Faking it with the billionaire

Are you Ready to Fake Falling in Love?

Izzy Hart stared at the bill in her hands like it might change if she blinked hard enough.

$28,746.13.

That was the updated total of the hospital fees and medication. Tests her mother needed weeks ago but had delayed, hoping the last fundraiser would cover more.

Her hands trembled as she folded the paper in half and shoved it beneath the takeout menus on the counter. 

A sharp cough came from the bedroom. It was her mother. Lately, getting sick has gotten worse and if care isn't taken, it could get far worse. 

Izzy pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She needed to find a way to sort this out. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and stared at the screen. 

Sophie:

There's an emergency. A wedding planner quit on Davis Stark. It's a huge job with high pay. You want in or not?

Her eyes bulged out of her sockets. This was exactly what she had been praying for, a miracle. He couldn't afford to be picky.

Izzy:

Where and when?

Sophie:

It's in the Starks' estate tonight. Be there by 6. Wear something that says competent, not desperate.

Izzy threw on the best thing she owned that didn't have coffee stains, clipped her hair back, and ordered a rideshare with the last of her credit limit.

She didn't even have cab fare home. But she'd deal with that later.

The Starks' estate looked like it belonged on the cover of a bridal magazine. White stone, winding drive, valets in uniform, champagne fountains, and guests wearing more money than Izzy had seen in months.

She stepped out of the car, pulled her shoulders back, and walked in as she belonged.

A gasp escaped her lips as she took in the sight before her. The flower arch had collapsed. A violinist had vanished. The lighting technician looked like he might cry.

Izzy didn't wait for permission. She snapped on her headset, gave instructions like she'd been on this job for weeks, and hunted down the missing musician in a linen closet having a panic attack.

She rerouted the arch with floral tape and brute force. Reprogrammed the lighting board, swapped out a ruined cake tier before anyone noticed.

By the time the first guest was seated, everything looked perfect.

"I said no carnations. If I wanted filler, I'd shop at a grocery store."

The voice was deep, cold, and authoritative. 

Izzy turned and her gaze fell on a man. He was tall, dressed in a black suit, standing over a young assistant who looked two seconds from tears.

"Try asking nicely," Izzy said, walking over before she could stop herself.

He turned slowly, looking her over like he wasn't sure if she was real.

"Do you work here?"

"Do you always talk to people like they're beneath you?"

The assistant quietly disappeared. 

He stepped closer. "I asked you a question."

"And I gave you an