My Boss Made Me Sext Her Billionaire Fiancé Chapter 01
Oh. My. God.
My boss made me flirt with her fiancé for three months—and today, I called him “baby” from my own phone. Oh. My. God.
Three years as Nina Sullivan’s assistant. Three years as her punching bag.
Now she’s stuck marrying Xander Shaw—the cold-as-ice heir to a billion-dollar empire. Nina tried flirting with him for three days. He barely replied.
She lost it. Threw her phone at me.
“You do it, Lindy. Text him. Sound cute. Sound in love. Whatever.”
So I did it.
Three months of that.
Then this morning happened.
He texted at 7 a.m.:
“Got a little something for Nina. Left it at her building. Make sure she gets it, okay?”
Half-asleep, phone in my face, I typed back:
“Okay, thanks, baby!”
Then my brain finally kicked in.
Wait.
Baby?
BABY??
I sprinted back to bed and grabbed my phone. Opened the chat. Refreshed. Refreshed again.
Xander’s reply sat there like a loaded gun.
——”?”
I checked the top of the screen.
It wasn’t Nina’s burner account.
It was mine.
Lindsey Carter. Broke college junior. Bakery girl. Bar cleaner. The nobody assistant.
—
My hands shook so bad I almost dropped the phone.
Grandma needs her surgery. I need this job. If Nina finds out, I’m done. If Xander tells Nina, I’m dead.
Think, Lindy. THINK.
I typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted.
Finally, I went with the dumbest, most boring lie I could find:
“Sorry! Wrong chat. Meant that for a friend.”
“I’ll bring the gift up to Nina now.”
Send. Send. Then I stared at the screen like it was gonna bite me.
A minute passed. Two. Three.
Then, finally:
“Sure. Thanks.”
Two words. Ice cold.
I exhaled so hard I almost passed out. Crisis dodged. Barely.
I swiped over to Nina’s burner account — the one I actually use to be her — and there he was. Xander. Sweet as sugar. Like a completely different man.
“Baby, I’m flying home this week.”
“When I land, let’s start planning the engagement, yeah?”
I stared at the screen.
Engagement.
He wants to plan an engagement.
With a girl who doesn’t exist.
I sat down on the bathroom floor, still in my pajamas, and let out a laugh that sounded a lot like a sob.
Three months of ghostwriting a fake romance. And now the man was flying across an ocean to marry a lie.
And I’m the lie.
—