Hired as His Fake Fiancée

　　NORA

　　Everything was perfect: the lights from the chandeliers and the soft music from the orchestra in the background. The light chatter from the people, the clinking of the glasses and loud cheers celebrating the end of the year were just what we had planned.

　　The annual Christmas gala hosted by Gabriel King – the only definition of controlled perfection – was in full swing. The man who had risen so rapidly and become a household name. The public usually used this party as a test for true wealth, as only the elites could get an invitation.

　　Everything was perfect except for the fact that the man at the centre of it all was at the bar, slouched, his tie loosened around his neck, his collar lopsided, and his head hung low as his finger clutched the scotch glass.

　　I had been working with Gabriel King for three years, the exact time it took him to build his company to what it was, and I had never seen him drink.

　　Not a sip.

　　Not at social events, not at parties and certainly not after work. That way, he had maintained a clean slate for his public image.

　　My breath hitched in my throat; if people noticed that the man of the night was drunk just at the start of the party, scandal was going to spread, and everything they had built together was going to crumble without mercy.

　　I made my way to him at the bar, weaving through the crowd, ignoring everyone trying to pin me down for a conversation. I already knew exactly what they were going to say. "Can we book an appointment to see Mr King?"

　　I stopped at the bar and watched him; the perfectly controlled man looked like he was going to crumble from one touch. I had to take him out, sober him up and bring him back for the rest of the night.

　　"Mr King?" I said softly, his head raised gently to me.

　　"Ms Rhodes," he said. His lips curved into a smile.

　　I had worked up with this man for three years, and even when he signed a billion-dollar deal, I never saw him smile. So all it took for my heart to flutter was a few sips of scotch.

　　"Let us get you out of here." I swung into action, moving closer, draping his arm over my shoulder and pulling him out of the room. "How much did you drink?" I muttered gently, knowing there was no response for me.

　　I had seen assistants help their bosses out after events like this, but Gabriel always walked out on his own.

　　I couldn't help but wonder why he had drunk. Was something wrong?

　　He giggled as he could barely stand straight as we walked to the elevator. I tried to ignore the stares of the people in the lobby.

　　"You are always helping me," he babbled. He was drunk, yet his words came out in accurate nuances. Could this man be any more perfect?

　　"Yes, Mr King, it is my responsibility to," I said, the elevator doors closing. I couldn't thank the universe enough for my luck. We were alone, and I could only pray that it stayed that way until we stepped out of the elevator.

　　"I wish you could also help me now. With my father…"

　　"If you tell me what you need, I'll make sure that I find a way to do it." My response was professional. The kind he always wanted from me.

　　I had quickly learnt that with Gabriel, it was best to work without emotions, so I buried my crush for him and masked it under devotion to him. I kept on hoping one day I would get over it, just so I could stay by his side and help him out.

　　"I doubt you can help me," he let out a small blow of breath from his mouth. The doors opened, and I managed to help the drunken man up and open the door to the suite. I pushed him in and got him to the bed.

　　"I will get water so you can sober up," I said, my eyes fixed on the mini-fridge.

　　My legs barely moved before his hands held me back; our eyes met. He was sitting upright as if he was not just leaning on me to bring him in here. He pulled me down with one swift motion, and my breath hitched in my throat as his scent lined the walls of my nose. His finger against my wrist left a delightful burning feeling.

　　"Mr King, you are…"

　　"Help me."

　　"What can I help you with?"

　　I now understand why he didn't drink; it didn't let him keep up the image everyone knew of him. It made him a little too human, and he wanted us to think of him as a god.

　　Instead of speaking, he leaned in, and I swallowed. He was too close, too close for me to lose all my composure and reasoning, too close for me to want to press my lips against his even though I knew it was wrong.

　　"You said you'll help me."

　　"You are drunk; you should at least have some water to sober up," I said again. That was the only way I could help him now, and I knew it. He was supposed to get back down and host his party as usual. His response was a smirk.

　　"Always so perfect, Nora."

　　It was the first time I had ever heard him refer to me by my first name. I gulped and smiled, knowing this was because he was drunk and nothing more; I'd be heartbroken if I read anything more into it.

　　His hand lifted to my cheek. His palm cupping my jaw and thumb brushing my lip set free all the butterflies in my stomach.

　　"Nora," he breathed. Like it was going to be his lifeline. His lips puckered and brushed against mine slightly

　　I knew that this was the time to step back, to stop anything from happening, but I wanted it far more than he did, so instead I leaned in and gasped gently. He pressed his lips against mine softly at first, then deeper, his hand holding my head steady.

　　'A man this drunk shouldn't know how to kiss this well.' My mind screamed. He didn't feel drunk; he was more like a man who knew what he was doing too well.

　　His lips left as he fell to the bed on his back.

　　I stayed still, my lips still warm from the kiss. I tried to steady my raging heart before I stood up and checked on him; he was fast asleep.

　　"How can he sleep after this? " I asked, pulling him onto the bed properly. As I turned to leave, his hand caught mine again, and his voice broke softly.

　　"Please don't go, not this time."