Page 30 of The Fake Affair

“No promises.”

I’m almost in my room when his voice carries down the hall, “And Bella? Next time, make double chocolate.”

Sleep comes eventually, but my dreams are filled with chocolate-flavored kisses and Scottish accents.

I wake to the smell of coffee and find a steaming cup and a slightly burned chocolate chip cookie on my bedside table.

Damn it.

This fake relationship might kill me.

EIGHT

PLAYING PRETEND

Logan

It’s been two weeks since Bella moved in, and I’m still adjusting to the changes, like waking up to the smell of burning pancakes on a Sunday morning.

“Everything’s fine!” Her voice carries from the kitchen, followed by the distinct sound of a smoke detector being frantically fanned.

I find her standing on a chair, waving a dish towel at the ceiling, wearing one of my old Edinburgh University t-shirts that she’s claimed as sleepwear. The kitchen’s a disaster—flour everywhere, egg shells scattered across the counter, and what I assume was once a pancake now resembles charcoal.

“Don’t.” She points the spatula at me without looking down. “Don’t say a word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I reach up and disable the alarm, trying not to smile. “Though I am curious about what crime that pancake committed to deserve such a fate.”

She hops down from the chair, blowing hair out of her face. “I got distracted.”

“Clearly.”

“I was thinking about the marketing agency.” She scrapes the cremated pancake into the bin. “I have all these ideas, and with the funding you promised...” She trails off, suddenly looking uncertain.

“Tell me.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.” I start cleaning up the flour while she makes fresh batter. “Consider it research. I should know what I’m investing in.”

Her face lights up, and suddenly, the burned pancakes are forgotten. “I’ve been thinking about how traditional agencies are stuck in this outdated model, right? They’re still treating digital like it’s just an add-on to print campaigns.”

She pours more batter into the pan, gesturing with the spatula. “But what if we flipped that completely? What if we created campaigns that were born digital, that understood how people actually consume content?”

“Most agencies claim they do that already,” I point out.

“Yes, but they actually don’t.” She turns, aiming the spatula at me, batter dripping onto the floor. “They take traditional campaigns and stick them on Instagram. That’s not digital integration. I want to create something that—oh shoot!” She spins back to the stove, where another pancake meets its demise.

As she scrapes the second casualty into the bin, she continues, “Look at CyberMind, for example. The way they process data? That could transform how we target campaigns. Imagine using their AI to predict not just what content people want to see, but when and how they want to see it.”

“That’s why you were so interested in their integration capabilities.”

“Exactly!” She starts another pancake, excited. “Most marketing agencies are still using demographic data from six months ago. But with real-time AI integration, we could adjust campaigns on the fly. A rainy day in Manhattan? Boom—your ads automatically switch to cozy indoor activities. Stock market takes a hit? Your content instantly shifts tone to be more budget-conscious.”

The pancake starts smoking slightly, but she’s too engrossed to notice. “And that’s just the beginning. I want to create an agency that doesn’t just follow trends but predicts them. Using data to understand not just what people are buying, but why they’re buying it. Not just what they’re clicking on, but what made them click.”

I reach around her to turn down the heat before we lose another pancake. She’s so close I can smell her shampoo, but she’s too excited to notice our proximity.

“The problem with current marketing,” she continues, finally remembering to flip the pancake, “is that it’s still trying to shout the loudest instead of speaking the clearest. But people don’t want to be shouted at anymore. They want personalization, authenticity?—”

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