Free The Pretend Boyfriend 2 (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) by Artemis Hunt Page A

every inch the cool CEO as he strides with his briefcase into the reception area.
    Everyone there immediately stops talking.
    He has seen the headlines, of course. The Chicago Tribune lies face up on the receptionist’s desk, every sordid detail of what Delilah Faulkner has told to the police in print.
    Brian’s pulse is racing, but he has made up his mind to act normal, as he would every other work day. This is his company after all, and to hell if he’s going to let his employees get to him.
    If they dared.
    “Good morning, Mr. Morton,” Alysha, the receptionist says quickly. She’s flushing a little, and she looks down, as though afraid to meet his eyes.
    “Morning, Alysha.” He turns to the two copy editors who are openly gawking at him. “Don’t you have work to do? What would it take to get the proofs for the Meatgrinder account by evening? Salary cut? Bonus suspension?”
    “Uh, yes, Mr. Morton.”
    “Right away, Mr. Morton.”
    They disappear. Brian rolls his eyes, even though he knows it’s no laughing matter. So it’s all out in the open. Guilty before proven innocent.
    Now all he has to do is wait for the fallout.
    Claudia, his personal assistant, comes up to him with a sheaf of papers. She stops short.
    “You OK?”
    “Why wouldn’t I be OK?” he says, striding into his office. “And good morning to you too.”
    She has to totter on her heels to keep up with him. She has been his assistant for three years, and he likes her because she has a no nonsense attitude about her. Pretty much like Sam, actually.
    “Everyone’s talking about it,” she says.
    “Fuck them. I didn’t do it.”
    “They are crucifying you anyway. We had a couple of calls this morning from some of our largest accounts. Burnett and Co. Addison Rouge. The mayor’s office.” She says this last meaningfully.
    Hell, he’d expected this.
    She says, “They are . . . concerned.”
    Brian nods grimly. “And the lynch mob is all lining up with their pitchforks and flaming torches. What do you think, Claudia?”
    “I think that this might be a problem for some of them.”
    “I’m not talking about the clients.”
    “Right.” She clutches the file, her knuckles white. “I think she’s a lying, no good schemer who is trying to get something out of you, I don’t know what. But I know you didn’t do it. What reason would you have to?”
    He will admit to being pretty cut up yesterday, but he had been mulling over the whole thing with greater clarity today. He agrees with Sam. This whole thing stinks, especially when the ‘victim’ is so eager to get her story out to the press. Most rape victims would rather crawl into a hole and hide. And he’s not exactly some prominent celebrity she wants to tear down for kicks.
    He has never even met her in his entire life.
    Unless she’s planning to blackmail him for his money. Or more precisely, the Morton family money. But it’s already out in the open. She can’t blackmail him for secrecy. Is she planning to blackmail him then to make it all go away?
    But it can’t go away anymore. It’s too public, too huge.
    He groans inwardly.
    What a mess.
    The alternative is too awful to contemplate – that he really did rape her in his moment of genetic madness.
    “Oh, and your uncle called. He said he called your cellphone but it went straight to voicemail.”
    “It ran out of batteries,” he says tightly.
    It’s true. In the mayhem, he had forgotten to charge it. But his uncle calling at a time like this can never be a good thing. Still, at least he called. That’s more than Brian can say about his own parents.
    Anyhow, Jefferson Morton is someone you have to absolutely phone back. He has mayors and police chiefs and politicians at his beck and call. Brian sighs as he picks up the landline. Claudia discreetly closes the door behind her.
    He dials his uncle’s direct line. It picks up at first ring. Figures. His uncle has caller ID.
    “Brian.” The voice on the other end is a