gym anyway? How was I supposed to know I'd get lost in it while trying to find my new office?

"Melissa," Jason Shane said my name casually, as if we hadn't seen each other in more than a decade. He had clearly transformed from the gangly eighteen-year-old I used to know. His jaw, once too sharp, was now perfectly square and proportionate. The curve of his lip was the same, and he was still just over six feet tall. Back in the day, he had been awkwardly tall, but that had changed.

He had grown into his looks, and then some.

"Are you finished staring?" he asked flatly, tossing the towel he held aside. The other towel remained securely wrapped around his waist, just below that intricate tattoo he'd had done on his eighteenth birthday, a week before I broke up with him.

My gaze lingered on the tattoo, a beautifully shaded shell, detailed with the Fibonacci sequence – a true math nerd's ink. I tore my eyes away. "Sorry."

"What brings you here, Melissa?" Jason's tone remained cool and composed. Despite my racing heart and the urge to flee, looking at him made me feel oddly safe, just like I did all those years ago.

Before I could respond, two men walked past us, looking wide awake for 6:30 a.m., with amused and curious expressions.

"Mr. Shane."

"Dean. You'll have those financial reports on my desk by eight?" Jason nodded authoritatively. I glanced at Jason with a narrowed gaze as the men left the gym. Financial reports.

There was only one reason why I'd run into Jason Shane in a place like Dupont Analytics and why he was receiving financial reports from subordinates.

"What do you do here?" I asked, my eyes involuntarily following the path of his gaze down my body, sending a shiver of desire through me, as if he had touched me with his hands. Memories of nights spent in his beat-up Honda flooded my mind – his fingers tracing my body sensually, teasing and tantalizing.

"I'm the CEO," he said. "I should be asking what you're doing here."

The towel around his waist loosened slightly, and I felt mortified and tempted simultaneously. My eyes darted back to his face. "It's my first day at work."

"And you just happened to wander into the men's locker room before business hours."

My face burned with embarrassment. It certainly looked bad, but was that a hint of amusement in his eyes? Did he still remember the overly punctual and fussily early girl I used to be?

"I... wanted to get settled in before everyone else arrived."

"Stay right here."

I blink with astonishment. The way he phrases it feels like an order, one he clearly anticipates me to follow. This is certainly not the Jason I remember, and I don't recollect him ever wearing that icy, indifferent demeanor like a shield.

"Pardon me?" I retort, my arms folded, and I can't resist jutting out a hip. Jason Shane might be semi-nude, moist, and incredibly appealing, but that doesn't grant him permission to be impolite. Even though he holds the position of CEO at the company I've just joined. His gaze pierces through me.

"I told you, stay here. I need to change," he insists. The mere thought of that towel slipping off momentarily leaves me breathless. I observe him as he walks into the adjacent room, where the changing area is, noting the muscles of his back trailing down to two dimples just above his rear end.

"I must be in some kind of alternate reality," I mutter to myself, feeling somewhat unhinged. "I'm probably still at home, dreaming." But no, a few minutes later, Jason reenters the room, now impeccably dressed in a suit that complements his eyes and accentuates his broad shoulders.

"Come," he says, and the word sends a shiver through me. I try to ignore it, obediently following him. I'm not even sure if this is the same way I entered, but we end up in a hallway where people are beginning to arrive, scurrying in various directions. Some briefly cast glances at Jason before swiftly lowering their gazes. I frown after them, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

"What department were you hired for, Melissa?" He addresses me by my full name, and for a moment, I find myself yearning to hear him say "Mel" the way he used to. But it's been twelve years, and we're practically strangers now.

"Marketing," I respond, and his eyes briefly betray a flicker of curiosity as he glances over his shoulder. Back in high school, I had been determined to attend an art school and pursue a career as a photographer or painter. He must be wondering how I ended up in a massive corporation that's slowly dominating the healthcare sector. I push aside the thought, reminding myself that it's the financial aspect that matters, and Dupont Analytics is offering a substantial salary for leading their marketing division.

Jason remains silent, even when we find ourselves alone in an elevator. He selects a floor—the fifth floor. A directory inside the elevator indicates that we're heading to both the marketing and strategy departments. The silence in the confined space becomes increasingly uncomfortable.

The elevator doors open, and Jason steps out. Growing more annoyed by the moment, I follow him because, quite frankly, I have no other course of action. He is guiding me to my office, which is where I was originally trying to reach.

A small part of me hopes for more than just an elevator ride alone with him, but I'm unsure of what I would say or ask. How has he been? What on earth is he doing here? Deep down, I realize I owe him an apology for vanishing all those years ago, but the thought of bringing it up knots my stomach.

Jason turns a corner, and someone nearby emits a startled sound. Peering around his broad back, I spot a woman with a short, dark pixie cut. She is quite short and stares up at Jason with near horror.

"Mr. Shane, I'm so sorry—" she begins before her eyes meet mine, and all color drains from her face.

"I—Melissa, what are you doing—?" she stammers.

The woman appears mortified and distressed. I check her company badge: Liza Honenfield, my boss's assistant, whom I was supposed to meet right now.

"Hi, Liza. I'm sorry. I got... caught up," I mumble, trying to make light of the situation. Staring at our nearly naked CEO, who is also my ex, is just a minor inconvenience, right? Suddenly, I can't escape from Jason's presence fast enough. Liza looks disapproving but starts heading back the way she came. Before I can escape completely, Jason's hand gently wraps around my wrist, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm.