Page 26 of The Fake Affair

“Why did you really agree to my conditions so easily?”

Because I’ve watched your career since that first meeting at Audrey’s graduation. Because I know exactly how brilliant you are. Because?—

“It’s good business,” I say instead. “Goodnight, Bella. Actually..." I hesitate at the door. "Mind if I use your bathroom?"

She points me down the small hallway, and I find myself taking in her space as I walk. Books stacked everywhere—not just bookshelves, but coffee tables and windowsills. A worn copy ofKing Learcatches my eye.

Her academic background shows in the organization: fiction by genre, non-fiction by subject. Just like my mother used to arrange our library.

Her bathroom is exactly what I'd expect—organized chaos. Lavender hand soap, expensive face creams lined up by size, one of those ridiculous shower poufs in pale pink. Everything in here screams Bella, from the modern artwork to the countless hair products lined up on glass shelves.

I pull out my phone, snapping a few discrete photos while washing my hands. The granite countertop is a soft sage green—the same color she always gravitates toward in her office supplies. Mental note:have the guest room repainted before she moves in.

Back in my car, I find myself scrolling through her Instagram instead of starting the engine. Her bedroom appears in the background of several photos—white bedding, lots of throw pillows, a reading lamp that looks oddly familiar.

The drive home is filled with calls I shouldn't be making at this hour. My contractor sounds less than thrilled until I mention the bonus for immediate renovations.

My housekeeper is more understanding—she's seen me make stranger requests than copying someone's bathroom organization system. The designer who owes me a favor listens patiently as I describe the reading nook I want built into the guest room's bay window.

"Like the one from that renovation show?" she asks.

"What renovation show?"

"The one Ms. Levine keeps posting about on Pinterest."

I didn't even know Bella had Pinterest.

It's close to midnight when I finally reach my penthouse. The acquisition reports I should be reviewing mock me from my briefcase, but instead, I find myself standing in the guest suite. I've always been proud of this space—it's beautiful and perfectly appointed.

And completely wrong for Bella.

The room is like a luxury hotel—pristine, impersonal. Nothing like the warmth of her apartment. No books scattered about, no art that means something, no sense of the person who'll live here.

I start making notes on my phone: sage green paint, built-in bookshelves, that specific brand of hand soap. I even know which side of the bed she sleeps on—the right side, judging from her Instagram photos.

My phone keeps buzzing. The contractor wants to discuss the timeline. The designer's sending fabric samples. Bella just liked a post about vintage vanity mirrors.

I find myself on the website before I can think better of it. The mirror is ridiculously expensive and probably won't arrive in time, but I order it anyway.

Then I sit in what will be her room, surrounded by notes about paint colors and furniture placement. I’m excited, and I let myself admit what I've been avoiding: this isn't just business anymore.

If it ever was.

SEVEN

SWEET SURRENDER

Bella

Things are moving way too fast.

In the span of a month, I've gone from Logan Fraser's antagonistic assistant to his live-in girlfriend. Well, fake girlfriend. The movers just finished arranging my belongings in his—our—penthouse, and I'm still trying to process how I got here. Logan's in Boston for emergency meetings, which somehow makes this feel even stranger—moving into his home while he's away.

“You did what?” Audrey’s voice crackles through my phone as I take off my jacket.

“Your brother and I are... dating.” The word catches like a splinter in my throat. “Have been, actually. Since Edinburgh.”

I wince as the lie leaves my lips. It doesn’t get easier with repetition. Saying it out loud feels like I’m borrowing someone else’s story and trying to make it fit.

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