Page 6 of Yours Temporarily

“Are you glad you came tonight?” I try not to stare at the bruising I created on his forehead.

“Thanks for having me.” He smiles. “The appetizers were a highlight. Sorry I didn’t have room to try the main course.” He opens the chocolate box and studies it before offering it to me. “Take your pick.”

I choose mint, which prompts his playful reaction. We then turn it into a game, randomly selecting chocolates, some of them hitting the mark, others not so much. Like the one I bit into without reading what it was. I wince and pass the other half of it to him. “This is a very mysterious piece of chocolate.”

“I love mysteries, by the way.” He takes the piece from me and lifts it to his mouth, biting into it as I await his reaction.

“You love mysteries?” My voice rises as his face scrunches before he forces a swallow. I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a laugh at his expression. “And you still love mysteries?”

“You’re not being nice, laughing at me.” He reaches for the water glass and lifts it to his mouth, guzzling the rest to clear the distaste.

“Your expression was priceless.”

We talk more about the flavors we’ve tasted, our favorite desserts and treats. Our conversation wanders, and the other chatter in the house fades while we discuss movies, critiquing characters and scenes, laughing freely. It feels easy, natural—a side of me that’s rarely brought out, especially by someone I’ve just met. I must say, Jeremy isn’t the gruff boss my brother complains about. He’s just Jeremy, someone who appreciates good food, laughs at my jokes, and shares a love for mysteries.

As the party chatter continues around us, my mind races. I don’t normally overthink things, but I can’t shake this feeling. I believe God orchestrates every encounter, and Jeremy’s presence tonight feels like divine intervention—okay, I invited him, but Damien didn’t think he was one for social engagements. Considering the bump I gave Jeremy, making amends seems right. What better way to apologize than by preparing one of his favorite dishes! Wouldn’t that be a perfect gesture after our initially awkward and now-enjoyable encounter?

CHAPTER 3

Jeremy

The early morning San Francisco fog weaves ethereal tendrils around Stone Financial’s towering glass building as I make my way inside. My polished shoes click against the pristine marble lobby floor.

Stationed behind one of the three reception desks, Naina looks up as I pass by. A fresh bouquet of pink roses on her desk adds a splash of vibrant color against the silver company logo sculpture towering over it. She voices a polite “good morning,” and I respond. Her professional demeanor and work ethic are why, in her late twenties, she’s the leader of the Stone office administration team.

Moving past the computer stands, coffee cup warm and firm in my hand, I head for the elevators. I greet Lopez, one of our guards, standing on the other end of the elevators, just as the nearest one slides open. Inside, I’m enveloped in the hushed, reflective space, my mind already racing to the tasks awaiting me.

Besides the security team, I’m usually the first one in the building, but I had a somewhat bigger excuse to pick up a latte for my assistant.

My heart feels uncharacteristically light today. The reason? A potential wedding date. Of course, this hinges on whether I can find time to navigate a few lunch meetings to get to know her better. The wedding is three months away. Still, not only do I like to plan ahead but also I need to get this fake fiancée squared away so I can focus on work.

Yesterday, I summoned the courage to call Clarissa, offering an apology for not reaching out sooner about another date. I met her six months ago at a financial conference where my boss was the keynote speaker. During that event, I led the analytics reports clinic, which Clarissa was attending for her company.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” I told her when I ventured to call last night. It had been three months since our last interaction, but to my relief, she expressed a keen interest in meeting up. Her schedule was open for lunch today, but Mondays being pivotal for setting the tone for my workweek, I hesitated.

Then Clarissa said she’d drop by my office, citing some business in the Bay Area. Meeting at the office seemed ideal, especially considering I don’t want it to be a reunion of some sort. I’d rather keep things somewhat casual.

While I have a grand plan to ask her to be my fake fiancée for a week, Clarissa has no idea why I called her. As the elevator ascends, I shift my stance, less sure of my intent. Will it be too forward to suggest a temporary arrangement, just for the wedding? This meeting with Clarissa feels more like an intrusion than a convenience. Yet, facing Sonya with Clarissa by my side beats giving her the impression I’ve been unable to move on since she broke my heart four years ago. This requires a careful approach. But the first step is gauging Clarissa’s response to my invitation.

When the elevator deposits me on the fifty-eighth floor, Jill stands hunched as if she has an important detail to add to a calendar. Her hands dance over the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping a familiar soundtrack in our high-paced environment. She glances up, her unflappable demeanor faltering as she frowns at my forehead. “Tough weekend?”

“I went to Damien’s party.” Zuri comes to mind, and I smile, handing over Jill’s beverage. I have to bring her an offering when I give her tasks unrelated to work. Before she can get the idea of my intentions, I ask about her weekend. “How was the visit with your in-laws?”

“Wait, wait.” She drawls, her voice tinged with a southern lilt. She blinks and hefts her coffee cup to emphasize her surprise. The way her dark bob swings, framing her features, conjures images of my aunt—though she favors brown suits with a consistency unlike Jill, who reserves her brown attire for sporadic appearances. “You went to Damien’s party? How did that happen?”

I shrug. “He invited me. Shame you weren’t there.” Jill must’ve also been invited but couldn’t attend due to her family commitments. “Everyone kept their distance from me.” Except for Zuri, the only reason I didn’t leave the party before it even began.

“If everyone kept their distance”—Jill’s eyes crinkle—“how’d you get the bruise?”

“Not everyone kept their distance.” I tinker with a coat button. My smile broadens as I reminisce about my time with Zuri—her effortless warmth, her exquisite food, and our easy conversation. I even recall her favorite color, a puzzling detail. Never before have I felt so at ease with someone I just met.

“Does that smile have anything to do with the latte bribe?” Calling me out, Jill takes a sip of the coffee.

“I bring you lattes sometimes.” I glance at the lollipop bowl next to the framed picture of her and her husband with their two teen daughters.

“Aha.” She wags her eyebrows, clearly not believing me.

“It’s a busy day.” I lean in closer to her desk and rest my hands on the tall, smooth surface, cool under my fingertips. “Virtual calls, meetings, tasks, the usual Monday drill.”

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