Fake Single Dad: A Billionaire Single Dad Romantic Comedy by Melinda Minx



I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in my robe. I lived in the desert, but it was still dark outside, and cold.

I lived a good thirty miles from Vegas, just far enough that I could really see the stars at night. Still, that meant that I had to wake up extra early to be at the casino in time.

I always ate before I got dressed or did my makeup. It minimized any chances of staining my clothes.

I threw some bacon onto my cast-iron skillet. I’d do the eggs later so that I could cook them in the bacon grease.

But just as I was pouring myself some orange juice, there was a knock at my door.

My body froze. I reached for my phone, ready to call 911. My nearest neighbor was over a mile away, but the police would be even further than that. I had a double deadbolt setup on my door. Being a single woman who lived alone in the desert came with its fair share of paranoia.

I slowly crept toward the door. In my fluffy slippers, I was extra stealthy. Unfortunately most of the lights were on, so whoever was knocking already knew I was home.

I peeked through a side window rather than the peephole, then I did a double-take.

It was a man. He was shirtless, but absolutely ripped. He had big, broad shoulders, and cut, six-pack abs.

A nice body wouldn’t be enough for me to open the door for a strange man who could potentially be very dangerous, but the crazy thing was that it looked exactly like the asshole who ran the hotel and casino I worked at.

It looked like Wilder Winters.

I snuck from the window to the peephole. I stuck my face up to the peephole and squinted at the magnified view of his face. I was one-hundred percent sure it was Wilder. He plastered his face all over every other billboard in Vegas advertising his hotel, The Osiris. I’d seen him in person once or twice too. When I’d seen him, he was always walking through the hotel with a retinue of yes-men and assistants, never half-naked on my porch.

“Who is it?” I shouted through the door. “What do you want?”

I was sure it was him, but I needed to hear him say it. Just in case.

“Um,” he shouted back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s exactly what you’d say if you were going to hurt me!” I shouted back. “And you didn’t answer my question!”

“My name is Wilder,” he shouted. “I need to buy your car.”

I took a few seconds to tighten my robe and make sure nothing was popping out, then I undid the locks and swung the door open.

I looked him up and down. His dark-black hair—which was usually styled in a meticulously messy way that made it look like he wasn’t even trying—looked like it had been matted down with sweat and then frozen over. He was wearing pants from a suit, and snakeskin shoes. Wilder Winters always wore snakeskin shoes. He must have walked a lot on those shoes during the night, because they were covered in dust and dew, and he was trying to keep himself under control, but his whole body was shivering.

His steely-blue eyes met mine, and my lips parted involuntarily. I’d seen him before, but like I’d said, he’d never been on my porch. He’d never been this close to me, and he’d never looked at me.

It made sense for him to advertise his hotel with his own face, as it was a very nice face. He had a square jaw, just the right amount of stubble, and that little smirk made me feel all warm and gooey inside despite the chilly night air that was blowing in from outside.

“You want to...buy my car?” I asked, looking him up and down.

He nodded. “The heat in it works, right?”

“Why don’t you come in for a second,” I said.

He hesitated. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m a strange man knocking at night. I’ll give you $50,000 for your car keys, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Just come inside, please. Warm up.”

He frowned for a moment, then nodded and stepped forward. I shut the door behind him, sealing off the cold air.

“Do you want a shirt or something?”

“Uh,” he said, “do you have anything that will fit me?”

I smiled thinking of him trying to fit into anything I owned. “Maybe a blanket then?”

I scurried into the living room, grabbed a brown blanket off the couch, and held it out for him.

He threw the blanket over his shoulders. It didn’t cover him completely, and with his wild hair and the brown cloth wrapped around him—but his six-pack abs still visible—he looked like some kind of viking or barbarian warrior. He was just missing the axe.

“My car is worth like $6,000, tops,” I said.

“I don’t know if you recognize me,” he said, “but I’m Wilder Winters. I own The Osiris. I’m good for the money. I’d be paying you mostly for the inconvenience.” He turned toward the kitchen and sniffed. “Is that…”

“Bacon,” I said. “It is.”

“A beautiful woman and bacon,” he said, “it seems I stumbled onto the right house.”

“I’m going to go get dressed,” I said, trying not to blush from his unexpected compliment, “if you can finish cooking the bacon, it’s all yours.”

Before he could stop me, I rushed down the hallway toward my bedroom. I’d already decided I wasn’t selling him my car. I needed it to go to work, and even though Wilder Winters could afford to be charged an outrageous price, it just didn’t feel right to me to rip off anyone so badly. Not even him. I decided I was going to drive him into town, free of charge. Maybe having my boss’s boss’s boss owe me a favor would be a nice little perk I could take away from this whole thing.