THE BILLIONAIRE'S DECOY HUSBAND

NOAH'S POV

I'd never liked company after-parties, but I'd learned to endure them just like I did with everything else in my life-with a controlled smile and a hand around whichever beautiful woman I decided to take home.

My choice was quite clear the instant I entered thisVIP suite in Bellstone Hall tonight.

Sophia Hernández stood like she owned the room—dark hair falling in glossy waves, a red dress hugging her curves tightly enough to get a man drunk on sight. C-cup breasts pushed up, toned legs crossed like they were waiting for me. Everyone was looking at her. I decided I would take her home.

She didn't wait. The moment I gave the slightest indication of interest, she had already grabbed me by the tie and tugged me into the darker corner of the suite. Her mouth clashed down onto mine-hard, desperate, sure. Her perfume was thick and sultry, something spicy that clung to the back of my throat. I kissed her back, tugging on her hair and angling her head just the way she liked. She moaned, her nails scratching down my neck.

I wasn't a party animal, but I was good at getting women. Too good, according to some. But it was easy. Always had been.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Sophia fought to keep my hand on her waist, her lips chasing after mine.

“Ignore it,” she whispered, moving her hips into me. “You can't still be thinking about work.”

"Work keeps this company alive, sweetheart," I said, pulling back. "I can't ignore it for pleasure."

She looked annoyed when I checked the caller ID—my best friend. Whatever it was, if he was calling mid-party, it mattered.

“You’re leaving?” she demanded.

“I need to be somewhere.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek, but she grasped my arm.

“Noah, come on.” Her voice took on a sharper edge. “We’ve hooked up too many times to pretend it means nothing. I know you like me. And it’s obvious you can’t stay away from my pussy.”

I actually laughed. A real, unfiltered laugh.

“Sophia, if I wanted pussy, I could walk outside with a sign or just smile at the nearest woman. It’s not hard to get.”

Her lips parted, affronted. But she continued, dogged, sure.

“No one pleases you like I do. So stop pretending like you don't care. Be my boyfriend.” She leaned close, voice low. “Maybe we could be something serious.”

“You’re delusional,” I said matter-of-factly. “We're not dating.”

Her face contorted into something ugly, twisted. But I was done. I walked out, slamming the door of the VIP behind me. The hallway was quiet, bass thumping faintly from the party behind me.

I settled my cuffs and began walking towards the doorway.

Then something felt wrong.

A shrill clanging slammed into my ears. My sight blurred. Tilted. The lights did not move, but they seemed to flicker. My muscles tensed.

No.

Not here. Not now.

I reached out for the wall, and my hand came into contact with air. I whipped backward-everything did. I smacked onto the floor. Limbs contorting out of control. I knew exactly what was happening. I hated it. I hated myself for it.

The seizure overpowered me before I could fight it.

Through the haze, heels clicked rapidly. A gasp tore the air.

“Noah? Oh my God—Noah!”

Sophia.

I couldn't speak, couldn't move except for the violent shaking, but I could see her crouched above me, hand over her mouth, horrified.

She continued to whisper, over and over. "Oh my God… oh my God…"

Then all went black.

-

Two days later, my name was everywhere.

Billionaire Bachelor Noah West Collapses Outside Bellstone Hall

Caught on Camera: CEO Suffers Medical Episode

Is America's Most Eligible Bachelor Hiding a Secret Illness?

Videos, photos, millions of views, speculation, sympathies masquerading as outrage-many people had an opinion.

My father burst into my office without knocking.

“What in heaven’s tarnation is going on?”

Adam West's voice could cut steel. His salt-and-pepper hair was sharp, suit perfect, posture rigid with fury. "Why are you on every news channel-convulsing like some weak, pitiful child?"

I closed my laptop. Slowly. “How would I know? I didn’t film myself collapsing.”

“Don't get smart with me.”

He slammed a pile of printed tabloids on my desk. "You are dragging the West name through the mud. Do you understand? You look weak. Pathetic. Vulnerable. A West is never spoken of negatively."

“It’s not my fault,” I said softly. “I have no control over what happens to me.”

“Then fix it.”

His voice dropped into something colder. “Fix this at once. Investors are calling me. Reporters are pounding the family. I don’t want to see another headline about this. I’m giving you one week-one-to erase this mess. I refuse to let the world think my son is defective.”

My jaw clamped together in anger.

“You collapsed,” he added sharply, “in front of a woman. For Christ’s sake, be a man.”

He left my office with the same force he entered it. The door slammed. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. One week to remove a seizure from the internet.

One week to prove to my father—and the world—that Noah West was still perfect. I rubbed a hand over my face. I was so totally, irrecoverably screwed.