Wife Wanted (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance)(78)

 

 

 

"What's that?" She eyed me as she took the card and read it.

 

 

 

"It came in the mail yesterday. I think my address must have been mixed up with someone else's," I said as I sat next to her.

 

 

 

"A private ball? Are you going?"

 

 

 

"No. I am going to call that number on the card on Monday and ask them to pick up the necklace and card, and deliver them to the right person."

 

 

 

"What are you saying?"

 

 

 

"I'm saying this package is not mine and the right Sara may be expecting it. I mean, if I get caught with this, I could be in big trouble."

 

 

 

"Sara! Listen to yourself. Are you even thinking? You're broke. Stuck in a one-room tiny studio that barely gives you space to move around. You're working as a minimum wage barista and you can barely afford your graduate school fees. And goodness knows how many people you owe and how much you have in the bank right now."

 

 

 

"Ten dollars," I murmured, smiling, but Amy’s lecture wasn’t over.

 

 

 

"This necklace is yours and you are going to that ball."

 

 

 

"Heck no. I'm not going anywhere near Nick Saunders. You think he won't know I'm the wrong Sara? What if the right Sara shows up? I could get arrested and lose my job. I can't, Amy. Doesn't even make sense. Going to an elite ball is out of the question. I won't even know how to act or what to do. And all those people probably know each other, so I'll stick out like a sore thumb.”

 

 

 

"Sara, this could be an opportunity of a lifetime."

 

 

 

"No. Besides, you know that guy is an asshole. He changes women like you would underwear.”

 

 

 

“My kind of man.”

 

 

 

“Come on, Amy. Be serious for once.”

 

 

 

"I am. You might meet some of the richest men in the world."

 

 

 

"And their snobbish, Barbie-doll wives," I said.

 

 

 

"Ignore the women. They've got nothing on you with all your curves," Amy said with a smile.

 

 

 

"Amy, this doesn't sound right. Besides, I don't have the right dress or shoes. I can't even differentiate between a dinner fork and a salad fork. How do you expect me to fit in? It's not going to work." My arguments were weak. Once Amy had her heart set on something, she wouldn't let up until she reached a reasonable conclusion. Right now, she was focused on making me attend that ball; I was fighting a losing battle.

 

 

 

"Oh, don't worry about shoes and clothes. With a body and face like yours, you could easily wear rags and still look way better than all those women in million-dollar dresses. I'm sure we'll find something elegant. Your dress is on me if you promise to go in there and make great contacts for both of us. I want to be at that ball next year.”

 

 

 

"I don't know, Amy. It's just so wrong to impersonate someone else."

 

 

 

But Amy wasn't listening to me. She was done with the conversation and was heading to my kitchen in search of breakfast. I looked at the necklace once more, touching the solid stones. I was tempted to try it on, but I knew once I put it on, there was no going back. I would have to go to the ball. I closed the jewelry box and put it back in the gold box. What had I gotten myself into? Or rather, whose idea was this cruel joke?

 

 

 

 

 

NICK

 

When David, his personal chauffeur cum assistant, returned from Sara’s house and informed him that she had almost refused his invitation, Nick wanted to call her and end the secrecy. He knew her number by heart. There were so few numbers he bothered to memorize; hers was one of them. He envisioned a time when he could call her as often as he pleased and she would purr into the phone, lovingly. Not yet though.

 

If she managed to contact him in any way and realized he was the same man who had asked her out at the coffee shop a few days ago, she would flat out refuse the necklace and the invitation. At least if she was in possession of the necklace, she would most likely feel a moral obligation to return the necklace to him at the ball. But as the week went by, every hour became a slow second, and he needed to see her again, even if it was just to provoke her anger. He loved the way those fiery, hazel eyes lit up when she’d been mad at him the first time he’d met her at the coffee shop.

 

He loved how she had ignored him while he sat there, yet stole glances at him as she went about her business. Yes, she had done a good job of ignoring him and keeping to herself, but he could sense that an opportunity existed for him to break down her barriers if he got the chance to get closer to her. Getting closer to her was the operative phrase, and he could do it in so many ways - see her at the coffee shop again and try to be less of a demanding asshole or wait until she showed up at the ball and introduce himself properly.