Billionaire for Rent (eBook)

One Wedding, Zero Feelings... Until Now

Bilal Salman (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
480 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-112529-2 (ISBN)

Infos

Ella Martinez never planned to hire a fake boyfriend. But when her perfect little sister's wedding turns into a judgmental family reunion, desperate times call for desperate apps. Enter PlusOne: charming, discreet, and offering a five-star 'boyfriend experience.'

Her rental? Sebastian - handsome, mysterious, and alarmingly good at pretending they're in love.

For seventy-two hours, Ella and Sebastian fake laughs, fake kisses, and the kind of chemistry that's way too convincing. But as champagne flows and secrets surface, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

Now the girl who rented a romance might be falling for a man she barely knows. And the billionaire who never planned to get involved? He might just break his own rules.

Smart, funny, and filled with heart, Billionaire for Rent is a slow-burn romantic comedy about fake love, real feelings, and the mess in between.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

 

 

If perfection had a headquarters, it would be my mother’s living room. The cushions were arranged with military precision, the candles burned in synchronized sweetness, and the polished floors shone with the same unsettling clarity as her expectations. Even the air felt disciplined, holding the faint scent of cinnamon and lemon—her signature blend of warmth and judgment.

I stood in the center of it, clutching a plate of miniature quiches I didn’t remember agreeing to eat, while my mother circled me like an appraiser deciding whether I needed repairs.

“Ella,” she said, her tone gentle enough to be suspicious. “Promise me you aren’t planning to wear those shoes to the wedding.”

I followed her gaze downward. My flats sparkled at the toes, proudly comfortable and entirely harmless. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They look like something a middle-schooler would wear for a talent show.”

“Oh,” I murmured, chewing to avoid responding. “They’re very comfortable.”

She wrote something on her clipboard—her favorite weapon—making a neat checkmark that felt like a personal failure. Cinnamon, her cat, watched from his armchair throne, tail flicking with judgment so precise it could have been laser-guided.

“And,” she added with the same softness people use when delivering tragic news, “you are bringing a date, yes?”

There it was. The question. The spark that lit the fuse.

“Yes,” I lied, because I had already committed to the lie earlier that week and was too exhausted to invent an escape route.

Her face brightened like it was Christmas morning and I had finally become the daughter she always imagined. “I’m so relieved. I told your aunt you wouldn’t show up alone again.”

I swallowed the rest of the quiche whole.

By the time I escaped, weaving past relatives who treated wedding planning like a competitive sport, my nerves were stretched thin. Stepping into my apartment felt like stumbling into sanctuary. My clutter welcomed me with open arms. Books stacked on every surface. A couch that sagged comfortably. The faint smell of yesterday’s coffee. And Frank—my cat—who glanced at me from his perch with unimpressed resignation.

“I know,” I told him, dropping my bag. “I behaved like a rational adult and lied to my mother again. You may judge me.”

Frank blinked, slow and disapproving, which seemed fair.

I changed into pajama pants, opened my laptop, and stared at the confirmation email that had turned my life into a cautionary tale.

Your PlusOne companion is confirmed.
Friday, 6:00 p.m.

A date. A hired man. A fake boyfriend. Three days of pretending.

I reread it like the words might arrange themselves into something less humiliating. They didn’t. Instead, a pulse of dread thudded in my ribs. It wasn’t the lie that scared me. It was the possibility I had backed myself into emotions I had no business entertaining.

Friday arrived before I was ready.

I cleaned the apartment twice, then again, even though none of it made a difference. I changed outfits three times. I tried calming myself with herbal tea, immediately regretted it, and switched to coffee. Frank watched the entire ordeal with lazy disdain.

At exactly 6:00 p.m., the doorbell rang.

Not a second early. Not a second late.

My heart stumbled. My palms tingled. I glanced at Frank, who offered no support whatsoever, then approached the door slowly, as though something dangerous waited on the other side.

I pressed my eye to the peephole.

Sebastian looked even more composed than his profile photo. He stood tall, shoulders relaxed beneath a tailored charcoal suit, hair neatly styled, his expression calm but alert. A man who seemed accustomed to being relied on. Or worshipped. Possibly both.

My breath caught.

I opened the door.

“Ella?” he said, voice smooth enough to warm the hallway.

“Yes,” I replied, suddenly aware that my entire personality had fled my body.

“You’re right on time,” he said, though humor flickered through his eyes. “I appreciate punctuality.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to—” I stopped. My mouth worked before my brain could help. “I mean, you’re right on time too. Obviously.”

His lips curved slightly—too faint to be a smile, too warm to ignore.

“May I come in?” he asked.

I stepped aside.

He entered with quiet confidence, scanning the room not like he was judging but like he was memorizing. His presence altered the air itself—gentler, warmer, charged with something unspoken. Frank leaped onto the arm of the sofa, tail swaying like a royal banner.

“He’s friendly?” Sebastian asked.

“He tolerates me,” I said. “So this is a miracle.”

Sebastian crouched and extended his hand. Frank sniffed, then rubbed against him with wholehearted betrayal.

“Of course,” I muttered. “He chooses you.”

Sebastian rose, meeting my eyes with that same unreadable steadiness. “Animals sense good intentions.”

“Or expensive cologne.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine. Then he gestured to the couch. “Shall we sit? We should go over the story before we arrive tomorrow.”

“The story?”

He drew a slim black notebook from his jacket. “Our backstory. How we met. How long we’ve been together. The small details that make a lie feel real.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “I didn’t prepare for an exam.”

“We’ll do it together.” He sat, posture effortless, tone reassuring. “My job is to make this convincing. Your job is to breathe.”

Easy for him to say.

We shaped our fake romance—where we supposedly met, what we liked about each other, the little quirks couples share. He asked thoughtful questions, taking notes with neat, precise handwriting. With every detail we built, something inside me tightened—not fear, not excitement, but the uncertain ground between them.

After an hour, he closed the notebook.

“Our story is solid,” he said. “Your family won’t question a thing.”

I nodded, though doubt pressed against my ribs. “I hope so.”

He stood. “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning. We’ll arrive together.”

As he reached the door, I followed, feeling strangely breathless.

He turned just before stepping out, eyes sweeping the curve of my cheek, the strands of my hair, the space between us.

“You’re nervous,” he said softly.

“A little.”

“You won’t have to be. I’ll handle everything.” His voice carried a warmth that slipped beneath my skin. “Goodnight, Ella.”

The door closed behind him.

I stood in the silence, pulse unsteady, a strange charge lingering in the air like static.

I had hired a stranger for one weekend.

But after ten minutes in a room together, I wasn’t sure he felt like a stranger at all.

And that was the most dangerous part.

Morning arrived with a soft gray light pressing through my curtains, turning my bedroom into a quiet haze. For a moment I lay still, disoriented, wondering why my heart was already beating faster than usual. Then memory resurfaced in a slow rush: Sebastian would be here in three hours. We were driving together to my parents’ house. The pretending would begin.

My stomach tightened.

Frank stretched across the foot of the bed and yawned dramatically, as if reminding me that he, unlike me, had no responsibilities today and planned to judge me for mine.

I dragged myself to the mirror. My hair was a shapeless rebellion. My face looked like I’d lost a fight with my own anxiety. I washed, brushed, moisturized, and tried to shape myself into someone capable of lying to a room full of people who knew me too well.

By nine-thirty, I was pacing my apartment in a green sundress that made my skin look warmer than I felt. The fabric swayed around my legs with each nervous turn. I checked my phone three times, then made coffee I barely tasted, then checked the time again.

At exactly ten o’clock, the doorbell rang.

My pulse jumped. I inhaled once, deep and shaky, pressed a hand to my chest as if that would steady anything, and opened the door.

Sebastian stood there with the morning sun behind him, carrying two paper cups in one hand and a small leather bag in the other. His shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled just enough to seem effortless. The faint scent of his cologne drifted toward me, warm and clean with a hint of cedar.

He offered a cup. “One black, one with oat milk. I made assumptions.”

“You assumed correctly,” I said, feeling my throat loosen. “Thank you.”

“You look nice,” he said with quiet sincerity, not the practiced charm he used last night. It caught me off-guard.

“You too,” I replied, immediately overthinking my tone. His mouth curved, amused as though he already understood my internal chaos.

Inside the elevator, silence settled around us—comfortable for him, too charged for me. The soft hum of descending floors mingled with the faint scent of citrus from the cleaner they used on the handrails. My reflection in the metal doors stood too still, too aware.

“How are you feeling?” he asked halfway down.

“Like I’m about to perform on stage without rehearsing,” I said.

His voice softened. “You won’t have to perform. I’ll lead. You follow.”

The words wrapped around a part of me I didn’t want to examine too closely.

Outside, the streets...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 19.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-112529-X / 000112529X
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-112529-2 / 9780001125292