3. Carmen
3
Carmen
Donny is silent, waiting for me to respond, but I’m fairly certain I’ve lost the ability to speak.
He stands, shaking his head. His hands drag along his jeans, and I can’t help but follow the movement. “This was a bad idea,” he mutters.
My heart races. He’s walking away, and suddenly I can’t bear the thought. “Wait,” I blurt, standing so fast I nearly topple over.
Donny stops immediately, then looks at me over his shoulder. There are circles apparent beneath his eyes, and I could tell he wasn’t giving it his all out there for rehearsals today. His beats weren’t on point when they should’ve been or hands shaky on other parts, and that’s not like him.
I cock my head to the side and arch a brow. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
He sighs heavily and shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly, I can’t be sure, my mother means well, but she can be oppressive."
“Donny... I–I can’t do that for you.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
His shoulders slump, hope visibly draining from him. He chuckles, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, I realized my mistake pretty quick. Don’t worry, Carm, you’re off the hook. I’ll figure it out.”
My chest tightens. Why does disappointing him feel so awful?
“You could tell them the truth,” I suggest, but the words taste wrong coming out of my mouth.
No, he’s a client. This would be bad.
If I gave in to his request, agreed to keep the ruse going, who knows if I’d ever be able to face the band again. I like my job. Everything I’ve worked for has led me here. In my early twenties, I clawed my way up from internships, working under people who treated me like I didn’t exist. They spit out my name like it left a bad taste in their mouths, kicking me to the curb over something as small as getting their lunch order wrong.
You’re incompetent.
Where did you even graduate from?
Their sneers would follow. And when I told them, they’d smirk and say, Figures. Guess you’re not exactly working with brains.
But it wasn’t just them. My older brother’s constant criticism growing up made me believe those same stories in my head—that I wasn’t good enough. My parents never knew how much it affected me, but I spent years trying to prove otherwise.
My chest tightens, and tears blur my vision. I look down at my shoes, blinking them away before they fall.
Donny scoffs. “You don’t know my mother.”
He’s right. I don’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my voice softening. “There’s nothing else I can do to help.” I know he doesn’t need my harshness right now, not with everything weighing on him.
And with old memories stirring up inside me, I’m not sure I could use that tough tone with him anyway. There’s still a part of me that wants to rescue people—maybe because no one ever came to rescue me.
Each step he takes has my head screaming at me to stop him. It’s a simple request. All I have to do is act like his fiancée for a night or two and everything can go back to normal. Would it be so bad? It’s not like I despise the guy, just the way my body reacts to him at inappropriate times.
Right now, for instance. His jeans are hugging his ass in a way that has me clenching my thighs together, but that’s not the only thing about him that calls to me. It’s his gentle personality and always being able to make light of any situation.
“I’ll do it.” The words escape before I can stop them.
Donny freezes, then whirls around. His eyes roam over me, intense and searching. A shiver runs down my spine. God, his gaze feels almost physical.
Keep yourself under control, Carmen.
“I’m going to need you to say that again,” he says, voice low and disbelieving.
Heat floods my cheeks. “I said, I’ll do it. Your fake fiancée, I mean.”
I clear my throat and shrug. “If it will help you get through rehearsals, then I’ll do it. Only a couple of nights, right?”
He takes a few steps toward me, his long legs getting him much closer than before, and he swallows thickly with a curt nod. “Yes.”
“Then it shouldn’t be too bad. We just have to act like we can stand each other.”
Donny smirks now and winks. “Awe. I’m not that bad, Carm.”
I don’t respond, just stand there having a staring contest with him for a few moments, and it’s the sight of heat in his eyes that has me shaking from my trance. “So, uh, how is this going to work?”
“Ride with me to my place tonight?”
I frown and shake my head. Distance would be best right now. Getting too close to him could be catastrophic for me. “That’s not a good idea.”
He chuckles and scrubs a hand down his face. “Well, with that attitude, my parents should fall for it in seconds.”
Sarcasm. Attractive, but incredibly annoying, coming from him.
My cheeks heat and I let out a defeated sigh. “Hurry up, then. Don’t want to get out of here too late.”
As he walks away, I wonder what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into. It would be easy to follow him, chasing after the long strides he makes across the floor, but I can’t bring myself to see that defeated look in his eyes again.
If only I were as heartless as the other managers I’ve been around. Things would be much easier.
But that's not who I am. My past experiences in the industry have shaped me, made me cautious about crossing lines.
Yet here I am, about to blur the biggest line of all with one of my clients. The irony isn't lost on me.
***
The elevator ride to Donny’s penthouse is torture. He stands close enough that I can feel his body heat, smell his cologne. My nerves are frayed, every cell in my body hyper-aware of his presence. If he touches me now, I might combust – or snap. I’m not sure which would be worse.
Now that I’ve had time to think properly, I’m angry at myself for giving in to the favor. I never should’ve told him I would do it. My heart stutters when the elevator dings, and the doors open up to his home.
My mouth hangs open as I take in the penthouse, and it takes me a few moments to gather the courage to step inside. The space is breathtaking, the kind of place you’d see on the cover of an architecture magazine.
The open floor plan stretches out endlessly, at least 3,000 square feet of carefully curated elegance. The polished hardwood floors gleam as though they were freshly waxed, catching the soft light that filters through massive floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, which offers a panoramic view of Central Park, the greenery below contrasting beautifully with the skyline. The late afternoon sun bathes the entire living area in a golden hue, making the space feel both expansive and intimate.
The top-floor apartment is a masterpiece of modern design, all clean lines and sleek surfaces, with just the right touch of warmth. Rich walnut wood contrasts with cool steel accents, giving it a sophisticated but welcoming vibe. The living room features a plush sectional couch in soft, muted tones, positioned perfectly to enjoy both the view and the massive abstract paintings that hang on the walls. They aren’t just art; they’re statements—pieces I recognize from galleries we’ve passed in other cities.
Clearly, Donny has a passion for art, and his collection is impressive, with one canvas stretching nearly six feet across, a swirl of vibrant colors that demands attention. Each painting is illuminated by recessed lighting, showcasing them like they’re in a private gallery. The ceiling seems to stretch forever, at least twenty feet high, giving the space an even grander feel. A chandelier spirals above, its delicate tendrils adorned with tiny lights that sparkle like stars.
It wouldn’t surprise me if it cost a fortune — everything in here must have. Even the air smells like luxury, with a faint hint of lemons lingering as though the place had been freshly cleaned just for our arrival.
“Hungry? Thirsty?” Donny’s voice jolts me back to reality.
“Water,” I manage to whisper. My mouth is suddenly dry.
He nods, leading me into the kitchen, which feels like the crown jewel of this penthouse. The kitchen is open, modern, and impeccably organized, with custom cabinetry in soft shades of grey and cream that seamlessly blend into the rest of the space. A state-of-the-art espresso machine sits on the counter, next to a glass jar filled with perfectly arranged artisan coffee beans. It’s the kind of kitchen that invites you to cook, to indulge in something gourmet, yet looks almost too perfect to disturb.
I glance toward the windows again, my eyes drawn to the sweeping view of Central Park. From this height, the trees look like a serene, untouched world beneath the chaos of the city. It’s hard not to be overwhelmed by the beauty of it all—and by how well it suits Donny. This place feels like an extension of him, quiet, intense, and filled with things that matter.
“Nice place,” I mumble, trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrays me. I’m awed.
“Beats staying in the old house alone.” There’s a hint of something in his voice—loneliness?
My chest tightens. I want to say something, to comfort him somehow. But I can’t. I’m his manager, not his friend. Not his real fiancée.
"This is weird," he states after a few moments of silence, his eyes searching mine. "We really don't have to do this, you know. I can figure something else out."
My heart races. Part of me wants to take the out he's offering, to run as far as I can from this situation. But another part, a part I'm trying desperately to ignore, wants to stay.
"You're right, it is weird," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't back down from things I agree to. Even if they terrify me."
The intensity in his gaze makes me wonder if he can see right through me, if he knows how conflicted I really am.
He smirks. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
I roll my eyes at him and sigh. “So, how do you want to do this?”
Donny approaches with my water. As he sets it down, his arms cage me in, his chest brushing my back. My breath catches. Every nerve ending comes alive.
I stiffen, and he pulls away with a low chuckle. “Well, first things first... that has to be fixed. No one would believe we’re together if you can barely stand my touch.”
If only you knew. I want to touch you too much. The thought blazes through my mind, unbidden.
I arch an eyebrow, hoping my face doesn’t betray me. “How would you suggest we fix that?”
“Easy,” he says, as if we’re discussing the weather and not potentially upending our entire relationship. “Tomorrow, we stroll around the city. You’ll be snuggled up against me, shielding from the cold.”
My heart stutters. The image of being pressed against Donny, his arm around me, his warmth seeping into my bones... I swallow hard. “Is all that really necessary? It’s only for a couple of days.”
Please say no.
“You don’t know my mother. She’ll sense the bullshit from a mile away. Our only hope is to practice actually being together.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek and Donny takes a tentative step closer to me, again, with an amusing grin. “Oh, come on, Carm. I don’t bite unless you ask.”
My body reacts to that, and I groan. “Alright, alright.”
I’m already regretting this.
Nothing good can come from us getting closer, or practicing.
“Anything else I should be looking forward to?” I grumble.
“Gee, love the excitement.”
“This is weird, you said so yourself. Give me a night to get over the shock of it all.”
He nods, then places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for this. I know it’s not the best way you want to spend your time.”
There’s a flash of hurt in his gaze, which makes me feel like shit for being harder on him than the rest of the guys, but it only lasts a couple of seconds before the usual calmness is back. Meanwhile, I can’t stop tapping my fingers against his island because nerves are starting to take over.
I swallow thickly and lean away from his touch, which is burning a hole straight through my shirt and onto my skin. “No problem, whatever helps the band. Can’t have you losing focus on us, you know?”
“So, lunch tomorrow before rehearsal. After rehearsal, I’m going to take you to dinner and the day after that I’ll leave as a surprise.”
“No way. We agree on everything. No surprises.”
He arches a brow. “How am I supposed to make sure I’m paying attention to you if I don’t try to plan something on my own?”
“I don’t like it,” I grumble.
Surprises have always been the worst. No one’s ever convinced me otherwise, not since my seventh-grade birthday disaster. I can still see it—coming home from my dance recital, dropped off by my friend’s mom, and walking through the door to find my parents frowning.
The table was set up just like I’d imagined—balloons, streamers, a cake with my name on it—but the one thing missing? Friends. It was supposed to be a surprise sleepover, except everyone I’d invited was at a different party—the one thrown by the girl everyone liked more.
I was chopped liver, and ever since that day, I’ve been against surprises. You can’t be disappointed if you already know what’s coming.
“Woah,” Donny says, pulling me from the terrible memory. “Okay, I won’t surprise you.”
Am I really going to let a harsh past keep me from living my life now?
“No,” I choke out, then clear my throat. “It’s all good. You can do it.”
He frowns, searching my face for that same far away look I’m sure I had moments ago, but I’ve already masked it.
As I stand in Donny's kitchen, surrounded by luxury and the promise of a life I've never known, I'm struck by how out of place I feel. Not just in this penthouse, but in this situation.
I'm used to being in control, to knowing exactly where the lines are drawn. But with Donny, those lines are blurring faster than I can redraw them. And the scariest part? A part of me doesn't want to stop it.
There’s no reason for him to know how life was for me as a child. We’re not that close… and I plan to keep it that way.