5. Amara
Chapter five
Amara
I ’m still drunk.
There’s no other possible explanation for why Nicholas Blackwood, my boss and notorious too-good-looking-for-his-own-good CEO, is holding my hand like it’s no big deal and calling me his fiancée .
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I briefly wonder if I’m about to pass out. This is just a very, very vivid dream while I’m inebriated… right? But when my head starts to pound from my questionable decision to take those tequila shots last night, I know for sure this isn’t a dream.
“I don’t understand,” the man at the center of the group speaks up, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glances from me to Nicholas. The others—dressed in suits that probably cost more than my rent—echo his disbelief with silent stares.
I can’t say I blame them. I’m just as lost.
I glance at Nicholas, whose fingers are still casually wrapped around mine. The man’s grip isn’t letting go anytime soon, and when his eyes meet mine, I swear, time stops. He looks at me like I’m the only one in the room, and it’s honestly kind of terrifying.
But also e xtremely hot.
One of the other guys clears his throat. “My apologies, Mr. Blackwood, but we were under the impression you weren’t seeing anyone.”
Nicholas doesn’t even flinch under their questions. Instead, he tightens his hold on my hand. I glance up at him, and his gaze catches mine, with a silent request to follow his lead.
“Fortunately, your assumptions are wrong,” he replies in the polished tone that somehow manages to make everything sound so plausible.
His eyes linger on mine, way too intense, and I have to remind myself that we’re surrounded by people. I try not to notice the heat blooming in my chest or the way his gaze seems to burn into me, memorizing every single detail.
I have no idea what kind of alternate universe I’ve stumbled into, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like the one I left last night.
He finally looks away, his gaze drifting back to the board. For a split second, his fingers loosen in mine, and I brace myself for him to pull away, to backpedal on whatever wild story he was just spinning. But then, with zero warning, he laces our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“We’re engaged,” he announces, his voice dripping with confidence. No doubt. No hesitation. Just a hundred questions swirling in my head.
I blink up at him, my jaw practically scraping the floor. Seriously? He’s sticking with this?
“Engaged?” the older guy at the head of the table repeats, his brows furrowing as he taps his pen against his chin. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood, but when exactly did this… relationship begin?” His tone is polite, but the skepticism is thick enough to cut with a knife.
I swear, my skin goes clammy. Lying isn’t exactly my strong suit. Pretending? Even worse. And right now, I’m standing here like an idiot with no freaking idea what’s going on.
“Recently,” Nicholas replies, his voice as steady as ever, his finger gently trailing over the back of my hand. And, of course, the goosebumps are back. Great . “Very recently.”
Like, thirty seconds ago, to be exact .
I bite down on my cheek, fighting the urge to blurt something—anything—that would make this less painfully awkward. But all I can do is stand here, praying I don’t look like I’m about to melt into a puddle right on the spot. Their gaze travels over me, assessing, judging, looking for cracks in the story, weighing whether I’m worthy enough to stand by a man like him.
But I already know the answer.
I’m not.
There are a lot of things about myself I like—qualities someone might even come to love someday. But I’m not delusional enough to think Nicholas would ever be one of those people. He’s too polished, too confident… too far out of my league.
I don’t belong in his world, and definitely not in this room, surrounded by businesspeople in suits that probably cost more than my entire yearly paycheck.
As much as I try not to admit it, Nicholas is a walking, talking Greek god. With a body that should come with a warning label and a face straight off a runway. Every inch of him screams power and control, from the sharp lines of his jaw to the way his suit fits him like it was made just for him.
And I’m just the assistant. The girl with hair that’s always a bit too frizzy, thanks to drugstore shampoo. The one who never quite fits in. The girl with a bunch of shirts shoved in the back of her closet, collecting dust because they’re way too small, waiting for some miracle to make them fit again. We’re galaxies apart, and I’m pretty sure everyone here can sense it.
“We’ve kept our relationship quiet to avoid the press,” Nicholas continues. I can’t help but admire how effortlessly he handles this, like he’s been doing it his entire life. “But I can promise you, while the tabloids paint a very different picture of me, I am a family man to my core.”
I glance up at him, unable to hide my surprise. I swear, if he ever decided to trade his suit for a movie script, Hollywood would be knocking down his door.
“Isn’t she your assistant?” one of the board members asks, breaking my trance.
My stomach drops. Shit. Am I about to get fired? Is this some twisted test? Will HR hear about this and boot me out the door?
I try to pull my hand away from his, but Nicholas’s grip tightens, his fingers weaving through mine with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver. Doesn’t even blink.
“She is, yes,” he affirms with a sharp nod. He’s so sure of himself, so utterly confident, in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever be.
“Well,” the gentleman in the center clears his throat, his pen stopping mid tap. He leans back in his chair, an almost amused glint in his eye. “That changes things.” Nicholas’s hand tightens around mine at those words. “We’d love to move forward now that we know you’re… pursuing something more stable.”
Nicholas nods once. “I appreciate that. And I would love to continue this discussion another day, but right now my fiancée needs me.” The word strikes like a chill, crawling up my spine. I freeze for just a second, caught off guard by how casually he drops it.
Nicholas doesn’t seem fazed. Without missing a beat, he stands and walks to the door, turning the handle. “It was nice to meet with you today.”
One by one, they stand and file out, each of their gazes lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary as they pass me, I hold my breath, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace, trying to channel even a sliver of Nicholas’s confidence.
“Congratulations,” the man in the center says, his gaze flicking toward me.
“Thank you,” Nicholas responds with a short nod.
The man’s eyes stay on me a moment longer than necessary, my heart pounding under his scrutiny. Finally, he gives a brief nod and turns, the door clicking shut behind him.
Nicholas stays by the door, his hand on the handle, and for a brief moment, his gaze shifts downward as his fingers slowly slip from mine.
“ Fiancée ?”
It’s the only word I can force past my lips, the only thing my brain can latch onto right now. I can’t make sense of what’s happening. What he just said. What this all means.
Nicholas lets out a slow breath, his gaze locking with mine as he turns toward me. “I can explain.”
I cross my arms, trying to keep some semblance of control, even as the tequila still clings to my system. Dressing up, getting drunk, it all seemed like a great idea at two a.m. But now? Not so much, especially with this bombshell he just dropped. “Please do.”
Nicholas steps away from the door, his jaw tensing, and I catch the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s not as calm as he’s pretending to be.
“Before my dad passed,” he starts, voice rough, almost like the words hurt to say, “he had plans to take Blackwood Hotels international. He wanted Blackwood to be a global empire. It was everything to him. But then…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “He died before he had the chance to. And when I took over as CEO, I did everything I could to keep his dream alive, to make sure his vision of Blackwood in every major city around the world became a reality.”
I blink, and shake my head, clearing out the last traces of the party fog. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” I reply. “What does any of that have to do with me?”
His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly as his gaze locks onto mine. “I’m sorry,” he grunts, his voice low. “I should never have dragged you into this. The board… they told me they wanted someone who came across as a ‘family man.’ And, let’s face it, I clearly wasn’t what they wanted, not with my—” he pauses, his lips pressing together as he swallows, “my dating life all over the tabloids. The deal was about to fall through because of it. And then you… you walked in, and I—” He stops, running a hand through his hair in frustration as his eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Amara.”
God , he has got to stop saying my name like that. It does things to me I don’t even want to think about. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his posture stiff. He’s clearly just as uncomfortable as I am.
And yet, I ask the last thing I ever expected.
“How exactly would this plan of yours work?”
His eyes widen just a little, like I’ve shocked him as much as I’ve shocked myself. I can’t believe I just asked that. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this.
Nicholas takes a slow breath, straightening his tie and smoothing a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. He’s in control again, and I can see it in the way he shifts into pitch mode.
“It wouldn’t be for long. The board’s already on board, and we’ve got the resources to make this happen. All I need is to convince them I’m serious about this. About… you.”
Color rushes to my face, and when his gaze narrows slightly, I know he sees it. Great. Just what I need—my emotions all over my face.
The idea of pretending to be Nicholas Blackwood’s wife, or fiancée, or whatever this charade is, fills me with dread. The paparazzi would have a field day. The tabloids would have my face plastered all over them, dissecting my every move. I don’t think I could handle it, especially if he takes the company global. It won’t just be New York, but the whole world watching us, judging, expecting me to be something I’m definitely not.
I shake my head, stepping back until I bump into the edge of his desk. The cold wood presses against me as I struggle to catch my breath. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
I lift my eyes to meet his, and for a second, I catch the faintest flicker in Nicholas’s gaze… Disappointment, maybe? It’s gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. He nods, his voice softer now. “Of course. I understand. I didn’t think this through. I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t be okay with it.”
The mention of Liam churns my stomach. “No, it’s not that. We, uh… We actually broke up.”
His eyebrows lift, just a tiny bit, the surprise flashing across his face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “We just… grew apart,” I lie.
It’s bad enough being cheated on by your boyfriend of five years, let alone having to bring it up with your boss.
Nicholas nods, his hand lifting thoughtfully as he hums under his breath. “If a boyfriend isn’t the issue, may I ask what is?”
His gaze locks onto mine, dark and intense, and I can’t help it, he pulls me in, despite every part of me telling me not to. I don’t want to be attracted to him. But it’s hard not to, not with the way he looks at me. Every woman seems to fall for his charm, and I’m apparently no different.
“It’s frowned upon for bosses and assistants to… date,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, betraying me when I see him take a step closer. His gaze never leaves mine, and I hate how my pulse quickens in response.
He smirks as he steps even closer, his presence overwhelming. “True, but not unorthodox.”
I shake my head, trying to focus. “I just… What will people think when they hear we’re… engaged?” The word feels alien on my tongue, like I’m saying something that doesn’t belong to me. Once upon a time—hell, even five days ago—I thought I’d be getting engaged to Liam. And now here I am, being asked to pretend to be my boss’s fiancée.
Nicholas’s smirk deepens, and my grip tightens on the desk behind me. “They’ll think you came into my office for more than coffee runs.”
A rush of color floods my face as his words crash over me. I shake my head, unsure whether I heard him right, wondering if he really just implied that we…
“I don’t…” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I don’t understand how this would work. No one will believe this.”
He stops in his tracks, his brows furrowing, eyes locked onto mine. “What do you mean by that?”
What do I mean? How can he not see it? Surely, he must understand why some people would find this impossible to believe.
I exhale, my neck hot and tense. “I don’t look like the girls you’re usually seen with, Mr. Blackwood,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend, unwilling to meet his gaze. Afraid of what I might see in his eyes.
The silence stretches, and I brace myself for him to agree, maybe even apologize, and suggest this plan be scrapped. But then his voice breaks the silence, low, rumbling, and somehow darker than before, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Is that what the problem is?” His eyes lock onto mine, dark and piercing. “You don’t think I’m attracted to you?”
The air thickens, pressing down on me from all sides. I try to stand my ground, but my heart is racing out of my chest. “Are you?” I ask before I can stop myself, immediately regretting the words as they slip past my lips.
It must be the alcohol still lingering in my system making me see things. There’s no other explanation for the way Nicholas’s eyes slow their scan of my face, taking in every detail, every inch of me, until they finally land on my lips. He takes a step closer, and my breath catches in my throat. My lips part instinctively, like they’ve been waiting for this moment, and then—
“Mr. Blackwood.”
The interruption is sudden. Two quick knocks at the door, and Nicholas steps back, once, twice, eyes flicking over me from head to toe before turning to face the door.
“Yes?”
The door swings open, and Sophie appears, her eyes widening when she sees me. Her gaze flicks back and forth between us, before landing on him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir. Amara’s line was ringing off the hook, and I hadn’t seen her for a while, so I picked up the phone.”
Nicholas doesn’t immediately respond, his eyes flicking to me, as if just now realizing that I’m still here, still caught in the middle of whatever this is.
“Alexander wants to speak to you, sir,” Sophie adds, her voice now laced with a touch of concern.
Nicholas closes his eyes, a vein popping in his neck as he exhales sharply. “Thank you, Sophie.” He turns toward her, his posture stiff. “I’ll take it from here.”
Sophie nods and glances at me, her eyes filled with questions, but I just clear my throat and make my way to the door.
“I should…” I murmur, struggling to finish the sentence as I step away from his desk. Nicholas gives me a brief nod before I close the door behind me, his words still clinging to the air.
I know Sophie must have a million questions—as do I—and she doesn’t even wait until the door closes before tugging me by my elbow.
“What the hell were you doing in there for so long?” she asks, lowering her voice as we walk toward our desk.
I let out a heavy breath, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”