Author: Kat Singleton

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 12 Beck

Regret.

It lingers all around me as I watch Margo dart across the kitchen.

There’s the regret of allowing myself to almost kiss her, to discover what she tastes like.

And then the regret of knowing she would’ve let me kiss her and I didn’t.

Her words from that dingy conference room still ring in my head. I don’t know if she wants it. I don’t want her backing out of the deal before it’s barely even begun. So I stopped myself, even when every fiber of my being wanted to lift her onto the countertop and have my way with her.

“Margo.” I sigh, missing the warmth of her hands against me a little too much. Now, with my shirt open, it feels too cold without her touch.

She doesn’t bother to look at me. I can’t say I blame her. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to be vulnerable and gave me a glimpse of the lust in her eyes. Instead of waving a white flag and fueling the simmering fire between us, I threw a bucket of cold water on us and doused the flames. She’s embarrassed. I don’t have to look at her face to know it.

“Look,” I begin.

Her spine straightens as she grabs the handle of her suitcase. She talks to the windows, not my face, when she speaks up. “Could you point me to where I’ll be sleeping?” she asks. She tries hard to mask the shakiness in her words, but I catch it.

My palms run down my pants. I take a step toward her. “Sure. Let me walk you there and grab your bags.”

When she looks over her shoulder, the embarrassment is masked with anger. “No. Just tell me where I’m sleeping, and I’ll find it.”

I clear my throat, pointing toward the lofted upstairs. It wasn’t my intention to piss her off. Or maybe it was. Fuck, I really don’t know when it comes to her. “No.” When I reach her, I pry her fingers from the handle. She aims a dirty look my way but I don’t pay it any attention.

“I’ll do it,” she hisses. “Just tell me where I’m sleeping.”

Ignoring her, I head toward the staircase. As soon as I reach the bottom step, I lift her bags and begin to take the stairs two at a time. When I make it to the top, I look down to find her staring up at me from the bottom. Her hands are on her hips in an annoyed position, her lips pursed.

“You can come up here and choose which room you want, or I can choose for you. Make me wait too long and I’ll choose the worst one.”

Whatever she mutters under her breath, I don’t catch it. Even though she’s clearly annoyed, she does come up the stairs. Stopping in front of me, her eyes roam over the landing. Through the glass banister, you can see down to the lower floor. There’s a sitting area up here. I couldn’t begin to remember the last time someone actually sat there, but it looks nice.

She yanks her suitcase from my grasp, almost falling backward from the exertion. Looking me in the eye with an angry gleam in her own, she blows hair from her face. “This has to be one of the most expensive penthouses in Manhattan”—she rolls her eyes—“even the worst room here is a luxury compared to what us common people are used to.”

Done with the conversation, or probably more likely done with me, Margo rolls her suitcase down the corridor, leaving me watching behind her.

She’s not wrong, none of the rooms are bad. Whichever one she chooses, she’ll be comfortable.

But none of them are the same room I sleep in. And for some reason I can’t put my finger on, I’m a little bitter that we’ll be sleeping on two different floors.

It seems too far.

Before I can think too deeply into what the hell she’s doing to me, I leave her to pick out a room. I head back downstairs, leaving my shirt hanging open as I look through the refrigerator to find something to eat.

Nothing says I’m sorry I almost kissed you like a homemade meal.

I just have to decide if I’m sorry for almost kissing her, or if I’m sorry about not kissing her.

It takes me an hour to make a roasted chicken and vegetables. I plate it over a bed of rice and a special sauce that has impressed every person I’ve ever made it for.

Too bad Margo doesn’t make another appearance.

After cooking for an hour, I figured she’d make her way downstairs. She said she had brunch with her friends, and she ate on the plane, but she has to be hungry. I figured she’d at least want something small to eat. Apparently, she wants to avoid me more than I’d expected because after waiting at the table for forty minutes, I come to terms with the fact she isn’t coming back down.

The nice thing would be to drop something off by her door, to apologize for whatever happened earlier. But I’m not nice. It’s never been an adjective someone’s used to describe me. So, I eat without her. I package up the leftovers and leave them in the fridge.

And then I work late into the night. I stay up much later than I’d intended, my mind too muddled with the thought of her sleeping upstairs to sleep peacefully.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 11 Margo

Beck wasted no time getting us to New York. He essentially gave me one night and the morning to say goodbye to my friends and get my things packed before he showed up at my apartment early this afternoon, pestering me in hurrying to get ready so we could catch our flight.

I’d argued. If he owned the jet, couldn’t he technically be late?

I’ve never felt truly poor. My family did what they could to get by. My parents lived paycheck to paycheck to make things work, but we were loved and we were taken care of. I didn’t want for much of anything growing up. Sure, I wanted the three-level Barbie Dreamhouse and only got it a year after it first released and it was on clearance, but all the things I truly needed, and even most of what I wanted, I had. I was a happy kid growing up, even if my family didn’t have a ton of money.

The first few months after college could arguably be the time where I felt the most poor. I was living off ramen noodles and off-brand snacks that were on sale because they were about to expire. In the moment, it felt like the New York way to live.

At least it was my version of the New York college kid way to live.

Standing in the foyer of Beck’s penthouse high-rise apartment, it’s just now occurring to me how incredibly rich he is. My first clue should’ve been that he lived in Manhattan. One month’s rent for a teeny-tiny studio here is almost triple what we paid to live in a three-bedroom in LA. My second clue should’ve been the fact that Beck had to swipe a keycard in front of a sensor when we stepped into the elevator before he pressed a glowing button with a PH on it.

Of course he lives in a penthouse. And of course it’s the most gorgeous space I’ve ever seen.

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk?” Beck’s footsteps echo off the black marble flooring. He stops at a lavish gold entryway table, putting his wallet and keycard into a ceramic bowl.

My feet stay planted on the fancy carpet of the elevator. It dings three times before the doors close in on me. With a yelp, I squeeze between the closing doors, almost dropping my purse in the commotion.

Beck smirks from the middle of the room. His fingers wrap around the handle of my suitcase, his eyes watching me closely.

“Thanks for the help,” I say sarcastically.

“I thought you could manage on your own.’ Turning around, he walks past a large staircase. He turns his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s leave the gallery.”

I laugh, shaking my head as I step next to the staircase. The side is all glass, the stairs white with gold metal accents. It’s very modern and expensive looking. “I’ve never heard the word gallery used in that context.”

Beck walks past an enormous dining table, his hand still perched on the handle of my suitcase as he wheels my cheap looking suitcase next to a grand table. My old duffle bag almost slides off the top of the suitcase with his jerky movements. I gawk in awe at the table that sits next to my things. It looks to be made out of some kind of black stone that probably has some kind of fancy name. It looks incredibly heavy. I wonder how many people it took to get it up here. “Gallery…” I repeat, testing the word on my tongue. It feels odd to use it to describe a location in a home.

“Yeah, that there is the gallery. And right now, we’re standing in what’s called a dining room,” he says condescendingly.

I stick my tongue out at him. “I gathered, asshole.”

Stopping, he lets go of my suitcase and walks toward the most luxurious kitchen I’ve ever seen. Beck runs his finger over the dark countertop. “This right here is called a kitchen.” He draws out the syllables of the word, explaining it to me like I’m a toddler.

I ignore him. If he wants to be a dick, I’m not going to engage. Instead of spewing the various insults running through my head, I take in the space that’s going to be my home for at least the next year.

There’s no way Beck had anything to do with decorating the space. It looks too nice. Even with the dark color scheme, it’s inviting. It doesn’t feel too cold or unwelcoming. The kitchen is what catches my eye. Cabinets take up the entire wall, the dark wood of them have a slight sheen to the material. The wall of cabinets and counter space meet floor to ceiling windows on one side. On the other, it meets a wall that houses two ovens, a little nook with a fancy-looking coffee machine, and then the biggest refrigerator I’ve ever seen.

My feet take me into the space. I slide my hand over the cold countertop of the expansive island, right in the middle of all of it. My fingers trace over the delicate fissures in the dark stone, stopping at a sink that seems large enough for me to fit me in if I wanted. The cabinets, the faucet, all the details of the kitchen are a shiny brass color, fueling the modern look of the kitchen. The color palette works well together. Although I’m sure Beck had nothing to do with it, whoever did design it did a wonderful job.

“Have you ever cooked anything in here?” I stop admiring the kitchen and instead look to Beck, deciding to admire him instead.

He is my future fake fiancé after all.

Beck holds my gaze. He leans up against the lip of the countertop. His hands leave his pockets. One smoothes down the fabric of his tie while the other pulls at the knot around his neck. I watch in fascination as he loosens the tie around his neck until he pulls it off completely. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Margo Moretti, beginning with the fact that I actually enjoy cooking when I have the time.”

My lips part in shock. I’m trying to picture Beck in this kitchen cooking, but I can’t quite produce the image in my head. It seems too messy, too casual for someone who seems to be in a suit and tie ninety percent of the time. “You cook?”

Beck folds the tie nicely and sets it next to him on the counter. “Why does that shock you so much?”

I inch my way to his refrigerator, pulling the large doors open to inspect what he’s got inside. I was expecting a bunch of take-out containers, or maybe nothing in there at all, but it surprises me how well stocked it is with fresh ingredients. Looking over my shoulder, I find Beck watching me with a smug look on his face.

I close the doors, turning to face him once again. “I don’t know. I just expected you to be the kind of guy that had a private chef cook for him all the time. It’s hard to imagine you cooking. Wouldn’t that ruin your suit and all?”

He laughs softly, pulling his body from the countertop and closing the distance between us. I hate how my pulse spikes as he gets closer. The problem with Beck is that he’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His personality could use some work, but even with his harsh demeanor, he’s got this magnetism to him that draws me in. I could choose to fight it, or I could let it pull me in. I’m not sure which one would be worse in the end, but I need to keep my hormones and feelings in check with this deal.

I’ve already had my heart broken by one Sinclair brother, I’m sure as hell not letting the other anywhere near my freshly mended one.

Beck’s hands press into the matte black refrigerator over my head. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence is looming—dominating—that it actually feels like he’s touching me everywhere. “I do have a private chef that cooks most of my meals. But it isn’t because I don’t enjoy cooking or know how to, it’s more for convenience.”

His breath tickles my skin. My tennis shoes do nothing to give me any kind of height, so with him this close, it brings attention to just how vastly different our heights are. I’m only a few inches over five feet on a good day. He’s got to be at least a foot taller than me, but I’m a terrible judge at that. I know Carter used to brag that he was six feet tall, and Beck definitely has a few inches on him.

He leans in closer, our foreheads almost touching. I want to know what cologne he wears. He smells like bergamot mixed with something else, something sweet—maybe jasmine. Whatever it is, I can’t get enough. I want to bury my face against wherever he sprays it in the morning, to inhale the scent until it’s forever imprinted in my mind.

“You’re quiet for once,” he observes. I don’t tell him the reason I’m quiet is because I’m imagining pressing my face to his neck just to lose myself in his scent. His intoxicating indigo eyes roam my face. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s staring right at my lips.

Does Beckham Sinclair want to kiss me?

Do I want to kiss him?

Our conversation from a few days rings in my mind. He’d told me we’d be kissing sooner rather than later. I’d scoffed at the idea, but with him looking at me like this, I can’t help but wonder what’d happen if we did.

I press my shoulders into the cold metal doors of the fridge, trying to escape him, even if I know it’s no use. “I just couldn’t picture you cooking. Do you wear an apron to keep yourself all nice and clean?”

Beck removes his hands from over my head, but his feet stay planted in the same place. Keeping eye contact with me, he deftly undoes the top button of his button-up. I expect him to stop there, but he doesn’t. Once the top one is undone, he pops the button from the next hole as well. After three buttons are undone, I can see the splatter of his blond chest hair.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, half-panicked as I watch him all too closely. Even as my gaze is focused solely on his fingers as they continue to undo each button, I feel Beck’s gaze watching me intently. “I’m starving. And sorry to disappoint, I have no apron. Can’t get this shirt dirty. So I’ll just have to…” He leaves the rest of what he was going to say up to the imagination as he quickly untucks his shirt and undoes the last button.

And holy hell, seeing Beck stand in his kitchen with an undone button-up and his abs on display might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I don’t know where to look first. There’s the fire in Beck’s eyes. I swear they burn so brightly with desire that it makes my body feel hot all over. There’s also the ripple of muscles in front of me. I’d barely have to lift my hand and I’d be reminded of what his abs feel like underneath my touch.

When Beck rolls his lips together as he stares at my own mouth, I’m lost in the lust of the moment.

I want to feel him underneath my touch more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I’m about to act on impulse when he makes the decision for me. He leans in, letting his nose brush against my jawline.

Holy fuck. My breath is mixing with Beck’s breath.

Are we going to kiss? To fuck? God, I want it so bad even after telling him days ago that we could never cross the line.

Right now, I want to say screw the line and have Beck screw me.

“Margo,” he breathes, his hand coming to rest next to my head. I have to steady myself by doing the only logical option, placing my hands against his hard abdomen. As soon as my skin connects with his, I feel his muscles clench underneath my fingertips.

I didn’t know someone could feel so hard and warm and intoxicating.

Maybe he’s right. I’m tempted to beg him to fuck me.

“Yes?” I pant.

Beck leans in even closer, lining his lips right next to my ear. A featherlight kiss is pressed against my cheekbone before he speaks. “I need in the fridge.”

It takes a moment for my brain to process his words, but as soon as it does, it feels like cold water has been thrown on me.

And then I get the hell away from him.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 10 Beck

Margo isn’t shy about making her feelings known about the unexpected departure tomorrow. I’ve been sitting on the edge of her bed, taking in the mess that is her room, as she loudly packs her bags. She can’t do anything without adding some theatrics to it.

Her bathroom door slaps the wall as she flings it open, a large toiletry bag in her hand.

Even when she tosses the bag in her open suitcase, it’s thrown harder than necessary. She walks to her closet, flicking through the clothes on the hangers. The hangers make loud scraping noises on the rod as she looks through them, occasionally pulling clothes off the hanger and tossing them onto the bed.

“You know packing all of this isn’t necessary,” I note, picking up a sweater that seems to have seen better days. I hold it by the collar, noting the fraying threads scattered throughout the worn knitting.

Margo turns around, giving me a dirty look. I’d never tell her this, but the look is far more endearing than it is intimidating. “I need clothes to wear.”

I pull at one of the loose threads of the sweater. “We’ll go shopping in New York. You can’t wear this to work.”

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t have money to buy anything at any of those fancy stores in New York.”

Throwing the old sweater on the bed, I take a deep breath. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose as I think about what I want to say without offending her. I have to tread lightly. I know Margo enough to know she’ll put up a fight if I tell her I’ll buy the clothes for her, even though I have more money than I know what to do with. I’m not going to allow her to show up to work in clothes that are obviously old, the fabric now more itchy than it is comfortable. “I’ll buy the clothes, Margo. I have accounts with multiple stores where you’ll find what you need. Just please make it better than…that.” I point toward the discarded sweater.

“I’m not your little project to take pity on and dress up all nicely to impress whoever you want me to impress.”

My phone has already rung countless times during the twenty minutes I’ve sat here as she’s determined what to pack. My patience is wearing very thin. Her comment is just about sending me over the edge of what I can handle. I don’t see the point in her taking the time to pack some of these things when she’ll never wear them because I’ll just buy her all new stuff. It seems pointless. Standing up, I close the distance until I’m backing her into her tiny closet. She attempts to run away from me until her back is hitting her clothes. I stare down my nose at her, impressed by the defiant look in her eyes. “You’re not, and never will be, my little project. I didn’t mean it that way and you know that. You’d just rather argue than allow me to do one thing for you.”

She opens her mouth to do what I’m learning she does best—argue—but I put my palm over her lips before she can do so. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to pack the things you need. The things I can’t buy you when we get to Manhattan. Sentimental shit or whatever. You can leave whatever you want here, to give to your friends or keep for whenever you visit. Truthfully, I don’t give a fuck what you do with it. And then we’re going to leave here. We have a few places we need to be today; you can tell your friends you’ll have a goodbye dinner with them or fuck, even breakfast with them tomorrow, and then we’re getting on the jet tomorrow afternoon. Understood?”

I feel her angry sigh against my palm. Her breath is hot against my skin. My mind can’t help but wonder what her breath would feel up against far more intimate parts of me. My cock stirs in my suit pants at the idea. I remove my palm from her lips. “And for the record, you could wear a paper bag and impress anyone.”

Margo places her small hands on my chest and pushes against me with an angry groan. I smile, letting her push me a few feet away from her even though I was having fun unnerving her a little with my close proximity. She may think she’s playing it cool, but I could feel the warmth from the rush of blood in her cheeks. I felt every sharp intake of breath against my palm and could see the curious desire in her eyes.

Shocking me, instead of arguing, Margo turns around and begins to rifle through her closet once again. Bored of just sitting on her bed and looking at work emails, I walk around her small room, itching to find out more about her just by what’s in here.

I’m busy looking at a bunch of polaroid pictures she has taped to a floor length mirror when she speaks up from behind me. “Just for the record”—she mocks the tone I just used—“I’m going to spend so much of your money on new clothes.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else.” I smile, reaching to grab a picture of Margo with a huge slice of pizza next to her face. The giant thin slice with large, round pepperonis is instantly recognizable as a New York style pizza. The sweatshirt she wears with large NYU letters on the front also clues me in to the fact that this must be from her college days. I pull it away from the mirror, and there’s a ripping sound as the tape comes off the glass.

Holding the picture in front of me, I let my eyes roam over her face. She looks so happy, completely carefree. Her hair seems to be a few inches shorter than it is now. It must be from her early college days. It’d been about the same length it is now when I’d first met her in The Hamptons. She stares right at the camera, her mouth slightly open like she was laughing at whatever the person behind the camera was saying.

Various sounds come from behind me as Margo continues to pack while I look around her room. I neatly stick the picture back to the mirror, moving on to look at the next thing. My feet come to a stop in front of what must be her art space. It’s tiny. A small wooden chair sits in front of a desk barely large enough to fit a sketchbook and a holder of drawing utensils.

I slide my finger underneath the cover of her sketchbook, itching to know what she’s spent countless hours drawing on the pages within. I’ve got it raised a few inches, the beginnings of a sketched hand appearing when it snaps shut.

“Those aren’t for you to look at.” Her voice is quiet, her breath quick with what might be nerves.

“Why not?” I push, my voice low. My mind flashes with a memory. To a hot summer night when the moon was high in the sky and questionable decisions were made. “I seem to vividly remember a time where you let me look at every single page of your sketchbook. At what you’d drawn. Who you’d drawn…”

The air around us becomes electrified. Her pouty lips open as she stares at me in shock. Neither one of us had ever acknowledged that summer night—until now. “That was different.”

Her gaze travels from mine to where her fingers splay across the cover of her sketchbook. I pull mine from beneath the cover and first page. My fingertip slides across the cover until it meets her finger. Lifting my hand, I put my hand over hers. The size of our hands is a stark difference. Mine dwarfs hers. I link my fingers through the empty space between hers, letting mine hook around until they rest against her palm. I lift our joined hands, removing them from the cover.

“I don’t see how,” I utter, still keeping her hand in mine as I place them on the edge of the desk. “If anything, I feel like now I’m even more entitled to know what you’ve been drawing. Tell me, is it still me you draw in there, Violet?”

She snatches her hand from mine, the moment gone between us. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snaps, stealing the sketchbook from the desk and stuffing deep into her suitcase.

Lies lies lies. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.

My lip twitches. “If you say so.”

One of these days we’re going to talk about what happened that night. But I’ll let her warm up to me more. I’m not typically a patient man, but for her, I can be. It’ll be well worth the wait once we finally acknowledge it.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 9 Margo

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” I prod, hoping he’ll finally answer my question. “We’re going to your apartment.”

“We’re what?” I shriek.

“We’re going to your apartment,” he repeats, slower this time, like I didn’t understand him the first time he said it. I understood him perfectly. I’m just in shock he knows where I live.

A sound of annoyance falls from my lips. “Not possible. You don’t know where I live.”

Ezra makes a sound from the front seat. The noise has Beck tossing him a threatening look immediately. “I know exactly where you live, Margo,” he declares, his voice level.

“I don’t believe you.”

He shakes his head at me. His pointer finger digs into his temple as he looks out the window, his eyes focused on the passing cars. “It’s cute you think I don’t know everything there is to know about you.”

Impossible. “You know nothing about me.” For starters, we barely uttered a few sentences to one another at his family’s vacation home.

Words weren’t really needed.

I shake the thought away as quickly as it came to be. The last thing I need on my mind is that memory. One thing I can count on is the fact I doubt Carter said much to Beck about me. I’m reminded of the fact that even though they’re brothers, Beck and Carter aren’t close. The last thing I imagine is the two of them sitting down and talking about me.

He looks from the window to me, a cocky smirk on his lips. “You forget I own the company you work at. Any knowledge they had on you, I now have right here”—he taps his temple—“and that includes your address.”

I let out a defeated sigh, slumping down in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s creepy, you know.”

“It’s using the resources I have at my disposal.”

My phone vibrates. Giving Beck a dirty look, I unlock it and check the group chat with my roommates. My eyes track over the lengthy conversation they’d had in the time since Beck stole me from work.

EMMA

Winnie. You’ll never believe who showed up to whisk our very own Cinderella from work for the day.

WINNIE

Beckham Sinclair???

Oh my god. He showed up?

Don’t leave me on read. I need DETAILS!!

EMMA

Sorry. Darla just yelled at me for being on my phone.

YES!!!! He graced us with his beautiful presence. NO ONE TOLD ME HE WAS THAT HOT.

WINNIE

Why isn’t Margo responding? Margo…we need details. Like right now.

EMMA

She might be having hot car sex with her new boss. I would if my boss looked like that.

Well. I guess technically he is my boss. Too bad I didn’t get offered that assistant position. I’d assist him right to the bedroom.

WINNIE

Emma!! He’s your boss.

EMMA

I’m pissed I didn’t know how hot he was. Margo didn’t mention that.

WINNIE

I’m in a dumb group with girls from high school that send every picture of him posted on the internet. They all still hold out hope he’ll give them an ounce of attention.

MARGO

He’s not that good looking.

I smirk, my eyes bouncing to Beck who is also looking down at his phone. If he only knew the text I just fired off to my best friends. He’d probably say something cocky about how my reaction to his every move says otherwise.

EMMA

Shut up. Were you banging?

MARGO

No. He’s taking me to our apartment.

EMMA

WHEN I’M NOT THERE?! What the hell, Margo. I could give him a tour of my bedroom.

I laugh, catching the attention of both Beck and Ezra. I mask my reaction immediately. I don’t want to risk Beck reaching across the car and stealing the phone from my hands. It seems like something he’d do. I look back at my phone. Emma will lose her mind when I have to pretend that Beck and I have become fake engaged.

WINNIE

Why is he taking you there?

MARGO

I guess I’ll find out.

I ignore the rest of the messages for now, despite feeling my phone vibrate countless times. Ezra turns onto a familiar street, cluing me in that Beck wasn’t lying. He knows where I live and that’s where we’re going. “Care to tell me why we’re going to my place?”

This actually does make him smile, except the smile is anything but friendly. It’s devilish, making my stomach sink as I wonder the meaning behind it.

“We’re getting you all packed. We fly back to New York tomorrow.”

I swear this man is trying to send me into a tailspin. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. We can’t leave tomorrow.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I have friends here. I need to pack. I need more time to move across the country.”

There’s a speck of humor in his eyes as he leans deeper into the hand that holds his head. “You would’ve had that if you called me. Sorry, but duty calls. I need to return to New York tomorrow. I’d much have preferred tonight, but I’m being generous and giving you the evening. But that’s as far as my generosity goes. You’ll be leaving with me tomorrow since you’re supposed to be in the office with me Monday morning.”

I anxiously pick at my cuticles. I normally take a week to pack for a long weekend. How the hell am I supposed to pack for uprooting my life and moving halfway across the country in one night?

My mind reels as a thought pops into my head. “If you had my address, then you had my number.”

He shows off his perfectly straight white teeth when he grins. “This seems way more efficient.”

My argument stays in my throat as Ezra pulls up to the apartment complex. Beck must’ve really done his research, because we even pull up to the correct building. Ezra puts the SUV in park as Beck and I have a silent stare off. I refuse to look away from him. I may have signed away the next year of my life to him, but he doesn’t just get to tell me at the last minute to pack all my things and move away tomorrow.

“I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

“How else do you plan to get to New York by Monday morning?”

He’s got a point. But I refuse to let him win this one. He’s steamrolled into my life suddenly and taken control of everything. I want some of that control back, even if it’s in the form of determining when I move to New York and begin this charade I’m going to take part in.

“I’ll get a flight on my own,” I answer confidently. It’ll probably drain my entire bank account to do so, but I’m prepared to do it just to win this battle with him.

He grunts in disgust. “I’m not allowing you to fly coach.” He says coach the way someone talks about bed bugs or lice. Like it’s the most disgusting thing on the planet. I, for one, have found some coach flights quite delightful. A bag of pretzels and a cookie? That’s pure luxury.

“Your entitlement is showing,” I snap as Ezra gets out of the car. He clearly doesn’t want to have to listen to Beck and I battle it out. I wouldn’t either if I were him.

Beck clenches his jaw, something I’m learning he does a lot. It seems he’s in a constant state of anger when he’s with me. I’m not trying to push his buttons. I just don’t want him to think he can show up at my job on my last day and then have the audacity to pack my things and force me to get on a jet with him tomorrow.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he slides across the leather, moving the briefcase that acted as a barrier between us. He crowds me with his body, even as I try to scoot away from him. My back presses into the door. I have nowhere to go. I don’t even have anywhere to look but into his dark, stormy, indigo eyes.

He presses his palm into the window by my head. Our thighs press against one another, no other parts of our bodies touching. “I’m not letting the woman who is about to be my fiancée fly coach when I own a private jet.”

“Plenty of people fly it every day.”

He grinds his teeth, fire in his eyes. “Plenty of people aren’t you.”

Fuck.

No.

The way Beck looks at me right now makes me want to agree to anything he says. There’s concern, but also determination. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is a battle I won’t win. It doesn’t matter anyway. Right now what I want to battle is my heart, because it liked him saying “plenty of people aren’t you” a little too much.

“Go pack, Margo.”

This close to him, I marvel at how his porcelain skin doesn’t have a trace of any facial hair. I wonder if he freshly shaved this morning, or perhaps it doesn’t show well because he has blond hair. In my head, I’m already creating a mental list of the things I need to pack and what I’ll leave behind for my friends. But I don’t want him to know that. Pushing his buttons, getting him riled up and seeing that muscle in his jaw tick is much more fun.

“No.”

He smacks the glass next to my head, making me jump. Tearing himself away from me, he tosses his door open like it’s the thing that’s pissed him off. I don’t have time to even gather my thoughts before he’s ripping my car door open. His large hands catch me underneath my armpits, saving me from falling flat on my ass in front of both him and Ezra.

Even after I gain my footing Beck leaves one of his hands on me. It trails down a few inches until he’s holding me by the bicep. I try to yank it free, but his fingers keep their firm grasp.

“Let go,” I demand.

Instead of listening to me, he tightens his fingers, pulling me in the direction of my apartment building. “After you,” he growls, completely calm and collected no matter how many times I try to pull my arm from him.

Finally, I yank hard enough to get my arm free. But looking at him from the corner of my eye, noting the smug look on his face, I wonder if he let go because he didn’t want to deal with me fussing a second longer.

“You’re not coming with me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but then you started acting like a child, so now I’ll be coming in and helping you pack so you’ll be ready to catch a flight. Tomorrow.”

His tone makes it obvious there’s no reason for me to argue, but it doesn’t stop me from trying one last time.

“You can’t make me,” I bite.

He bites his lip, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Margo, I can promise that you’re coming with me tomorrow one way or another. If it means I have to throw you over my shoulder to get you to New York, then I’ll do it. Even if you’re kicking and screaming.”

The two of us stare at one another, our chests heaving as we both refuse to back down. Finally, I break eye contact, my eyes searching for Ezra. I’m hoping that I’ve made a quick friend in him and that he’ll back me up, but I’m out of luck. He’s got his phone to his ear with a wide smile as he talks to somebody on the other line.

Letting out a loud groan, I stomp toward my apartment. I don’t have to turn around to know Beck is hot on my heels. His angry stare is like a brand on my neck, scorching and making me more annoyed with each step closer to my front door.

“I’m tired of you bossing me around,” I mumble, reaching into my pocket for my keys.

“Get used to it,” he clips.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 8 Margo

I’m late by over five minutes.

In my defense, it’s not really my fault. Emma takes four of those minutes by trying to get me to explain where I’m going with Beck. She doesn’t believe me when I answer truthfully. I have no freaking clue what Beck has planned for the day, what his motives are for showing up on my last day of work at 8-bit. But damn, I might be a little excited to find out.

When I finally convince her that I’ll give her updates the moment I know what’s happening, it takes another four minutes for me to grab my things and check my appearance in the compact I keep in my handbag.

The last minute is spent rushing out. Darla attempts to fire questions at me on my way out, but all I do is give her a smile. “I’m going to miss you, Darla,” I lie. Wrapping my arms around her, I give her one tight squeeze. I won’t miss her in the slightest, but part of me will miss this place. Even though I hated what I did here, it was my first real job. I got to start with Emma, it’s a bit bittersweet to leave it behind.

Who knows, maybe I’ll be back whenever this thing with Beck ends. But I hope to never be back again.

Beck looks pissed when I step into the large lobby. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, clearly engaged in a conversation with someone else. The call seems civil. The look in his eyes is anything but.

I’m in trouble. The deep set of his brows tells me as much.

Why does the thought excite me a little?

He doesn’t say a word when I come to a halt in front of him. He continues to speak with whoever is on the other line. Beck acknowledges my presence by tilting his head toward the exit. Words aren’t needed for me to catch on to what he wants.

His long legs make their way toward the exit. Beck doesn’t even look over his shoulder to see if I follow. He doesn’t have to. I’m too intrigued by why he showed up on my last day of work, leaving no room for arguing that I needed to leave with him.

Even though it’s obvious he’s upset by me being late, he holds the door open for me. Before I leave, I turn and give Barry my sweetest smile. “Goodbye, Barry! I’ll miss you.” I blow him a kiss, loving how Barry eats the attention up by pretending to catch the kiss and tuck it in his pocket.

When I turn back to leave, I find Beck has ended his call. His eyes are locked on me like magnets. I wish I knew what the look on his face meant. The anger is wiped away for the moment, but I can’t quite put my finger on what’s replaced it.

As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, he’s letting the door close behind him and guiding me toward a waiting black SUV. A guy dressed in a suit waits in front of the rear passenger door. As soon as we near the vehicle, he’s plastering on a smile and pulling the door open.

My feet skid to a stop. I anxiously look over my shoulder, wondering if getting into this car is a good idea. I guess Beck is my boss—and soon-to-be fake fiancé—so I should trust him. But a part of me feels a bit apprehensive. It’s probably the fact that the two of them are dressed like they’re about to go to a formal event and I’m dressed in a pair of fraying Levi’s.

I look between the guy holding the car door open and Beck. “I didn’t get the memo to come wearing a gown. My apologies.”

The man tries to hide a smile. His cheek twitches as he fights with all his might to keep a straight face.

Beck doesn’t look quite as amused. He’s now climbed into the back of the car, his arm outstretched like he’s waiting to help me get into the car. My body feels tingly as he looks over my outfit. “I’m going to have to have a chat with HR on dress code,” he clips, his eyes focusing on the large hole at my knee. My tan skin peeks out from the space.

I look down, taking in all the different holes on the pants. I shrug, completely unbothered by his comment. “Oh, it totally goes against the dress code. Darla wrote me a pink slip the moment I stepped into work this morning.”

It’s Beck’s turn to fight a smile. He’s much better at it than his driver, however. I mutter my thanks to him as I slide into the backseat of the SUV, completely ignoring Beck’s outstretched hand. He doesn’t say anything as it falls to his side. “So, you’re breaking the rules right after you’ve been promoted?”

Beck’s driver, I still need to get his name, softly shuts the door after me before he rounds the car and gets in.

I shake my head. “I’ve always followed the rules. But today being my last day and all, I figured I might as well wear something comfortable. If it were up to me, all companies would have casual Fridays.”

“Noted.” His eyes snap to my side. “Buckle your seat belt.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell him that even if he’s going to be my boss, he doesn’t have to always tell me what to do.

He must disapprove of my silence. In one swift motion, he’s reaching across the space, grabbing the seat belt and buckling me in.

“I’m not a child. I can do it myself.”

Beck pins me with a glare. His face is dangerously close to mine. So close that his hot breath tickles my cheeks. His smell surrounds me. For a fraction of a second, his gaze focuses on my lips. He rips his sight away from my parted lips, his stormy eyes looking into mine. “Too late.”

I tear my eyes from his, too caught up in the moment with him for my own good. I should be angry with him for catapulting into my life and changing everything so quickly, but I’m also thrilled at the possibilities of what’s in store.

“Where are we going?” I question, looking out the window as the driver pulls the car away from the curb.

“Before we do anything, I need you to sign this.” Beck pulls a packet from a briefcase and plops it between us.

I pick it up, my eyes roaming over a bunch of legal jargon that goes over my head.

“It’s an NDA, Margo,” he explains, watching me closely. “You’re expected to sign it before we go through with this.”

I frown, trying to understand what everything means. Flipping from one page to the next, I find highlighted sections where I’m supposed to sign my name. Watching reruns of Law and Order SVU hasn’t given me enough knowledge of law terminology to even begin to understand a thing. I look at Beck with skepticism written on my face. “I don’t understand any of this.” I wave the packet around in the air between us. “How do I know that I’m not signing away my first-born child to you?”

The driver spits out a laugh. I smirk, happy I got the calm and collected guy to finally break.

“Glad you find her hilarious, Ezra.” Beck gives the driver—Ezra, apparently—a dirty look through the rearview mirror. Ezra, however, only makes eye contact with Beck for a fleeting moment before he pins his eyes ahead of him, suddenly very focused on the road. “Sorry, sir.” He coughs. “It was kind of funny.”

I beam, looking at Beck with a satisfied look. “I like him already.”

“Thank you, Miss Moretti,” Ezra comments, his eyes still focused on the road ahead.

Beck sighs dismissively at the both of us. He looks at the packet I still hold between us. “I can assure you I’m not having you sign away anything. All of my staff sign NDAs. It’s standard protocol. Your best friend, Ezra, signed one as well.”

“Sure did. Hopefully, I didn’t sign away my first-born child,” he says sarcastically. “My future wife may not be happy to know that.”

Beck snorts, slightly leaning forward to get Ezra’s attention. “You don’t even have a girlfriend,” he responds dryly.

Ezra’s eyebrows raise to his hairline. “That you know of, sir.” He winks at me through the mirror.

The gesture manages to further annoy Beck. Angrily, he snatches the packet from my hand and places it on the leather seat between us. His fingers trace over some of the sentences as he begins to explain what everything means. My eyes travel over the words he reads out loud, so far confident that I’m not signing some kind of shady deal.

Once he makes it through three pages of the packet, he looks up at me through his thick eyelashes. “Need me to keep going or do you trust me enough to know that I’m a civilized human being that wouldn’t trap you into anything crooked?”

“I don’t know if trust is the correct term when it comes to you.”

Beck makes a face, making it seem like my response actually offended him. “Fine,” he bites, slipping his phone from his suit pocket. “I’ll call my lawyer to review it with you then, if that’s what it’ll take.”

His fingers are quick at typing something on his phone. Taking myself by surprise, I reach across the bench seat, placing my hand on his forearm. “Wait,” I argue. Even the way the suit feels underneath my palm tells me it’s expensive. It’s soft, a light gray that looks great up against his pale skin tone.

Beck looks at where my hand rests on his arm. I pull it away, meeting his eyes. “Don’t call your lawyer. I’ll sign it.”

His eyes bore into mine. I try not to squirm in my seat. Half of me loves having his undivided attention like this. The other part of me wants him to look anywhere but me. I can’t handle having him watch me like he’s leaving so much unsaid. “But you don’t trust me.” It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the disdain in his voice.

Rolling my eyes, I reach for the handbag at my feet. I rifle through it, searching for a pen.

“What are you doing?” Beck finally asks.

I pull random things out of the bag, wondering why I can’t find a single pen in here. Typically, this bag is like the one from Mary Poppins, full of unexpected treasures. Today, it’s full of random things except the one thing I need—a pen. “I’m looking for a pen,” I grumble, pulling out my makeup bag and moving it out of the way.

“Don’t bother,” Beck responds. He opens his briefcase and holds up a pen. “Use this.”

Snatching the pen from him, it feels heavier in my hand than I was expecting. Even this man’s pens feel expensive.

I set the packet in my lap, using my legs as a makeshift table as I sign on each dotted line.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 7 Beck

It’s been two days since I met with Margo, and two days of staring at my phone waiting for her call.

She’s supposed to start this coming Monday, and it’s already Friday morning. I’d figured she’d at least want to know more details on what the next few days will look like.

I’ve come to the conclusion she must’ve misplaced my card. I purposefully make it difficult for anyone to find a way to contact me—not wanting my phone to be overloaded with calls or messages. The poor girl must be struggling to get ahold of me.

A long sigh escapes my lips as I finish up another virtual meeting. The last couple days have been filled with call after call in an effort to integrate the company Margo worked at into my own. I didn’t expect quite so much extra work when I bought it, but that’s mainly because we found ways it can actually be useful. There are specific proprietary algorithms 8-bit owns that Sintech should be able to use to improve some of our social platform data encryption. It’ll take some overhaul of 8-bit to make it best serve us, starting with getting rid of that god-awful logo, but the acquisition hasn’t been a complete waste.

Stretching in my chair, I take in the view from the penthouse suite of the hotel I’m staying at until Sunday morning. My moment of peace is quickly broken when the vibration of my phone rattles against the desk. Eagerly, I grab for it, expecting to see an unknown number on the screen—Margo’s. Instead, I see my assistant’s name glaring at me. Frowning, I answer it. “Yes?” I clip, not bothering with a greeting.

“Good morning,” Polly says, her tone cheery like usual. The woman is old enough to be my mother, in fact she’s older than my own mom, yet it doesn’t seem as if the world has hardened her over the years. I on the other hand, can feel my sanity slip away with each useless meeting. I don’t know how Polly has put up with me for years, but deep down, I’m grateful for it. She’s a wonderful assistant, always doing her job no matter what I ask. I’m just pissy this morning because Margo hasn’t contacted me yet.

“Hi,” I answer, trying to soften the gruffness in my tone slightly.

For the next fifteen minutes, Polly and I iron details we’d been needing to work through. The entire time, my mind travels elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about Margo, even when discussing important topics at hand. Eventually, we get to a good stopping point. Polly is efficient. Even from New York, she’s able to keep a reign on things so that even when I’m out of the office, I can count on things running smoothly.

Before she hangs up, I get an idea. Standing up, I take the phone off speaker and hold it to my ear. My shoes click against the marble floor of the penthouse suite as I rush to my room. “Polly?”

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”

I grab the jacket off its hanger, the suit freshly steamed thanks to the hotel staff. I press the phone between my cheek and my shoulder as I slip my arms into the sleeves. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day. Something’s come up.”

“What?” she asks, not hiding her shock.

Walking to my nightstand, I set my phone on it, putting the phone on speaker again. “Something’s come up today, Polly,” I explain, grabbing my silver cufflinks and working them through their slots. “Please reschedule any calls I had on the books. Or assign them to Brian; he can inform me of anything that needs my input or approval. If any of the meetings can be turned into an email, do that. It may be hard to reach me for most of the day.”

Polly has worked with me long enough to know not to ask any further questions. She sighs, bold enough to let me know she’s displeased with my abrupt change before saying, “I’ll get it done, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Thank you,” I say before hanging up.

Once I’m ready, I race to the elevator.

There’s somewhere I need to be. Someone I need to see.

Stepping into the lobby of 8-bit Security, I find the lone security guard paying closer attention to the game on his phone than who is walking in the building. My loud footsteps break him from whatever app he’s playing. At the sight of me, he almost jumps out of his chair, then presses a hand to his chest while his shoulders move up and down with a deep breath.

“We weren’t expecting you today, Mr. Sinclair,” he exclaims, rushed. Now standing close to him, I find crumbs of whatever breakfast he had still stuck in his large mustache. A paper towel with a grease stain sits next to his wireless mouse, more crumbs scattered around it from whatever pastry he just ate. He fumbles with his keyboard, muttering under his breath for an excruciatingly long minute.

My patience wearing thin, I lean over the desk. “Look”—my eyes scan over his uniform until I find a name tag—“Barry, you and I both know that I have the highest security clearance there is here. I don’t think we need to bother with printing me a guest pass, do we?”

Barry coughs, looking up at me, his eyes full of panic. “Uh, sir, is this a test?” he squeaks. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in without a pass.” He looks back at his computer, typing a few more things. He reaches up and smacks the side of his computer tower. His eyes get large when he realizes I just watched him smack his computer.

Swallowing, I look at him. “Barry,” I say tightly. “I own this fucking company. I’m going to go on up and not bother with getting cleared. You got it?”

He looks unsure as he nods. I don’t give the guy much room to argue.

People give me odd looks as I step through the glass doors of the office. Darlene, or at least I believe it was Darlene, jumps from her seat when she sees me approaching the sea of cubicles. “Mr. Sinclair, we weren’t expecting you today.”

I barely spare her a second glance. “I wasn’t aware I needed to announce each time I was going to stop by.”

She follows closely behind me as I weave in and out of the cubicles, my eyes scanning over everyone working at their desks.

“You don’t, sir, I just would’ve made sure—”

Turning abruptly, I stop in front of her. Her mouth hangs open as she looks up at me. Even when trying to smile up at me, her mouth still turns down in a frown. “I don’t need you to follow me, Darlene. I’ll take it from here.” I dismiss her with a simple flick of my wrist.

At first, she doesn’t get the hint. It takes me making a shooing motion in the air for her to turn around, her shoulders tight as she makes her way back to her desk.

No longer having to deal with Darlene, I scan the large office space, my eyes searching for one person and one person only.

There she is.

Margo’s back is to me. Her long hair falls all the way down her back, the tendrils tamed stick straight. She’s engaged in conversation with somebody, her hip propped against a desk. The woman listening to her is engrossed with whatever she is saying. I stop, watching Margo for a few moments before either one of them notice that the office has gone quiet, all of them with their apprehensive eyes on me.

I get it. When the boss shows up, everyone loses their damn minds. It’s like they forget to work. Or maybe they’re just never great at working at all. Hopefully, for the sake of business, it’s the former. Lucky for them, I don’t plan on staying long. As long as Margo cooperates.

Which could go one or two ways with her.

Margo talks animatedly with her hands. Upon closer inspection, she grasps something. The bobblehead in her hand swings around in the air. At one point, her coworker has to step slightly to the left to avoid being smacked in the head with the item.

My lip twitches in amusement. It doesn’t take long for my feet to eat the distance between us. I come to a stop at Margo’s back. Her coworker notices me right away. She freezes, her hand stuck in the short blonde strands of her hair.

“Margo,” the coworker hisses, hastily finishing her task of clipping her hair back.

“I’m not done talking!” Margo chides, angrily setting the bobblehead on the cubicle shelf.

Is that Nash Pierce?

The blonde smiles playfully, raising her eyebrows. “Mar, I’d advise you to stop this conversation until we get home. Someone is standing behind you, and he looks pretty pissed.” The blonde—maybe also a roommate—doesn’t hide the amusement in her voice.

Margo spins on her heels immediately, her puffy lips parting when her eyes land on me. When she looks me up and down, I can’t help but wonder if she likes what she sees.

“Beck?” she gasps. Her green eyes are wide as they travel over my features. It’s like she’s trying to figure out if I’m actually here or just a figment of her imagination.

“This is Beck?” The girl attempts to whisper, but it comes out more as a yell. “You didn’t tell me our new boss looked like that!”

Margo aims a dirty look in the girl’s direction. “Shut up, Emma. He’s not that special to look at.”

Someone busts out laughing from a few cubicles away. They quickly try to hide the laughter with a cough, but it’s too late. Margo gives them a dirty look, muttering something incoherent under her breath.

“Stop lying to yourself,” the coworker—Emma—mumbles. “That’s the best looking man I’ve ever seen.” She bites into an apple I just now notice she’s holding. She chews on it loudly, not shy about looking me up and down.

“I think I hate you,” Margo snaps, shoving what must be her friend from the cubicle space. Her friend fights her by digging her heels into the ground. Margo is smaller than Emma, but still manages to move her a few feet.

I reach out to tap the bobblehead she’d been swinging around minutes before. As the head bobbles up and down, I look at her with a bored expression. “Working hard?” I ask sarcastically.

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder to her computer screen. “Emma and I were going over a new design before you walked in.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” she answers confidently.

Emma smacks her palm to her forehead, groaning dramatically.

My eyes flick to the computer monitor, to the flashing login screen, the evidence clear as day that Margo hasn’t even logged in for the morning, let alone looked over a design.

“You’re not even logged in, Mar.” Emma grabs Margo by the shoulders, turning her until she’s face to face with the proof of her lie.

“Oh…” I can only see her profile, but her wince is obvious.

Margo tucks her hand into the back pocket of her jeans as she spins to face me again. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m just going to go get to work,” Emma mumbles. Her fingers wiggle with a goodbye as she rushes to her own desk.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” I state, pinning her with a scowl. This is the second time the woman has had the nerve to disregard me. It’s something that won’t happen again.

“To ignore someone, they first have to call.”

“I gave you my business card. Something I rarely hand out, might I add. You not calling is as good as ignoring me.” I let my eyes roam over her work space. For someone who’s worked here for some time, her space is pretty boring. It’s not like I can talk. The only things on the walls of my office are my framed diplomas. But that’s the way I like things—clean and simple.

Margo doesn’t strike me as the clean and simple type. She seems wild and chaotic, someone who likes things unhinged and messy. I’d imagined her desk being unkept, her artwork hung with mismatched thumbtacks. The only signs anyone works at the desk are the coffee mugs that are haphazardly placed.

She shrugs. “I figured if you wanted to talk, you’d call.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her. She gets under my skin more than I care to admit. It shouldn’t bother me she didn’t call me, yet I’ve lost sleep wondering why my phone hasn’t rung with her voice on the other line.

Taking a deep breath, I point to the purse she has sitting underneath her desk. “Grab your things. We’re leaving.”

Her arms cross her chest as she tries to make herself look tough. It doesn’t work. If anything, she looks annoyingly adorable with the pose, her eyebrows pinched together in what’s supposed to look like a mean expression. “I have to work.”

One of my eyebrows raise. “You work for me now, remember, Miss Moretti?”

“I’m well aware,” she spits back.

I smile, taking a step closer to her. We’re still a healthy distance apart. Noticing all of the eyes that are focused on us, I lower my voice as I speak next to her ear. “As my new assistant, you have places to be.”

“It’s not Monday yet,” she aggravatingly points out.

My eyes turn into slits as I drink in the smug look on her face. “I changed my mind. You’re needed today. Right now.”

“I’m working.”

“Yes. For me. Now, I’m not a patient man, Margo. You have five minutes to grab your stuff and meet me in the lobby. Don’t make me wait.”

She wipes her face clean of the smug smile. Instead, her face screws together in anger. “What happens if I make you wait?”

The smile she gets is lethal. “I don’t think you want to find out.”

I leave before I do something in front of all these people I shouldn’t. On my way out the doors, the annoying secretary stands up, almost tripping over her hideous shoes as she chases after me. “When can we be expecting you again, Mr. Sinclair?”

If it were up to me—never.

“Darlene,” I begin, gritting my teeth. A minute has already ticked by. Margo better hurry, or she’s going to get more than she bargained for if she makes us late.

“It’s Darla, sir,” she corrects. Her voice is nasally. I wonder how anyone can stand listening to her speak for any length of time.

I don’t give a fuck what her name is. I just want her to leave me alone.

“Darla. You’re going to have to hire a new graphic designer. Margo’s been promoted.”

She’s left no time to argue or ask questions. My palms slam into the glass door as I make my way back to the lobby. Barry smiles nervously at me as I stop to stand off in a corner.

I glance at my watch.

She has three more minutes before she’s late.

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 6 Margo

On the outside, I hope I at least appear put together. With Beck no longer in my personal space, the spicy scent of his expensive cologne overtaking my senses, I’m attempting, yet horribly failing, to think straight. I’m at least attempting to appear normal. On the inside, I’m freaking the fuck out.

The only thing in my mind is a constant replay of Beck’s words. The mental image of me bent over this table, wondering what it’d feel like to have him take me from behind. These are absolutely thoughts I shouldn’t be having—especially about my new boss who is also my ex’s hotter older brother. I’m apparently about to partake in a fake fiancée charade with him; plus, I’m now having dirty thoughts about the two of us and this table. It all equates to a terrible idea.

“I don’t want to be embarrassed again, Beck,” I say, my voice lowered as I try my best to keep it steady. The last thing I need is for my voice to give away the effect his words have on me. “Everyone looked at me like I was pitiful when it came out that Car—”

I almost slip up and say the forbidden name, but quickly correct myself—“your brother had cheated on me for years. If people are going to think we’re engaged, you can’t be seen with other women. I refuse to ever be embarrassed like that again—even if it’s fake between us.”

There’s not a hint of deceit in his eyes when he says, “I wouldn’t do that to you, Margo. No one will be seen with me but you.”

My stomach unexplainably flutters from his words. It’s tragic. Carter messed me up so much that I think it’s romantic when my possible, soon-to-be, fake fiancé promises not to be seen with another when we’re fake engaged.

Men. They really can do a number on you and not even give a shit that they did so.

“I know that you have uh…needs,” I start, fumbling with my words. I’ve now committed to this train wreck of a topic though, so I keep trekking even though I feel my cheeks begin to flush. Without even meaning to, my eyes flick down to the crotch of his suit pants, furthering the redness coating my cheeks. “So, I understand that you’ll have to have those met with someone, but if we do this, I just don’t want that to be public. I don’t want anyone else to know of you, ya know, getting those needs met. I promise to do the same for any of my, you know…needs.” I never thought the word needs could cause me to blush in embarrassment, yet here I am, red as a tomato.

Beck’s nostrils flare. The angry look in his eyes has my gaze darting away from him in fear. Suddenly, two strong fingers are grabbing me by the chin and forcing my head to look up. His fingertips dig into my cheeks as his face hardens in anger. “Let another man even think about taking care of you when you’re my fiancée and they’re as good as dead.” His voice is seething. I have no idea where all of that anger came from, but it does something to my insides.

My lips part and close again as I think of what to say to him in response. He keeps a strong grip on my jaw, his eyes narrowed as he watches my reaction carefully.

“Margo,” Beck says through clenched teeth. There’s a muscle in his jaw ticking away. Our closeness is the only reason I’m able to see it. I wonder if it always feathers like that, or if it only does when he’s filled with rage.

I’ll have to find out.

“Tell me you understand,” he demands, his voice tense.

“Understand what?” I ask, my brain feeling like mush. Being this close to him has me at a loss for words. It’s the scent of him, feeling the heat radiating off his body, really it’s the overwhelming presence he exudes.

Ever so lightly, his thumb brushes over my cheekbone before he rips his hand away. His arms cross his chest in a defensive position. The movement has the fabric around his biceps bunching, the tailored suit almost too tailored to his bulging biceps. “If you agree to this, there will be no one else in your life, Margo. For the year, or however long it takes to get the point across, you’re mine.”

I’m still half wondering if I’m having some sort of bad reaction to the wine we had last night. Or maybe I’m having some sort of fever dream? There has to be an explanation for what’s happening right now. This can’t be real life. Beckham Sinclair can’t be asking me to be his fake fiancée. He can’t really be forcing me into being exclusive—even if fake—with him. I’m living in an alternate reality. Hearing Beck say “you’re mine” wasn’t real…

But it was. It is. This is all very, very real.

This is every woman’s dream, and I’m just waiting to find out what the catch is.

I straighten my body in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “If I agree to that then you have to agree to it, too. It’s not fair for you to expect me to not be with anyone else if you’re going to be with other women.”

His indigo eyes flash, but I can’t pinpoint with what. I want to say it’s desire, but the idea is absurd. Beck can easily get any woman he wants. There’s no way he’s looking at me with that kind of desire. “Just you, Margo. No one but you.”

My heart pounds erratically in my chest. He isn’t even as close as he’d been a few minutes ago, but I still feel his presence everywhere. I’m losing a grip on the situation, and I need to regain it before my heart does something stupid like wanting him. “I have another rule,” I rush out, rising to my feet because it feels odd to be sitting down looking up at him.

Even standing in heels, I have to bend my neck to look up at him, and he’s not even standing to his full height as he rests up against the conference table. “Enlighten me,” he clips.

I point between us. “Nothing can happen between us. Lines can’t get blurred. No kissing or anything else,” I add as an afterthought.

His laugh takes me by surprise, making me jump. “Oh, Margo. We’ll have to convince many people that the two of us are engaged. We’ll most certainly have to kiss. As for the anything else”—he says it sarcastically, like the words are in quotations—“I can assure you that we won’t be fucking unless you beg for it.”

I don’t know how Beck manages to make the word “fucking” so hot, but every time he says it, I find myself clenching my thighs tighter and tighter.

My eyes narrow. “I can promise you that won’t be happening, so we’re good there. It’s a maybe to the kissing.”

His smirk feels like a challenge. “I’m not worried about it. Sooner rather than later, we’ll be kissing. And trust me, you won’t want to do it just for show.”

I snort. “You’re so full of yourself. That won’t happen.” Even as I say the words, lacing conviction into every syllable, I find my gaze resting on his full lips. Without ever kissing him, I’m confident that kissing Beck Sinclair will feel like sleeping with him. His kiss would be sinful. It would do things to me no man has been able to achieve. I know all of this without ever being touched by him.

It’s the reason nothing can happen between us.

He clicks his tongue. “Never say never, Violet.”

“Never,” I respond immediately, drawing out the word to get the point across.

Beck crosses one leather shoe over the other, his feet now crossed at the ankles. “Now you’re making this a game. It’s making me far more interested in kissing you.”

I snap my fingers, cutting whatever the hell is happening between us right now short. “Back to the agreement, Beck.”

He runs a finger down the wood top of the conference table. Bringing the finger to his face, his lip upturns at the small amount of dust that coats his fingertip. “Is there anything else holding you back from saying yes?”

“Just about everything,” I retort.

Beck sighs, clueing me in that he’s annoyed with my reluctance. Or is it anger? Maybe it’s a bit of both. He raises his wrist, the movement pulling the sleeve of his suit back to show off his watch. He checks the time on it, his eyes widening slightly in alarm. “Look, Margo, I’ve missed one meeting and I’m about to miss another in the time we’ve been in here. What’s it going to take for you to say yes?”

Rubbing my lips together, I think about how I want to answer his question. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m far more eager to say yes than I thought I’d be. It may be because I’m entirely curious to see what it’d be like to be Beck’s fiancée, even fake. Deep down, maybe I’m bitter enough about what Carter did to me to want to say yes just to make him jealous. Although, he’d have to give a shit about me to be jealous, and I don’t know even if me showing up to a family function as Beck’s fiancée would get any kind of emotion out of him.

The main things holding me back are leaving my friends and thinking of the aftermath of what happens when Beck and I end the fake engagement. To agree to his proposition, I’d have to trust him when he says we can handle it however I see fit.

“I’m really not a man that likes to wait.”

My mind is muddled with all of the reasons I should be saying no to him. First and foremost, I’m still hurt by what his brother did. Moving all the way across the country with somebody else, even if fake, probably wouldn’t be my best idea.

But I love New York.

My heart belongs there. I came out to California because it’s where Emma and I got job offers. I’ve told myself I didn’t move here because it’s also where Carter took a job, but if I’m honest with myself, I wanted a job here because of him. Winnie followed along because it’s Winnie. She can go anywhere—live anywhere—with all the money her family has.

I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if I’d stayed in New York. I didn’t regret moving out to California, but I’m not meant for the West Coast. Now I have my chance to move back there, but not only move back, to have the chance to show my art to Camden Hunter. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. I just have to pretend to be Beck’s fiancée for a year to do it.

“If I agree, we’re doing it on my terms, Beck. I’m sure new rules will come along, and I need to know you’ll agree to them even if our charade has already begun.”

He thinks my words through for a minute. I can tell it’s killing him, to agree to relinquish some of the control he so desperately needs. He tucks his hands into his pockets while his gaze focuses on me. “Agreed.”

“So then it’s settled,” I say, wondering if I’ll come to regret this decision.

Rubbing his hands together, he stands to his full height. It only takes him two steps to close the distance between us. Looking down at me, his face is masked to all business once again. He reaches into the hidden pocket of his suit, pulling out a business card. The card is stuck between his pointer and middle fingers as he holds it out between us.

I look at it, confused. If he’s about to be my fake fiancé, why am I getting a business card? It seems a little formal in my opinion.

“We’ll be in touch,” he demands, pushing the card up against my chest. He leaves me no choice but to take it.

And without any other parting words, no thank you or even a goodbye, Beck leaves me all alone in the conference room.

All I can manage to think is what did I just agree to?

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 5 Beck

I’ve never cared to know what people are thinking. Other people’s opinions on things have never really interested me. Until I laid eyes on the fiercely stubborn woman sitting across from me.

The moment she stuck her tiny little hand in mine at our summer house, the countless rings on her fingers scratching against my palms as we shook hands, I wanted to know what she thought of me. I was curious to know what she thought of her boyfriend’s older brother. She’d barely told me her name and I had countless questions I wanted to ask her. I’d never wanted to know every detail about another human being until I met her.

Then I saw her draw in her sketchbook and the only thing I wanted to know more than how she viewed me was what she was drawing in that little book of hers.

We’d barely spoken the rest of the weekend. I’d tried to avoid her when possible.

Except one night that weekend. The night that is forever burned in my mind.

Just as badly, I wanted to know what she was thinking when she met me. I’m desperate to know what’s going through her head.

Margo clears her throat, breaking me from my memories and bringing my attention back to her.

Has she already made up her mind to say no? I’d use every one of my breaths to get her to change her mind.

Is she considering it? I’ll make sure it’s worth her while.

Has she made the decision to say yes? I’ll give her anything she wants and more.

Unfortunately for me, Margo doesn’t let on to what direction her head is going in—at least not yet. “I need more details on how this is going to work before I agree to anything.”

“Done.” My answer is immediate. Standing up, I walk around the table until I’m standing right next to her. Reaching up, I undo the button of my suit jacket and let it fall open. I slide my hands into my pockets and sit on the edge of the table. If I scooted over an inch, her knee would brush up against my leg. I’m tempted to do it just to feel some sort of connection between the two of us. “What else do you want to know?”

“What does being your assistant mean? And what happens to your other one? Do you fire them?”

I scoff. “No. Polly still keeps her position, except she’s going to stay more grounded in New York. You’ll be based in New York with me, but you’ll also travel with me when needed.”

It appears she just realized that to do this, she’d have to uproot her entire life and move across the country from California to New York. “I’m supposed to move?”

“We can’t be engaged and live on opposite ends of the country.”

Her bottom lip juts out in a frown. “My friends are here, not in New York. We all moved out here together. I can’t leave them.”

I bite back the urge to remind her that she also moved out here for Carter.

“I’ll fly them out there. Or fly you here. You choose. I’ve got a jet with staff always on standby. We’ll figure that out easily.”

“You have a jet? With people on standby?”

“Yes. It’s waiting on a tarmac right now. I try to avoid California as much as I can. I much prefer the Northeast.”

She laughs. “Yeah, you totally have the New Yorker vibe. Rich, full of themselves, and grumpy.”

I ignore her comment. She probably thinks they’re supposed to be insults, but those adjectives don’t have power over me. I know who I am. She isn’t wrong with her assessment.

New York and I fit together perfectly.

“What other reasons do you have to convince yourself this won’t work?”

Margo rubs her lips together, her eyes seeming to focus on the small amount of air between our bodies. It wouldn’t take much for us to be touching, just a slight movement from either of us and our bodies would connect. “Well, there’s the obvious reason that it’s totally fake. How do we expect people to believe us? My friends will know it isn’t real…”

“We’ll have to convince them it is. For this to work, we need everyone—including friends and family—to think that we’re madly in love with one another. My board can’t know that I’m deceiving them or it’ll make things even worse.”

It already bothers the hell out of the people on my board that I have the control I do of my own company—one that I created. When I sold it years ago at twenty-five, they’d expected me to take the money and give someone else the position of CEO. I hadn’t created Sintech Cyber Security just to sell it and disappear. The only reason I sold it and created a board of directors was because I had visions of what I wanted Sintech to become. Now, every single relevant social media platform uses the company I created for data security. As much as it sucked to admit, I couldn’t do it alone. To expand, I had to relinquish some control. But not all. If the board believed I settled down, that my “playboy” ways were behind me, they’d get off my back. The focus would come off me and my personal life and go back to where it should be—on the company. On how we’re keeping consumer’s data secure as social media becomes more prevalent in the average consumer’s life each day.

Margo sits back in her chair. Her thighs clench together so tightly, I’m wondering the reason behind it. “What’s your family going to say about us, Beck? Won’t they be upset that you’re engaged to your brother’s ex?”

Scoffing, I shake my head. “They adored you. Both my mom and dad were upset when they heard what Carter did to you. They’d love to see you again and won’t care if it’s because you’re now with me.”

I’m amazing at reading people, at studying their body language, to know exactly what’s going on in their head. My ability to read someone even though I hardly tolerate them ends with Margo. I can’t determine the look on her face. It looks apprehensive, but by the way she rolls her lips together, I’m wondering if I’m breaking her down and slowly convincing her.

“I’m not trying to upset Carter.”

My jaw clenches. I abruptly flip her chair around, her back now to the conference table. Her eyes are wide as saucers as she stares up at me in shock. Crowding her space, I lower my body until we’re eye to eye. “Say his name again, and I’ll bend you right over this table and fuck you until the only name you can say is mine. You’ll be so full of me you won’t even remember who you were thinking about before.”

Her chest heaves up and down, her breasts brushing up against the lapels of my jacket. “I’m not trying to upset…him,” she corrects. Her voice comes out forced, like it’s taking everything in her to try to keep her tone level.

That makes two of us.

The leather armrests groan underneath my tight grip on them. My back is tense, and I know I should pull away. If someone were to open this door, they’d find Margo and I in a questionable position. Nothing inappropriate has happened between us here, but the words that just left my mouth were far from appropriate.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” My words are a complete contradiction to what I’m feeling. I want to kiss her lips and lick them until my brother’s name never comes from them again.

“Beck,” she breathes. Her tongue peeks out to lick her Cupid’s bow. I have to rip myself away from her before I do something to ruin this plan I have for us before she even agrees to it.

“That was inappropriate. I apologize, Margo.” My features mask into a look of indifference. I have to get my shit together. No one gets to me, and I need to remember to keep it that way. Even when it comes to her. “Let’s just agree we don’t need to say his name, okay? He’s moved on. I’m fairly certain he has a new girlfriend he’s no doubt already cheated on. He won’t care.”

For a moment, Margo looks sad. It hadn’t ever occurred to me she may still have some lingering feelings toward my dickwad brother. That’ll have to change. I make no move to comfort her. I stay firmly in place standing above her, a respectable few feet between us before I do something that’ll have HR breathing down my neck.

“If we do this, we need rules, or terms, or I don’t know the fancy word I’m supposed to use, but we need something. For me to even consider it, I need to know we’re on the exact same page.”

“Tell me your terms, Margo.”

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 4 Margo

So many words fly through my head, none of them managing to leave my mouth. It doesn’t happen often, but he’s rendered me speechless.

Beck’s smile is almost predatory. He knows his answer has taken me by surprise. I’m backed into a corner, unsure how to get myself out of it. I hadn’t expected him to remember my favorite creative outlet. Especially since Carter always told people I painted, even though he’d never seen me with a paintbrush the entire duration of our relationship. I’d just assumed that’s what Beck would’ve thought I did, too.

“Tell me what it means to be your assistant.” I try to fold my arms across my midsection in a defensive position, but all it does is make the wire of my bra dig into my rib cage even further. My hands slide into my lap instead, my eyes still watching Beck carefully.

“Does it matter? You start Monday.”

“I haven’t even agreed to it yet.”

“It’d be silly for you not to say yes. It’s a significant pay bump, and you’ll be out of this place.” His finger loops in the air, bringing attention to the lackluster conference room we’re in.

“I’m terrible at making coffee,” I argue. “Ask Darla.”

“There’s more to it than that…” For a fraction of a second, Beck looks nervous. The look is erased almost as quickly as it first showed up. But as fast as it was, I still saw it.

“What is it?”

His cheeks hollow out, making his sharp cheekbones even more prominent. “I need you to not only become my assistant but also my fiancée.”

The chair underneath me groans loudly as I lean forward, looking at him in shock. “What did you just say?”

“I’m in a bit of a”—he picks at a non-existent piece of lint on his sleeve—“predicament,” he finally finishes. “One I need your help with.”

“You need me?”

“I’ve made a mistake.” He keeps his voice level, but there’s the smallest bit of vulnerability in his eyes when he looks at me. “Recently, a gossip site ran an article on me that features numerous photos with me and multiple different women in the last month. Like, a good number of them…”

My eyebrows raise. Carter had mentioned Beck never did relationships. He’d meant it as a dig at his brother. Looking back, it seems Beck doesn’t make any fake promises. At least he’s up front about not wanting to commit to women, very unlike his brother. Carter will make the promise and just fuck it to shreds behind your back.

“And that involves me how?”

“My board is upset. They say it reflects poorly on the company.”

“Why? You’re allowed to have a personal life.”

He blinks, a slight grin on his lips. “It doesn’t quite work like that, Violet.”

I cross one leg over the other. “I’m still trying to figure out how I play into this.”

His fingers tap against the table, catching my attention. They’re long, slightly thicker around the knuckles. I wonder how they’d feel inside me. Blinking quickly, I shake my head. Where the fuck did that come from?

He’s completely unaware that my mind is only half listening, the other half wondering how many he could fit inside me and still feel pleasurable. Beck continues to talk as I try to rid my brain of the dirty thoughts of my new boss, AKA him. “I was told I need to maintain a stable relationship for at least a year, or they feared investors would become uneasy. No one wants to invest in a company whose face is plastered all over magazines being penned a playboy billionaire.”

I bite back a smile. “It’s kind of catchy.”

He does nothing to hide his grunt of disapproval. “I’ve never tried to hide the fact that I can’t stand most people. The thought of tolerating someone for a year makes my skin crawl. That is, a year with anyone except…you.”

My ass almost flies out of the chair. Surely I heard him wrong. I want to make some kind of witty remark, but the unreadable look on his face has me snapping my mouth shut. I hold back the comment, stunned by how he brazenly stares back at me.

“People wouldn’t believe it if we told them we all of a sudden started dating. But…they’d believe it if we went from working closely together with you as my assistant and it developed into more.”

“Now it’s starting to make sense…”

“I bought this company because I needed a reason you and I were brought back together—hence the reason I now own 8-bit Security. You work closely with me as my assistant and in a month or so we’ll tell people we’ve fallen in love.”

“That seems quick.”

When he smiles at me, I understand why so many women fall at his feet. It’s magnetic, bright but predatory. Enough to make my core clench because never did I expect it aimed at me. “When you know, you know.”

And then Beck Fucking Sinclair winks at me, and I swear to god in the moment, I’d do anything he asked me to. His hotness is a shock to my system, something I’m nowhere near equipped to deal with.

“The whole idea seems highly unnecessary. Don’t you own the company your board sits on or whatever? Tell them to go fuck themselves.”

He actually laughs at my comment. A loud, throaty laugh that for some reason, feeds my soul. I’d do anything to hear it again.

I made broody Beck Sinclair laugh. I want to do it over and over until his stomach hurts from laughter.

Beck shakes his head at me, his eyes lingering on my returned smile. His attention to my lips has me absent-mindedly licking them. “While I’ve thought about doing that a million times, it’s not something I can quite commit to. You see, I don’t hold all the power when it comes to my company. No matter how much I want to. I’ve got to clean it up or I’ll lose important investors. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“What if I’m not willing to agree?”

His teeth dig into his lip as he bites back a smile. He attempts to wipe the smile from his face by running his hand over his mouth, but it doesn’t do much. When his hand falls back to his armrest, he still grins at me. “I can be very persuasive, Margo Moretti.”

Is Beckham Sinclair flirting with me?

Am I into it?

No. I can’t be into it. I dated—loved—his brother for years.

Bad, Margo.

But god, with that grin on his face, it might feel so good to be so bad.

I’m silent, still wondering in the back of my mind if this is some sort of joke. Am I on some sort of reality TV show where they play an epic prank? That’s totally something Emma would sign me up for as a cruel joke.

My eyes scan the office for any hints of hidden cameras.

“So, I become your assistant, then your fiancée, and then have to go back to normal with my tail between my legs when you end our engagement after the year is over? Have everyone think you grew tired of me? No thank you, Beck. It’s a no from me.”

“We could tell people you ended it. Whatever you want to say to them, I’ll do it.” The hurried way he gets out his words has me stopping to wonder why he seems so invested in getting me to agree to his ludicrous plan.

I’m quiet long enough, my foot tapping against the carpet as I think through his words, when he feels the need to fill the silence with more of an explanation. “I’ll get you an interview with Camden Hunter.”

My foot stops immediately. “How?”

“We went to boarding school together. He’s one of my best friends.”

I snort. “I’m shocked you have friends. You don’t seem like the kind of person to form attachments.”

His eyebrows pinch together on his perfectly wrinkle free forehead. “I form attachments just fine. I’m just picky about who I choose to form them with. Am I to assume your answer is that you don’t want an interview with him?”

“You assume correctly. I don’t want to be hired by Camden—owner of one of the most elite art galleries in New York—just because you know him. I don’t want my dream job handed to me.”

There he goes, making my heart flutter just from the sound of his laugh. It’s deep and rumbly, a sound that is felt from my head to my toes. “It’s cute you think I have that kind of power with Camden. He’s charming but ruthless. It wouldn’t matter if I begged him on my knees to hire you. While he’d find it hilarious, he’d never feature someone’s art he didn’t love. I’ll get you the interview to show him your work, your ideas, but it’d be up to you and your talent to solidify the partnership.”

Why is the thought of Beck on his knees making me feel hot and bothered? Do we have AC in here? It’s got to be the lack of airflow and not the mental picture.

My eyes narrow to pinpricks as I mull over his offer. The picture he paints doesn’t seem so bad. I’d pretty much sell my soul or any non-vital organ to even be in the same room as Camden Hunter. The son of two of the most world-renowned artists, it was only natural that the moment he opened his own gallery, it’d be the talk of the city. While Camden isn’t known to be an artist himself, he’s got the best eye there is. If he even looked at any of my drawings, I could die happy.

“I can’t believe you know Camden Hunter,” I comment, my voice full of wonder.

He runs his thumb over his lip, a gesture I’m learning he does often. “I can’t believe you hero worship him. I knew him when he had acne and braces.”

My mind tries to picture the not only brilliantly talented at spotting art, but a work of art himself Camden, with braces and acne. “I refuse to picture him like that.”

Beck shrugs dismissively. “I’ll deny I said this, but he could still get any girl he wanted back then—braces and all.”

My nose scrunches. “That’s more like it.”

Beck’s large hand rests on the table. For some reason, I keep focusing on his fingers. I’d never wanted to draw the veins on the back of a hand so bad. They’re so freaking sexy, and I don’t understand why. I itch to run my finger over them, to trace them all the way up his arm, even getting the luxury of feeling the skin that’s hidden underneath his suit.

“So, what do you think?” His dark, strikingly blue eyes focus on me. “Are you open to hearing more about my offer?”

Synopsis of Black Ties and White Lies: A Billionaire Fake Fiance Romance

AN AMAZON TOP 5 BESTSELLER

Life is never black and white.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in LA that’s finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next you’re flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother.

At least…that’s what everyone thinks.

Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant.

Now I’m spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

My freshly mended heart has barely recovered from the first time a Sinclair broke it. But with each passing day, Beck’s dirty mouth and lingering stares make me question his motives—and mine.

As the line blurs between real and pretend, only one thing is certain: there are secrets hiding in this city full of black ties and white lies.

Black Ties and White Lies is a billionaire, fake relationship, forced proximity, and ex’s older brother novel and a complete standalone by Kat Singleton.

Black Ties and White Lies Chapter 3 Beck

She looks entirely out of place in this dark, crummy office space. Margo Moretti shines too bright to be working at 8-bit Security. Her usual black hair looks dull underneath the terrible lighting of the room. Even her eyes, the light green a color I’d never seen before until I’d first met her, don’t hold the same vibrancy that I know them to have.

“Stop messing with me, Beck. That’s ridiculous.”

I shrug, wondering how a woman as beautiful as her ever fell for my brother. “You’re probably right. It is ridiculous. It doesn’t change the fact it’s what I did. I needed to talk to you.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about if it’s not about Carter?”

I wish she’d stop saying his name. He doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved it, but I’m not sure anyone really would deserve having their name fall from her lips. I only had the pleasure of getting to know Margo over the span of a weekend—and it was more observing her than speaking with her—but it was enough time to realize she lives her life like it’s her world—and we’re all just living in it. She was polite just enough to my parents but didn’t fold underneath my father’s pestering questions about what her family did for a living. Margo smiled, joked, enough for me to know that every reaction from her was genuine, but still had to be earned. She spent time with Carter, proving that she’s a loyal girlfriend that enjoyed his presence, but was never clingy. The moral of the story was, I don’t know how someone like Margo ended up dating someone like my brother. By the end of what I have planned, I’m hoping to have the answer.

I clasp and unclasp the Rolex on my wrist. Not daring to look away from her. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. There’s a long pause between us. She squirms in her chair, clearly anxious as she waits for whatever I have to say. Finally, I ease her tension, or maybe I add to it, by speaking up. “You’re getting promoted.”

Her plump, puffy lips separate. There isn’t a hint of makeup on her mouth, yet her lips are the perfect shade of red without going overboard. I fucking despise that my brother knows exactly how her lips taste. “Promoted? Why?” she asks, bewildered.

My fingers tap on the table, my eyes flicking to my vibrating phone next to my hand. She looks down as well. “You can get that if you need to.”

It’s rang a handful of times since she joined me in the room. I’ve ignored every single call, something that is out of character for me. I’m usually on the phone more than not, but right now, I want to give her my full attention, even if she’s taking precious moments of my time by asking dumb questions.

I flip my phone over, putting the screen face down for the time being. “It can wait,” I lie. I’m supposed to be joining a meeting via a phone call in five minutes, but I already know it’s one I’ll be missing. I refuse to talk to anyone else before I have the chance to finish this conversation.

Margo runs her fingers through her hair but eventually grows bored with the action and tosses the long locks over her shoulder. “Look,” she begins, her voice tight. “I don’t know if this is some sick, twisted joke of yours to get payback on me for breaking up with your brother, but I want no part of it.”

My thumb glosses over my bottom lip again as I inspect every one of her movements. I’m puzzled by what Carter has told her that has her thinking I’d ever go to these lengths to get back at one of his ex-girlfriends. Especially knowing that he was unfaithful to said girlfriend over the entirety of their three-year relationship. My brother and I aren’t close. I’ve never meddled with his love life, and I never had the desire to—well, until he met her. We don’t have the kind of relationship where either one of us give a damn about what the other is doing.

The sound of my exhale of annoyance echoes around the otherwise silent room. Leaning forward, I look Margo dead in the eye. Whatever she sees on my face finally makes her stop fidgeting. “I don’t know how many times I need to say this to get it through your head, but listen closely, Margo, because I despise repeating myself.”

“I’m listening,” she whispers. I bask in having her full attention.

“My brother has absolutely nothing to do with the reason I’m here. No part of me thinks you should get back with him. Quite frankly, I’d find it rather pitiful for you to go back to him, considering he wet his cock with half of the NYU population while you were together. So, let’s make it clear from here on out. My motives for being here, for buying this company, have nothing to do with the punk I have to call blood. You got it?”

Her fingers have turned white from gripping the armrests of her seat so tightly. When she pulls her hands from the chair, I wonder if there’ll be half-moon indents from her nails on the stained leather. Margo is silent, apparently stunned by my words because she doesn’t strike me as someone who’s often rendered speechless.

“Words, Margo. I need words to know you understand.”

“I’m trying to understand,” she finally gets out, her eyes still pinned on me. She watches me closely, her eyes slightly narrowing. I can almost see the gears in her brain working overtime as she tries to decipher my intentions for being here. I fight the urge to tell her it’s no use. I still don’t understand what compelled me to take the lengths I did to get to this moment. But for this to work, for me to get what I want, I need her to have some semblance of understanding.

“Let me explain further,” I begin. My shoulders find the back of the chair once again as I lean backward. “I’m now the proud owner of this shithole. I had to fight numerous investors for them to back me with this purchase, but in the end, they couldn’t tell me no. I have the money to fund it with or without them. This company was low on the list of startups I’d care to invest in, but I needed to speak with you, so here we are.”

Margo laughs manically, disbelief in her doe-eyed stare. “Normal people don’t buy companies to talk with their brother’s ex-girlfriends.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “It’s insulting that you think I’m normal. I’m far from normal, Margo. I’ll go to great lengths to get what I want.”

“And what you want is to have a conversation with me?”

My lips press into a thin line. “Not exactly.” What I want is you. At least for the time being.

Margo falls into her chair with a loud sigh. “You’re probably the vaguest person I know.”

My lip twitches. “I’m not vague on purpose. You keep interrupting me with questions, not letting me get to the point.”

“Say no more. I’ll keep my mouth shut until you make this make sense.” Being dramatic, she holds her thumb and index finger in front of her lips, miming zipping her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder.

She looks childish, her cheeks puffed out with her lips sealed shut. There’s a mischievous gleam to her eyes, making me question if this is a good idea or not.

“Like I said earlier, you’re getting promoted.”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, making me raise my eyebrows. Her eyes roll as her mouth snaps shut. I can tell it’s taking everything in her not to interject with what is no doubt another one of her questions. I silently hold eye contact a few seconds longer, waiting to see if she’ll manage to keep her mouth closed or not.

Apparently she can. Good girl.

“Your days of doing graphic design for this place are over. Starting Monday, you’ll be my new assistant.”

Fire erupts in her eyes. “No way. I didn’t graduate with an art degree to become your little errand girl.”

“Stop being dramatic. You didn’t graduate top of your class at one of the best art programs in the country to do graphic design here.” Reaching to the middle of the table, I grab one of the pens that sit in a plastic cup. I hold it up, turning it in my hands. “Your art is better than this, Margo. This logo is terrible, and I know it isn’t because of you.” I keep inspecting the pen as I let the words marinate between us. I squint. “Has no one told Marty this face looks like a cock with balls?”

She chokes on her laugh, her eyes wide as she tries to bring air into her lungs. Eventually, she gains composure. Her fingers come up to wipe at the smudged mascara underneath her eyes, the tears from her laughter making black splotches underneath her eyes. “I think Marty almost fired me when I told him I thought the addition of the smiley face with a nose looked a little…phallic.”

I smirk. “A little? The eyes look like two rounded balls with a small cock in the middle.” Each time I say cock, I swear her cheeks get slightly more red.

Margo attempts to move a stray lock of hair from her face, but the piece is too short to stay behind her ear. She huffs, blowing her bangs away from her face in defeat. “The logo is terrible, I get it. I didn’t have my choice. Marty threatened me if I didn’t create it the way he envisioned it. So I did it, because I’ve got to pay my bills.” She looks me up and down, her eyes halting at the watch on my wrist. “Not all of us were born with money.”

I bite my tongue. Now isn’t the time for us to get into an argument about money—my money. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life doing graphic design for an almost unlivable wage?”

“At least it’s some form of art,” she fires back. “Being your assistant wouldn’t allow me to have any kind of creativity.”

“False. I’ll make sure you have time for your art.”

“And what is my art, Beck? I doubt you know.”

“You like to draw, Violet. You done with your questions now?”