My Fake Broke Billionaire - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I stopped in my tracks and offered a polite nod. "Hello, Mr. Xavier."
Kaiden's expression flickered with confusion at the unfamiliar formality.
Gesturing toward the chair, I cut straight to business. "You wanted this meeting. Let's talk collaboration."
He studied me for a beat before asking, "How've you been this past year?"
A pause. Then, too casually: "Couldn't be better."
The tension in his shoulders eased. "Good. That's... good."
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Why did he sound relieved? Did he actually care?
I'd spent months convincing myself I needed to see him again—
But now, face-to-face, the truth hit me: I didn't.
Those late-night thoughts? Just muscle memory.
Turns out I wasn't as hung up on him as I'd thought.
The pen clacked against the desk as I set it down. "Kaiden. Business."
He blinked, thrown, but recovered with a stiff nod.
For twenty flawless minutes, he was all sharp angles and boardroom polish.
If the Xaviers didn't hold a monopoly on this tech, we'd never have crossed paths again.
When he slid the signed contract back, I did a double take—he'd conceded half the profits.
Our eyes locked. His gaze burned with something unreadable.
I scrawled my signature without hesitation.
Kaiden stood to leave, hand on the doorknob—then pivoted abruptly.
"Fiona." A beat. "The wedding's off."
By the time I whipped around, he was already gone.
Nicholas nearly dropped the contract when he saw the terms. "Holy hell, you've got Xavier eating out of your palm! Guy's basically throwing cash at you!"
I ignored him and strode toward my office.
He dogged my heels, grinning. "So. Ex-boyfriend?"
I choked on my coffee.
"Knew it!" He crowed, leaning in. "That's guilt written all over your face."
"Out."
"Oh, real rich!" He jabbed a finger at me. "'No personal entanglements on company time,' my ass. You two were practically eye-fucking across the conference table!"
I leveled a glare. "Project plan. On my desk by tomorrow."
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frames.
Next morning, Nicholas barged in looking like he'd wrestled a bear. Dark circles. Disheveled hair. Triumphant smirk.
The USB hit my desk with a thunk. "Happy now?"
I hesitated—last night's outburst hung between us—but said nothing, plugging in the drive instead.
Twenty minutes later, I nodded. "Solid work."
He preened. "Damn right. Maybe now you'll stop treating me like some trust-fund toddler."
The eyeroll was involuntary. "Get out."
Nicholas planted his feet. "About Xavier..."
I didn't look up. "What about him?"
"You're not... still hung up on that bastard, are you?"
My chin lifted. "Out."
"Seriously? That's all I get?"
"Want me to say it slower?"
He stormed off muttering curses.