The Billionaire's Fake Fiance

Chapter Thirty Four

Richard sat on his chair, dwelling in his daydreams. He was the first one to arrive in the office, and to be honest, he needed that quiet solitude to think. What to think about? Jean, of course. His thoughts were scattered in different courses, firing in the same direction at once, causing his mind to shut down and switch on in a flicker.

Jean...

His mind got absolutely blank, and only her images swung. She had looked so beautiful yesterday, with her hair waved into red, lush curls, she had worn a blue dress that matched her eyes. She had minimal make-up on her face which he liked a lot. He didn't like her all perfect and artificial with fake lashes and fake skin. He liked her natural, creamy, white skin that looked so radiant, he liked the freckles on her face that looked so freaking cute, and most importantly, he liked her eyes without any fake lashes, as they would hide the real prettiness of her eyes.

And he liked her, all in all, that he knew but the realisation threw him completely off-guard.

Everything about her was mesmerizing. Why hadn't he noticed that before, when he had met her properly for the first time in Faith's pregnancy announcement party? He had deemed her to be fake, and like plastic. But she wasn't any of those things, and he had thought that solely because of his discrimination towards redhead females.

Now that he knew she was Elizabeth's daughter, he couldn't deny a tinge of doubt that was still amicably present in his heart. He wasn't able to completely erase that. He had been hurt, before. And by her mom. She was different, she was good, his heart protested, and he felt a little calm.

A knock sounded on his door, hopping him back to reality. Grace entered his cabin with an air of unnecessary stress. She was sweating in the centralised air conditioned office, and her eyes looked red and swollen. "This is the final draft of the designing, sir. I will give this to the designing department after you approve of this."

He took the file from her hand, looking through it. The design and the interiors of the house was ready. The house was supposed to be painted light green, and the inner side was supposed to be organic, natural and comfortable. He was proud of his team, and also a little bit of himself. He smiled. "Absolutely perfect, Miss Clarkson. Send this over to the designing team and start the renovation by today, itself. We have just more than a week."

Grace nodded, gravely, dipping her head sideways. And then she walked toward his chair, holding his shoulder, bending down and touching the file. She flipped through the pages of the design, her chest area almost touching his face. The sudden closeness suffocated him, it wasn't what he had hoped it would be.

For a few days now, he hadn't hoped to be close to her. His dream, to be close to her, had been completely gone. He felt weird, in a mind-jilting way now that she was so near him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, closing the file with a thud. He noticed her quickly getting up in a straight posture, but her hand was still fixed on his shoulder.

"Miss Clarkson," he began, only to be shushed when she treaded her hands to his neck, tapping on it gently. "what exactly are you doing?"

"You seem stressed," she massaged his neck, going back and forcing his head on the chair. "relax, okay?"

He wanted to scream, and create a scene. But this was his office, he was supposed to maintain his calm. Nerves around his neck tightened in tension, as he felt her fingers massaging his shoulders and the tender spot of his neck. Something jerked in him, and he straightened up, his tie hanging loose from his shirt. The door to his cabin was gaping open, and there was Jean standing at the opening, her mouth in a line of shock.

He saw Grace retrieving her hands from his neck, give him a fluttering smile and then passing Jean on her way out. Jean didn't move for a long time, and his heart flip-flopped. "Jean, I can--"