Chapter 1 #2
The silence that followed Sophia’s departure pressed hard against Elizabeth’s ribs. She didn’t need to look to know Riley was still standing by the elevator, tense and uncertain, fingers tugging restlessly at the sleeve of her cardigan as though she needed something to hold on to.
Elizabeth, across the room, moved with crisp precision, each step deliberate, each movement practiced.
She crossed the open expanse of the penthouse with the cool grace of someone who wasn’t just used to being in control, but was control itself.
Floor-to-ceiling windows glittered with the reflection of the city’s December lights, casting her tall silhouette in sharp angles and softened gold.
She reached for the crystal decanter on the bar cart and poured herself two fingers of scotch with a steady hand. No ice. No hesitation. Her face was an elegant mask: sharp cheekbones, sculpted lips, unreadable eyes.
Riley’s voice broke the silence like a dropped ornament.
“I mean… plenty of people get dumped before Christmas.” A half-laugh slipped from her lips, nervous, too loud in the cavernous room. “It’s practically a Hallmark movie plot. All you need now is a flannel-wearing lumberjack and a sled accident.”
Elizabeth turned, one brow arching so high it could’ve reached the penthouse’s crown molding. She took a slow sip of her drink, then set the glass down with a click on the marble countertop.
“Am I supposed to find that comforting?” she asked, voice silk-lined steel.
Riley winced. “Right. No. Sorry. That was a bad joke. I wasn’t—god, I wasn’t trying to…” She trailed off, eyes darting everywhere but Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll just…shut up now.”
Elizabeth’s silence was louder than Sophia’s tantrum had been.
Riley turned back to her laptop, cheeks visibly flushed, fingers fumbling over the keyboard in a frantic attempt to close windows Elizabeth doubted she was even reading.
She yanked at the power cable too fast, and it snagged against the edge of her bag, sending a reusable coffee cup clattering to the floor.
It rolled under the table with a hollow, traitorous thud.
“Perfect,” Riley muttered, crouching to retrieve it.
When she re-emerged, hair static-charged and cheeks pink with effort, Elizabeth was watching her. Not with pure annoyance, though there was certainly a trace of that, but with the same weary fascination one might feel toward a cat that had managed to wedge its head inside a cereal box.
A sigh slid from Elizabeth’s lips. She took another sip of scotch, leaned one hip against the edge of the bar cart, and said, “You’re chaos incarnate.”
Riley froze mid-cable-wrap. “Is that… an insult?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “An observation.”
“Oh.” Riley straightened up, brushing at her sweater like that would somehow reassemble her dignity. “Well, thanks, I guess. I get that a lot.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the city humming softly beneath them.
Outside the window, snow had started falling again, thin flakes drifting lazily past the high-rise glass.
Inside, the only movement was the slow swirl of amber liquid in Elizabeth’s glass and the slight, nervous shifting of Riley’s weight from one foot to the other.
Eventually, Elizabeth spoke. “I need a solution. Not a Hallmark cliché.”
Riley scratched the back of her neck. “Sure, sure. Totally. Solutions. Got it.”
Riley scratched the back of her neck, chewing at her bottom lip before offering, with forced brightness, “Well, unless you want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend, I’m fresh out of ideas.”
The words hung between them. Elizabeth could tell it was meant as a joke, the kind Riley often used to fill uncomfortable silence, tossed out carelessly like a deflection.
Normally, Elizabeth would have responded with a dry laugh or a cutting remark, anything to puncture the tension.
Instead, she found herself going very still.
No sip of scotch.
No clever retort.
Just… silence.
Riley looked up.
Elizabeth was watching her, eyes narrowed slightly. Not cold, exactly. Not even amused.
Calculating.
Riley blinked. “Wait. What?”
Elizabeth stepped forward, slowly, her drink now forgotten on the marble counter. She came close enough that Riley could smell the subtle perfume she wore, bergamot and winter spice and something expensive Riley couldn’t name.
“How much?” Elizabeth asked, voice low.
Riley stared at her. “I-I’m sorry. What?”
“To pretend to be my girlfriend,” Elizabeth clarified, folding her arms across her chest. “In Vermont. For Christmas. What would that cost me?”
“Wait, hold on. That was, I mean, I was kidding. You know that, right?”
Elizabeth’s head tilted slightly. “Were you?”
“Yes!” Riley exclaimed. “I mean, unless you’re actually serious? But you can’t be serious. Because that’s, crazy. Like, lifetime-movie-holiday-special crazy.”
Elizabeth didn’t blink. “Is it?”
“Yes!” Riley said again. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. For your family. Over Christmas. That’s not a casual thing.”
“I’m not a casual woman,” Elizabeth replied.
“Clearly!”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “So. A number.”
Riley threw her hands up. “Why me?”
Elizabeth looked at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I trust you not to rob me blind, because you’re already used to managing my life, and because,” she paused, “you’re charming when you’re not flinging coffee cups across the floor.”
Riley’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”
Elizabeth ignored that. “You’d have to spend 10 days at my family’s estate. Pretend we’ve been together for months. Be…convincing.”
Riley blinked. “How convincing are we talking?”
“My mother will ask invasive questions. My aunt will try to catch us slipping. You’ll have to share a room. Possibly a bed.”
“Oh my god,” Riley whispered.
“You’ll be compensated, of course,” Elizabeth added. “I’ll cover your wardrobe, travel, and your usual salary, doubled. With a holiday bonus. And hazard pay.”
“I mean, you make a compelling case,” Riley said faintly.
Elizabeth walked past her and sat down on the sofa, legs crossed, posture perfect even in supposed emotional ruin.
“I need someone who can handle pressure. You’re chaotic, but resilient. You adapt. You don’t crack under scrutiny.” She paused, then added dryly, “Mostly.”
Riley’s head spun. “I don’t usually. God, I don’t know. I’ve dated women before, sure, but my last relationship was with a guy, and I just… I don’t have this figured out.”
Elizabeth held up a hand. “I’m not interested in your dating history. Only in your performance.”
“Wow. Romantic.”
Elizabeth’s mouth twitched again. “That’s the point. It’s not romantic. It’s business.”
Riley crossed her arms. “Sure. Business. With shared beds and family bonding and fake affection.”
“Exactly.”
Riley looked down at the coffee-stained sleeve of her cardigan. “If I say no?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Then I go alone. Endure the scrutiny. The pity. The third-degree from aunts who still think I should’ve married a senator’s son in Connecticut.”
“One condition,” Riley said.
Elizabeth arched a brow.
“No falling in love with me. I ruin lives.”
Elizabeth let out a quiet, amused breath, almost a laugh.
“Duly noted.”
“Let me think about it.”