“Don’t worry about me. Just make sure he’s covered.”
I nodded, impressed by her negotiation. “Done.”
“And I want it in writing that this stays strictly professional.”
“That goes without saying, but yes, it will be in the contract.”
She drew in a deep breath, then extended her hand across the table. “Then I guess I’m your fiancée, Mr. Holland.”
I took her hand, noting how small and dainty it felt in mine. Her skin was soft, but her grip was firm—a contradiction that seemed to fit what little I knew about her.
“Adonis,” I reminded her gently.
“Adonis,” she repeated, and again, I felt that unexpected response to my name from her voice.
As our hands remained clasped a moment longer than necessary, I realized I’d overlooked one critical factor in our arrangement: chemistry. I chose Simora Campbell because she needed money, was attractive, and seemed savvy enough to carry off the deception. I didn’t consider whether we’d looknatural together, whether anyone would believe a powerhouse of a man like me would fall for an everyday working woman like her.
But as she finally withdrew her hand, her amber eyes still holding my gaze steadily, I realized that maybe our arrangement wouldn’t be as difficult to fake as I’d assumed. There was already something between us—not temptation, exactly, but an attraction, a heightened awareness that might’ve easily been mistaken for romantic tension.
“This is so fucking crazy,” she murmured, echoing her earlier sentiment.
“Sometimes crazy can be worthwhile,” I replied, finishing my espresso and lifting myself out of my seat. “Ready to get started?”
What the fuckare you doing, Sim?
I stared at my reflection in the window, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. It was only noon, and my life had already changed so much in one day. After leaving the café, we went straight to the lawyer’s office, where I’d authorized a background check and signed a preliminary agreement. The full contract awaited me at his penthouse.Penthouse.Wow. Just saying the word to myself had me feeling like I was living somebody else’s life. It was like I’d been granted a fairy godmother and had suddenly gone from Cinderella to the belle of the ball.
After meeting with his lawyer, Adonis had his driver—a quiet man named Richards who seemed unfazed by suddenly havingto chauffeur his boss’s new “fiancée”—stop by my apartment so that I could pick up Mason to relieve Mrs. Wilson. I decided to leave my depressing box of work belongings inside the car for the time being. There was no sense in having to try to explain all the crazy shit that happened to me since I’d left the apartment a few hours prior.
I trekked up the four flights of stairs toward my apartment with Adonis in tow. I was trying to string together a believable lie to tell Mrs. Wilson and my son, but my brain kept misfiring. Before I knew it, I was taking out my keys to unlock the front door. Inside, Mason and Mrs. Wilson were on the couch watching one of his favorite superhero cartoons.
“Mommy?” he called out when he saw me standing in the doorway with a stranger behind me. “Who’s that?”
“H-hey, Mase. This is, um, Mr. Holland, my, er, um. . . boss.”
The introduction of Adonis to them was as awkward as starter conversations got. I’d never tripped over my tongue so many times in my life. I tried to keep things high level, especially for my son, only telling them that Adonis was my boss and that I’d be accompanying him for a work-related trip over the next week—no details about our arrangement, the fifty-thousand-dollar payout, our counterfeit engagement, or the fact that I’d lost my job. After packing a few of Mason’s favorite toys and stuffie, a toothbrush, asthma medicine, clothes, and a few PJ sets, we said our goodbyes to Mrs. Wilson and left. I didn’t bother packing a thing for myself.
The three of us were whisked through the congested Manhattan streets toward Adonis’s building. At the same time, he arranged for an in-home appointment with a pediatrician to ensure my son was all better and had the medications he needed for the week while we were away from home.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“No need to thank me.”
“We’re approaching the back entrance,” Richards informed us.
“Why are we going through the back?” I wondered out loud.
“To avoid photographers,” Adonis answered.
The word immediately set off alarms in my head, and I found myself reaching out for Mason’s hand as he slept without a care in the world. “Photographers?”
“It’s better this way. A statement was released about our engagement twenty minutes ago.”
My stomach sank to my feet. I knew this was coming, but I didn’t expect it so soon. “H-has there been much . . . reaction?” I inquired nervously.
Richards met my eyes briefly in the rearview mirror, as if he were eager to hear the answer to my question as well.
“Significant interest, Simora. They made sure to note that I haven’t been publicly linked with anyone romantically for over six years.”
