Chapter 2
Two
ZAHRA
“Oliver?” My voice trembled in the café’s warm hum as his name slipped out in a barely audible gasp.
Recognition crashed over me like a wave, and I clutched the edge of the table. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as past and present collided.
The Oliver Beck I remembered wore permanently smudged glasses that he constantly pushed up his nose, dressed in faded science-themed T-shirts, and had a laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep and genuine.
That boy's shoulders had hunched slightly, as if apologizing for taking up space.
That boy's eyes had been warm pools of rich brown that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
"Hello, Zahra," he said, his voice as flat and emotionless as his expression. "It's been a while."
The man before me sat with the kind of confidence that seemed etched into his bone structure. His jaw was sharper, a day's stubble highlighting the angles. His shoulders filled out his jacket with an assurance that suggested he never apologized for anything anymore, least of all existing.
And those eyes…still the same rich brown, but now they were looking at me with a coolness that made my chest ache with a strange, hollow feeling.
This was Oliver. My Oliver. At least, he used to be mine before I ruined it all.
"I…" I struggled to find words, my brain trying to bridge the gap between the gangly spectacled kid from my memories to the chiseled, broad-shouldered man with piercing eyes. "I didn't recognize you."
"Clearly." The word was clipped, precise.
I'd studied the RAD profiles carefully, but they only showed most of the men from the neck down.
Professional policy, I assumed. Finding Oliver on the roster was pure chance.
It could have been anyone, but the name, the astrophysics-laden bio, it was all too coincidental.
So, I took a leap of faith, hoping against hope it was the same Oliver I once knew, that the universe had sent me an answer to all my problems.
Heat crawled up my neck and into my cheeks as I realized how thoroughly I'd embarrassed myself. We’d held an entire conversation without me recognizing him, while he'd clearly known exactly who I was from the moment he approached the table. Had he been enjoying my ignorance?
My fingers twitched, so I busied them by folding and unfolding the napkin in my lap. The café seemed both too loud and too quiet, the chatter of other patrons forming a dissonant backdrop to my pulse thundering in my ears.
Oliver Beck. After all these years. The universe had a twisted sense of humor— the person least likely to want to help me is my best bet at a savior.
“So,” he started, the epitome of calm and composure. “Care to tell me why you insisted on me as your fake boyfriend?”
I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. I hadn't come here to reminisce or apologize. I had a purpose, and the stakes were too high to let our shared past derail it.
“I need a date for my cousin’s wedding.” I pressed my hands flat against my lap, forcing them still, then cleared my throat, trying to steady myself.
“It’s a big event, and I need someone there with me.
I chose you because it’ll be believable that we reconnected and it quickly turned into something more.
Familiarity sells the lie, you know? Due to our… history.”
Oliver’s eyebrow quirked at that last word. We had history, alright. A complicated one.
The waitress showed up just then to take our order, and I took the blessed interruption to compose myself. This was business, nothing else.
After ordering our coffee, Oliver turned back to me, fingers tapping steadily against the polished wood of our small table, waiting.
I forced a smile, hoping my eyes weren’t betraying my desperation. “I needed someone I could trust, someone who could pass as a serious boyfriend after a few weeks. Our past makes it plausible.”
He stayed silent, his unreadable expression unnerving. I’d been tense from the moment I sat down, rearranging the sugar packets into neat rows, and tucking my hair behind my ear every few seconds as I fought to keep my composure. And Oliver’s demeanor wasn’t helping.
I knew he’d be different, just like I was different, but nothing could have prepared me for how much he’d changed.
He used to fill every quiet moment with excited chatter about science or my terrible sketches, but now he just watched me, his gaze steady.
Those deep brown eyes, exposed without the wire-framed glasses he’d always worn, pinned me with a professionalism that made my stomach twist.
“I need someone to act as a buffer. You know, against my meddling family?” It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the pleading out of my voice, and I shifted in my seat, tucking my hair behind my ear as I forced my gaze to stay up.
“I’m attending as the wedding planner, not just a guest, and this wedding is a big deal.
I can’t allow any unnecessary distractions, especially not from…
” I trailed off, unwilling to say the name that summoned a wave of panic from the darkest recesses of my mind.
Something shifted in Oliver's expression. It was subtle, just a slight tightening around his eyes, but it was there.
“I’ll need specifics,” he said, his voice distant and professional despite the shift in his gaze. “Dates, times, expectations.”
The request steadied me. Schedules, I could do—it was my expertise. I flipped open my planner, the bright pink cover a lifeline.
“The wedding itself is in eight weeks. It’s a high-profile event.
” I didn't add that "high-profile" was an understatement.
My cousin Parisa was marrying Darryl Winters, heir to the Winters Hotel Group.
The guest list included two state senators, a handful of celebrities, and enough wealthy entrepreneurs to fund a small nation.
The wedding would be featured in Modern Bride , with a six-page spread already contracted.
For my fledgling company, this was the make-or-break moment I'd been working toward for three years.
“We’ll be heading down to Norman in six weeks,” I continued, and I could swear I saw a tick in Oliver’s jaw when I mentioned our hometown.
But he was so quick to regain his careful mask of indifference that I had no choice but to brush it off.
“We’ll be there just short of two weeks for prep and wedding events.
If you join me, you’ll need to be discreet, reliable, and professional. ”
"I understand the concept of my job, Miss Nazarian."
“I know. Your reviews were glowing,” I said without thinking, mortification flooding me when I realized I’d revealed how deep I’d dived into his profile.
But, instead of stopping, my brain decided I should keep talking.
“Your experience with maintaining boundaries, your physical presence, your proven ability to handle difficult situations professionally, like problematic exes…” I trailed off when Oliver frowned, his eyes flashing with something dark.
"Ryan Calloway’s going to be there?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
I nodded, the name sending an involuntary shiver through me. My fingers tightened around my coffee mug as a familiar knot formed in my stomach.
"He's a groomsman,” I whispered.
"I see." The words were flat, but something sharp flickered in his eyes.
“This is my golden ticket, Oliver.” I couldn’t keep the pleading out of my voice this time.
The mere idea of facing Ryan without something tangible between us was enough to erase any shred of pride I had.
I couldn't afford distractions. I couldn't afford mistakes.
And I definitely couldn't afford to have Ryan Calloway derail everything I'd worked for.
“I need to be able to concentrate on my work without.
.." I exhaled sharply, reminding myself, once again, that this was a business pitch, not a favor.
I came prepared; I just needed to get a grip.
“This wedding will open doors that’ll make everything I've sacrificed for my career worth it.”
I'd poured my life savings into Lumina Event Management, worked sixteen-hour days for months on end, lived on ramen and coffee while watching former colleagues from big, established companies climb the corporate ranks and bank a paycheck I could only dream of, while I'd taken out loans that kept me awake at night.
When Parisa had chosen me over the prestigious firms her future-in-laws had suggested, I knew it was my chance not only to make a name for myself, but to prove to my family, and myself, that I could stand on my own two feet—that I didn’t need anyone to rescue me anymore.
Except Oliver.
“Your main mission would be to run interference so I can get the job done without interruption.”
Oliver stared at me as if he knew “interruption” meant unwanted advances.
My stomach churned. My aunt and cousin had been not-so-subtly hinting that this wedding would be a perfect opportunity to rekindle my relationship with Ryan.
Knowing Ryan, he’d probably been feeding them stories of how much he missed me, how good we were together, how he’s forgiven me for leaving him to go to college, while conveniently skipping the part where my parents had to sneak me out of town to get me there without him trying to stop me.
My hands shook every time I thought about being alone with him again.
I made a last-ditch effort, appealing to the big, soft heart that I desperately believed still beat behind that broad, chiseled chest. “Please, Oliver, I need your help.”
Oliver seemed to consider my words, his expression giving nothing away. Then he looked up, meeting my gaze with a blank stare.
"No."
The single word hung in the air between us.
He got up to leave, and I felt panic rising in my chest. I couldn't let him walk away. I needed him—not just anyone from RAD, but him specifically.
I forced myself to stay calm, my mind racing for a rational move. Then I remembered…
"Actually," I said, keeping my voice professional despite my racing pulse. "According to RAD's booking system, I have you for forty-five minutes. I'd hate to have to complain to your boss about you walking out on a client mid-meeting."
He stopped, his shoulders tensing, then turned back and pulled out the chair with controlled precision.
"Still a bully, I see," he said quietly.
I flinched internally but maintained my composed expression. I signaled the waitress and ordered a plate of sugar cookies. Oliver’s favorite.
"Name your price," I said once we were alone again.
"Some things can't be bought, Zahra."
"You're literally for hire, Oliver. That's the entire job."
His eyes widened for a moment, clearly caught off guard by my directness, then his expression blanked again. He scribbled something on a napkin, pressing the pen so hard it left small tears, before slowly sliding it over with two fingers.
I glared at the outrageous number, my heart thudding as I stood, my chair scraping against the laminated floor. "Okay. I get it. You don't want to do this. You don't want to see me. You don't want to help me. Fine."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I turned to leave, already calculating my next move. Who could I call? How fast could I pivot? The panic pressed tight behind my ribs, but I held my head high and walked away. Two steps, then?—
"Zahra, wait."
Something had shifted in his tone. The stabbing sharpness was gone, replaced by a weary edge. I hesitated, then turned, finding Oliver staring at his phone with a tired gaze, his fingers deep in his coiffed hair that could use a haircut.
"Okay, I'm in." He handed me the napkin with a zero marked off his original number. "Is this more acceptable?"
I stared at the number. Still high, but I could work with this. Slowly, I returned to my seat, inspecting Oliver for any sign of deceit in the sharp cut of his jaw.
"What changed your mind?"
He glanced at his phone again, jaw ticking, before his lips curled into something almost like a smile. "Chance to rub it in Ryan's face? Priceless."
I studied him for a moment before nodding and writing my counteroffer. "This is all I have. All my savings."
Oliver barely glanced at the new number before nodding.
"You should know that RAD's contract only covers eight hours a day," he said. "Anything beyond that would be a private arrangement between us."
"Understood."
Oliver studied me for a long moment, then held out his hand. "Business card."
I passed it over, trying to keep my fingers steady.
"You'll have my terms by the end of the day," he said, standing. "We'll meet at your office in two days to review the contract. After that," he buttoned up his coat, "I'll make my final decision."
He left me sitting there, two practically untouched coffees and a half-eaten cookie in front of me, wondering if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life or found my only chance of survival.