Page 17 of Strictly Business

I can hear the effort in her voice when she says, “You worry too much, sweetheart.” Like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. You must’ve been super busy to not answer my calls. What did you design this week?”

I let out a sigh and sink into the pull-out couch, the springs protesting with a loud creak. I’ve been lying to her for years now, ever since I graduated college. I had big plans—design andarchitecture. I’d always loved the idea of interior decorating, of creating spaces that felt lived in, real… like home.

But reality hit hard after graduation. No experience meant no designer job. So, I took the assistant position at Blackwood & CO. It was supposed to be temporary, just a stop until I could get my foot in the door, gain some experience, and finally move into design like I’d always dreamed. But somehow, here I am years later, still an assistant. Comfortable, sure, but stuck in a job that wasn’t part of the plan.

“A few things,” I say, forcing the words out, wanting her to believe I’m okay, that I’m living the life she always dreamed for me.

“I’m so proud of you,” she sighs, her voice thick with pride and hope. It makes my chest tighten. “You should visit soon, darling. I miss you so much.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “I’ll try, Nanna. I promise.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, the silence settling over me. Pumpkin jumps onto the couch beside me, curling up on my lap, and I run my fingers through her soft fur, closing my eyes for a moment. The silence in the apartment is louder than ever.

I’m jolted back by the smell of something burning, my stomach dropping as I remember the egg on the stove. “Oh, shit.” I rush over, coughing as smoke fills the cramped apartment, fanning the air with one hand while yanking the pan off the burner with the other. Of course, the smoke alarm doesn’t work—not that anything else in this apartment does.

I scrape the charred mess into the trash, too exhausted to even think about ordering takeout. Looks like sleep’s on the menu tonight.

Opting for an early night instead of sinking into my misery, I pull off my sweater and start unbuttoning my blouse. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror leaning against thewall, I immediately look away, my stomach twisting. Looking at my body is something I haven’t been able to do in a long time, knowing I’ll only be able to focus on the stretch marks, rolls and flabby skin. Everything Liam wasn’t attracted to.

Trust me when I say, attraction to you isn’t an issue.

A warmth spreads up my body at the memory of his voice—rich, low, as Nicholas lifted my chin and looked me straight in the eyes. The moment flickers in my mind, making my body heat up.

I shake the thought away, and slip into my pajamas, pulling the ribbon out of my hair. I crawl into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin, but my mind won’t quiet. My gaze drifts to the corner of the room, where I catch sight of the check he wrote me.

The money would be life-changing, so absurd that I haven’t even allowed myself to believe it’s real. But faking an engagement with New York’s most eligible bachelor? That’s insane… right?

And yet, the thought creeps in, insistent, nagging at me.What do you have to lose?

I hesitate, my finger hovering over my phone. I scroll to his contact, my pulse quickening. Our conversations have always been brief, professional… nothing like today, where everything’s shifted.

I chew on the thought for a moment longer, and before I can convince myself to back out, my fingers move, typing without thinking.

Me:

When do you need my answer by?

His reply comes almost immediately, as if he’s been waiting for me to reach out.

Nicholas:

You can take as long as you need.

But I’d appreciate an answer by the end of the week.

Three days. Just three days to decide if I want to fake an engagement with my boss and completely change my life.

Me:

What will you do if I decline?

This time, there’s a pause. The typing bubbles appear, disappear, and reappear. When the message finally arrives, it feels like an eternity has passed.

Nicholas:

I don’t know.

That three-word answer sits heavy in my chest. Nicholas has always had a plan for everything. He’s always been the type of guy who controls every detail of his life. I’ve never seen him flustered, never seen him without an answer. And now, with this decision hanging in the air, I can’t shake the guilt curling in my stomach. This deal means everything to him. To his business.

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