Page 1 of Fake It 'Til You Feel It

Chapter One

DANA - THE PROPOSAL

If Nathan Clarke tells me to rearrange his schedule one more time today, I’ll staple his atrocious tie to his desk and call it a public service. I don’t care how pretty his face is or how much he pays me—I’m one missed lunch away from snapping.

“Ms. Roberts,” his deep voice rumbles through the intercom, “My office, please.”

I take a slow, calming breath and slide my chair back. My heels click against the hardwood as I walk to his office, grabbing my notepad on the way. The last time I walked in unprepared, he’d rattled off a list of demands so long I spent the rest of the day apologizing to my planner.

Nathan doesn’t believe in balance—he believes in results. The three years as his assistant have taught me that much.

Stepping inside the open threshold, I keep my usual polite smile firmly in place. He’s standing by the window, phone in one hand, the other stuffed in his pocket. His charcoal gray suit, tailored within an inch of its life, highlights his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

Damn him.Three years as his assistant, and I still can’t ignore the way he commands a room.Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“Yes, Mr. Clarke?” I keep my tone professional, ignoring the way my body reacts when his eyes meet mine.

He holds up a finger, signaling me to wait until he finishes his call.Typical.

I tuck my notepad under my arm, shifting my gaze to the massive window behind him, where the Manhattan skyline stretches out like an expensive painting.

When he finally hangs up, his attention solely mine, his expression is unreadable. “Dana, I need you to pack a bag.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a retreat on the Hampton for key clients and investors this weekend. Harris, as you know, controls the zoning board votes for downtown development—our biggest project yet. Without his backing, we lose everything. I need you there.”

I arch a brow. “That wasn’t in my job description.”

“You’re adaptable,” he says smoothly, brushing off my objection like it’s nothing. “We leave tomorrow morning. It’s a three-day retreat.”

I press my lips together to keep from snapping. I know when his mind is already made up. He doesn’t ask—he commands. Still, this feels different.

“Why me? Don’t you have a marketing team for this kind of thing?” I know continuing to object is fruitless, but his arrogance irks me.

He walks to his desk and leans against the edge, arms and ankles crossed—the same pose he takes before closing every major deal. I’ve seen it work dozens of times.

“This isn’t about marketing,” he says. “It’s about trust. You know my schedule, my habits, and how to handle situations when things go sideways. And most importantly, you won’t embarrass me.”

“High praise,” I mutter, earning the faintest smirk.

“There’s one more thing.”

Of course there is.I raise a brow, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“The client values…family-friendlyenvironments. Harris is old school—believes single executives are too focused on work to be trusted with legacy projects. Which means you won’t just be my assistant this weekend. You’ll be my girlfriend.”

My brain screeches to a halt. “I’m sorry—what?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” I say, crossing my arms. “Because it sounded like you just told me to play pretend for some crusty old investor.”

Nathan’s jaw tightens. For a second, I see the cracks in his perfect facade. “He’s not crusty; he’s conservative. And yes, I need you to play the part. Without this project, everything we’ve built for the past three years stalls out. He needs to see me as someone with ‘stable values.’”

I stare at him, incredulous. “Let me get this straight. You want me to drop everything, follow you to some fancy retreat, and pretend to be your doting girlfriend? For three days?”

The smile returns to his face, though not as confident as before. “Exactly.”

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