Love doesn't exist. At least, not for me. It's a cruel reality, but at least I know and understand the truth. And I used to believe in marriage. I wanted nothing more than what my parents have. But eventually, all my fiancées' true colors shone through. They only wanted me for my wealth, status, and power.

Then there was the issue of my sexual tastes. The women all tried to act like they were into it, but I knew they didn't like it when I talked dirty or wanted them at my mercy. Deep down, they were prudes. I saw it in their faces, and people can only pretend for so long until their real selves surface.

I have money, so it shouldn't be this hard.

My parents instilled good financial sense into my siblings and me. I'm not cheap, but I don't like to be reckless with my fortune. However, this is one time where I'm willing to overpay to get what I need.

It's the price for my promotion.

Frustrated beyond belief, I'm about to leave the room when Georgia bounces through the door. She runs right into me, and her platter of cupcakes hits my chest. My expensive, tailor-made suit coat gets frosting on it.

She gets flustered and tries to wipe it off me, but it only makes it worse.

The aromas of roses and chocolate mix in the air, and my skin electrifies. My cock hardens again. All the days I've spent in the office with a painful erection take their toll. I cross all HR boundaries and make her suck the frosting off her finger just to see how far I can push her.

And damn if she doesn't like it. I see it. Her innocent eyes widen as she submits to my whim. And there's no way for her to hide her attraction toward me. It only fuels me to want to tap into the dirty desires I've imagined since I ran into her in the lobby. Then everything becomes clear.

I don't need to look anywhere except in front of me.

Georgia Peach.

She can be my fake wife.

It's time to get what I want.

I take a quick moment to assess the situation like any other business deal.

What does she want?

She wants a bakery for her cupcakes.

I resist lecturing her on how ridiculous that is. The woman has an MBA, for God's sake. She should use it to make as much money as possible. Besides, who would waste all that time and energy to get the education she has for a silly cupcake bakery?

It doesn't matter. That's what she wants.

I lead her to the table and order her to sit. Then I state, "I have a proposal for you."

She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows, questioning, "A proposal?"

I continue, "How would you like to get your cupcake bakery started after the New Year?"