Chapter 4 #2
“Perfect. Four days of us acting like a couple should change everyone’s mind.”
She couldn’t breathe.
Acting like a couple? With Ramzi?
Panic and fascination battled inside her.
What would that mean, exactly?
Would he hold her hand? Wrap his arm around her waist? Kiss her cheek in public?
Would they dance together?
Her brain short-circuited.
No.
Absolutely not.
She couldn’t pull that off. Not with him. He was too tall, too confident, too… devastatingly male.
Too Ramzi.
Plus, he was her boss!
Yes, she’d dreamed of all those things. Almost every night.
And okay, maybe they didn’t have a typical boss-subordinate relationship. She’d laughed at him for fumbling with chopsticks during late-night takeout marathons, and he’d teased her mercilessly about her hatred of driving stick shift. That wasn’t exactly standard office behavior.
She’d once accompanied him to his tailor’s to select fabric for a tuxedo and walked out with three evening gowns because he insisted she was too conservative in her wardrobe.
He’d claimed gala nights required “strategic elegance,” and from that moment forward, had declared himself responsible for her eveningwear.
But this?
This would be different. Very different.
“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly as she set the glass back down.
“No?” he echoed, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
She glanced at him, then quickly away. “No. You don’t need to do that.
I can head to Hendersonville Saturday morning, attend the wedding, hug Stacy and John, and be back by nightfall.
” She picked up the glass and took another sip of scotch, once again letting the smoky heat fortify her nerves.
“I’ll be fine. Let the gossips say what they want.
” She stood and smiled, polished and professional.
“I don’t have to face them. Their opinions don’t matter. ”
She turned to leave.
But his next words stopped her cold.
“What about your mother?”
Her steps faltered. Slowly, she turned back to face him.
Ramzi hadn’t moved, but something in his posture had shifted. She sensed tension radiating from him now—tight, deliberate. His voice, when it came, was soft. Too soft.
“Apparently, she’s endured years of slander about your supposed heartbreak.”
The words struck her like a stone to the chest. Her hand pressed instinctively to her sternum.
“Are you going to leave her to deal with the gossip alone again?”
Ramzi stood now, towering over her. “Why not help her out? It’s just four days.” He stepped forward, handing her the documents she’d forgotten on the table. “What’s the problem?”
The problem?
The problem was that she was already halfway in love with him. That pretending to be Ramzi’s partner would wreck her. That she spent far too many nights imagining ways to ride him like a bronco, and four days in his orbit would finish her completely.
“She’s a strong woman,” Tabitha whispered, trying to deflect.
“Yes,” he murmured, stepping closer again. “She’s very strong. I wonder how many snide comments she’s had to ignore over the years.”
Ouch.
He went for the jugular.
Ramzi El Sandir knew how to win—whether in the boardroom or in battle. And he knew how to wound, too.
“That’s not fair,” she said quietly.
He shrugged, unapologetic. “Neither are the gossips.”
With a smooth movement, he tossed back the rest of his scotch and returned the empty glass to the bar.
“Marwan reserved several suites for me and my team at the local bed and breakfast,” he added. “He tried to find something larger, but Hendersonville doesn’t exactly attract high-end development.”
Of course it didn’t. The town’s idea of luxury was hand-stitched curtains and blueberry muffins for breakfast.
“I can’t stay there with you!” she gasped.
“Of course you can’t,” he said with a low chuckle. “You’ll stay at your mother’s. I’ll be at the inn. It’s within walking distance. We’ll meet up each day, be seen together, and make it clear that you’ve moved on from that cheating bastard of an ex-fiancé.”
For a heartbeat, she almost rallied. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, eyes narrowing as if preparing to argue—
“How do you know I’m not still hung up on him? I might have been lying a moment ago,” she challenged, tilting her head.
She wasn’t. In love with Martin, that is. But for some reason—pride, panic, or pure self-preservation—she wanted to knock a crack into Ramzi’s polished armor.
His answer was immediate. Certain.
“First, because you don’t lie.” He paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her feel warm and gushy inside.
“And second, because you have too much self-respect to stay with a man who didn’t appreciate you for the extraordinary woman you are.
” His voice was low and tight, the edge unmistakable.
“A man who cheated on you wouldn’t be worthy of the glorious gift of your love, Tabitha. ”
The words hit her like a punch.
Raw. Fierce.
Her chest tightened. He was right. But there was so much more buried beneath the surface, layers she wasn’t ready to explain. So she said nothing—just nodded slowly, turned, and started toward the door.
“Well, I’ll just…” She paused, unsure what she was “just” going to do.
“If we’re going to be convincing, you’re going to need this.”
She turned, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, just as something small and dark flew through the air toward her.
She caught it reflexively.
A box.
Tabitha stared down at the square, black velvet box in her hand, then back at him.
“What is this?”
Ramzi shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders relaxed—but she sensed the tension in him. His stillness was always controlled. Always hiding something.
“Open it.”
She didn’t want to. Instinct warned her that once the lid opened, everything would shift. But she didn’t back down from challenges. Ever.
Carefully, she shifted the files in her arms and pried the lid open with her thumbs.
The gasp escaped before she could stop it.
Inside was a ring—shimmering, elegant, and breathtaking. Not the largest diamond she’d ever seen, but easily the most beautiful. The design was classic, but exquisite. The kind of ring that whispered wealth and screamed intention.
It was probably worth more than her house.
“No,” she said instantly, shaking her head. She snapped the box shut and tried to hand it back. “No way. I can’t wear this!”
Ramzi chuckled, that maddeningly deep sound curling around her like smoke. He didn’t reach for the box.
“You’ll have to,” he said. “If we’re going to convince anyone that we’re together.”
She clutched the box tighter. “We can just say we’re dating,” she insisted. “Boyfriend and girlfriend. We don’t have to be engaged.”
Still, her eyes drifted to the box again. She opened it, unable to stop herself from staring at the ring’s perfect sparkle in the sunlight.
He snorted, and somehow even that made her knees a little weaker.
“Where did this come from?” she asked, tracing the delicate setting with her fingertip.
He shrugged and leaned back against the desk, arms casually crossed. “I’ve had it for a while. Now, it’s yours.”
“Not mine,” she gasped, snapping the lid shut again. “Ramzi, I can’t wear something that expensive. I’d be terrified of losing it.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“If you lose it, I’ll replace it.”
“That’s not the point!” she snapped. “You can’t just replace something that beautiful.”
He stared at her, dark eyes unreadable.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking—and that only made it worse.
Finally, he pushed off the desk and turned away, still ignoring the box she held like a live grenade.
“Wear the ring,” he said simply. “If you don’t want it after the four days, give it back then.”
He sifted through a stack of files, no longer looking at her. “But you’ll need it to sell the illusion.”
When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he glanced up again.
“Tell Marwan what I need to pack for the weekend. Everything’s casual, I assume?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse.
“Tuxedo for the wedding?”
She shook her head, a quiet laugh slipping out. “Not in Hendersonville. No tuxedos are needed.” Her gaze drifted back to the box still resting in her hand. “Especially not a tailored Armani tuxedo.”
He tilted his head, that faintly smug expression tugging at his mouth. “Fine. A suit?”
Tabitha turned toward the window, pretending to study the city skyline. But her thoughts were nowhere near the view.
She knew this man. She’d worked with Ramzi long enough to understand exactly how his mind worked. Once he set a goal, there was no stopping him. He was deliberate. Focused. Merciless when it came to obstacles.
And right now, she was the obstacle.
The image of her parents flashed into her mind—her mother, trying to hide her disappointment behind brittle cheer, and her father, stoic but undoubtedly affected by the whispers of a tight-knit town. Men didn’t gossip the way women did—but they weren’t innocent either. The damage was the same.
Ramzi was right.
The only way to silence the rumors was to show them they were wrong.
“Fine,” she said, turning to face him again. “We’ll go to Hendersonville. But—”
“As a couple,” he interrupted, calm and confident.
Tabitha hesitated.
That phrase carried so much weight. So many implications. But she looked at him—this man who always protected what was his—and something in her chest softened.
She trusted him. That terrified her more than anything.
“As a casual couple,” she insisted.
“As an engaged couple,” he corrected smoothly, his eyes flicking pointedly toward the ring box in her hand.
Tabitha sighed, rubbing her forehead. The weight of it all settled on her shoulders. “I appreciate you doing this. I hadn’t really thought about what my parents must have endured all these years.”
“Good.” He leaned back against the desk, still watching her with that unreadable intensity. “So, what’s the dress code for a Hendersonville wedding?”
She twisted her lips, the box warming in her fingers. “I don’t know exactly what Stacy planned. I’ll call her and let her know I’m coming. And that I’m bringing a guest.” She tossed the small box back to Ramzi. “We’ll go as a casual couple.”
He caught the box again, glaring at her for a moment, but he didn’t argue. Not yet. “Will it be a problem for you to bring an unexpected guest?”
“No.” Her soft laugh echoed in the room.
“Weddings in Hendersonville are actually pretty fun. The ceremony is always in a church. Then everyone heads out the back door to the reception, which is usually on the lawn. Most guests bring food to share, so the tables end up loaded down with heart-attack inducing foods.” She glanced up at him, a spark dancing in her eyes now.
“I can almost guarantee you’re about to experience your first potluck. ”
He blinked, thrown off. “What the hell is potluck?” he asked, his accent thickening around the unfamiliar word.
Tabitha twirled toward the door with a grin. “Oh, just you wait!” she called, already halfway into the hall.
She didn’t hear him murmur, “Looking forward to it all,” and had no idea his gaze remained locked on her, hungry and unrelenting, until she vanished from sight.