Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
BLUE
The drive into Atlanta felt like being smuggled into another life.
West’s driver maneuvered through late-night traffic with silent precision, then dipped beneath a towering building and into an underground garage.
A sleek metal gate lifted without a sound.
This wasn’t a parking deck for tenants, it was a private landing zone. For him.
So yeah. West Brooks wasn’t just rich. He was loaded. The kind of rich where your car had its own bed to sleep in for the night.
West stepped out first and held the door open like a gentleman, but still had that quiet command he carried so naturally. Without thinking, I slid my hand into his and followed him to the elevator, which he used his thumbprint to unlock.
That was when it started hitting me that I had agreed to more than I bargained for.
The elevator walls were glass, and as we started moving up, the entire city unfolded beneath us.
Lights glittered in every direction, skyscrapers stretched like silver trees into the sky, and I could see highways looping below like glowing ribbons.
We climbed and climbed. I didn’t even know buildings in Atlanta could be that tall and I tried not to grip the rail and show my fear.
West didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His presence alone filled every inch of space. He was cool. Collected. Meanwhile, my heart was a hummingbird on Red Bull, and it was making me more irrationally pissed off than I had been in the car.
I had left my dad behind for the night. He was fine.
I knew he was fine. But that didn’t stop the guilt from digging its claws into my ribs and making everything feel heavier.
I was doing this for him, but I still hated the idea of not being home in case he needed something.
And I hated even more that this towering, brooding billionaire, had the nerve to make me feel small and out of place by simply existing.
I just wanted to go home.
When the elevator finally opened, West led me into what I first thought was a hotel. Then a luxury condo. Then maybe an upscale office? But then I realized it was his home.
A goddamn glass-walled, two-story, marble-floored penthouse that screamed, “I’m the king of the world.”
It was beautiful in a sterile, catalog kind of way. There were cool grays, expensive art that probably cost more than my yearly salary, and polished stone surfaces that had never seen a crumb. It was impressive. And absolutely not me.
“This way,” he said, guiding me past a sleek modern kitchen and into the living room. “We’ll meet with my lawyer first thing in the morning. I know you packed some clothes, but a stylist will be here at six to get your measurements—”
“You said you’d have me back by my shift on Tuesday,” I interrupted, my voice sharper than I intended.
“I will,” he said smoothly. “But this arrangement won’t end tomorrow. And I’ll need my wife to look the part. People will expect you to be dressed like I’ve given you the world.”
“As opposed to…” I looked down at my Rolling Stones T-shirt, faded jean shorts, and Chucks. “This?”
He didn’t respond, just let out a low chuckle and nodded toward my outfit. “What you’re wearing is fine. Tonight. But I’ve got a meeting with an investor in a few weeks. And my wife is expected to be there, looking like my wife, not a roadie.”
I crossed my arms, biting down the urge to snap. He had dragged me out of Harmony Haven like it was no big deal, and now I was supposed to play Barbie Doll for his business dinner?
Still… I knew the drill. I’d seen enough rom-coms to recognize the trope. Stoic billionaire. Fake wife. Obligatory glow-up montage. Fine. I’d play dress-up.
“You hungry?” he asked, motioning toward the gleaming kitchen.
Tempting. I pictured him cooking, sleeves rolled up, something surprisingly sweet like French toast at midnight. But my stomach was too tangled in nerves, and I bet his idea of cooking was a frozen meal delivery service.
“Nah,” I said, heading toward the massive window that stretched across the living room. “I’m good.”
The view was ridiculous. Outside, the balcony was marble, too, with hidden lights that made it glow like a scene out of a dream.
“Let me show you where you’ll be staying,” West said from behind me. I turned and followed him silently.
He showed me everything with the detachment of a hotel concierge.
There was a gym with more equipment than the entire rec center back home, a home office emulating a presidential suite, and a library.
An actual library. There were books from floor to ceiling and a ladder that I had the urge to jump on and sing a song about.
I refrained, but mostly because I was engrossed by the red pool table in the middle of the room giving weird flex vibe.
“Pool tables don’t belong in the library,” I muttered as we moved farther down the hall.
“Then change it,” he huffed casually, probably thinking I wouldn’t.
But I would if I was actually moving in. A gorgeous room with a million books needed a card catalog in the middle, not a game I watched people play every night at the bar.
I let the subject go and stayed quiet, but when we passed a closed door, I couldn’t help but snort. “Is that your secret sex dungeon?”
His brow lifted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I refused to blush. He didn’t press it.
Finally, we reached the guest room. It was bigger than my entire house. Another balcony. Another panoramic view. And a bed so fluffy I was afraid I’d disappear into it.
“My room’s on the other side of the living room,” he said casually. “Same setup. Just a bit bigger. If you need anything, text me. And be sure to set your alarm for five.”
“Five?” My brain broke a little. “As in five a.m.? That’s in, five hours.”
“Breakfast is at six. The stylist will be here at six-thirty. And my lawyer meets us at eight.”
“So what I’m hearing is… I need to be up at 5:59.”
West gave a shrug. “To each their own. I just assumed you’d want to shower. Or work out.”
“Bold assumption, rich boy.” I gasped. “I’ll settle for a quick shower. You can keep your gym.”
He smiled, but barely. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you in the morning. 5:59 sharp.”
Then he was gone and the door shut behind him with a soft click. I was alone, so I turned slowly, taking in the room. The bed. The view. The sheer insanity of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I sank onto the edge of the bed and rubbed my temples.
What was I thinking?
I told myself I could handle being West Brooks’ fake wife. But sitting in that glass box above the city made me feel every ounce of the imposter I was. Seeing the opulence and extravagance of his actual life made me feel like I was in way over my head.
Because West wasn’t just a small-town guy from Harmony Haven like his brothers were. That was clearer now more than ever. My stomach twisted as I thought about my dad, alone at home while I played dress-up with Atlanta’s most unshakable man.
But my dad was also my motivation and the reason I couldn’t turn back.
The bar would be mine. Mine. And that meant freedom. Not just financially, but from having to answer to anyone else. From having to play nice with people like Jeff and the Murphy brothers. From living under anyone’s thumb.
Dad and I would be able to afford more care, more help, and maybe even a better place to live.
I just had to make it through the month. Sign the papers. Smile for some people. Pretend to be someone I wasn’t.
And hope to hell I didn’t lose myself in the process.