Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
brOOKS
The moment the door clicks shut, sealing the nurse and her suffocating cheerfulness in the hallway, I drop Ivy Sullivan's hand.
I don't just let it go. I fling it away like it's a piece of burning coal, letting it fall back against the sterile white sheet.
Her skin lingers on my palm, an irritating ghost sensation that I immediately scrub off against the rough hospital blanket.
The performance is over.
I let my head fall back against the pillow, closing my eyes as the room tilts on a sickening, violent axis.
The pain is a living thing, a dull, rhythmic thumping behind my right eye that feels less like a headache and more like a structural failure.
Cherub, I think, the word floating through the haze of my concussion. She tackled me into a cherub.
I should be angry. I am angry. But mostly, I am stunned by the sheer, unmitigated audacity of the woman currently standing by my bed.
I open my eyes.
Ivy is still frozen in place, her hand hovering where I dropped it.
Her face, pale, wide-eyed, framed by hair that looks like it went twelve rounds with a hedge trimmer, is a portrait of pure, unadulterated panic. She looks like a deer that has not only been caught in the headlights but has also realized it is driving the car.
"You're good," I say. My voice is rough, scraping against the silence. "I almost believed you myself."
Ivy flinches. She lowers her hand slowly, clutching her other wrist as if checking that the plastic hospital bracelet, the one that claims she's my fiancée, is still there.
"Brooks," she starts, her voice trembling but miraculously steadying itself. "I can explain."
"Can you?" I ask. "Can you explain why you assaulted me in a garden, kidnapped me in an ambulance, and then committed identity fraud to gain access to my recovery room? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like a very specific kind of felony bingo."
She winces. "I didn't kidnap you. I escorted you."
"And the 'fiancée' thing?" I gesture vaguely to her wrist with my IV hand. "Was that an escort service too?"
"That was... crisis management." She takes a breath, straightening her spine.
It's an impressive physical reset, watching her transform from terrified hostage to professional handler in real time.
"The nurse wouldn't let me back here. It was 'family only.
' I needed to make sure you were okay before I left.
I needed to know you weren't going to... you know."
"Die?"
"Sue," she corrects.
I let out a short, dry laugh that immediately punishes my bruised ribs. "Right. Because the best way to avoid a lawsuit is to impersonate a future spouse."
"It worked, didn't it?"
"Oh, it worked beautifully," I agree. "Nurse Ratched is currently updating my chart with my 'next of kin.' I imagine the hospital billing department is thrilled."
I try to sit up, gritting my teeth as the vertigo washes over me. I force it down through sheer will. I need to be vertical for this. I need to be the one looking down, not the one looking up.
"Phone," I demand, holding out my hand again.
Ivy hesitates. She glances at the black rectangle charging on the bedside table, then back at me. "You shouldn't. The doctor said screens are bad for—"
"Ivy," I say, keeping my voice low and level. "Give. Me. The. Phone."
She picks it up and hands it to me with the reluctance of someone handing over a loaded weapon.
She's right to be worried.
I unlock the screen. The brightness stabs at my eyes, but I squint through it. There are fourteen missed calls. Six are from my mother. Four are from my assistant. Three are from my father.
And one email. Marked urgent. From the board of directors.
I open it.
Subject: Merger Timeline Update
Brooks,
I received a "courtesy call" from Royce Aston. As you know, he sits on the board at River Bend Memorial in addition to our own.
He tells me the ER intake flagged your admission this evening. He claims he was calling out of concern, but he was asking pointed questions about your sobriety and mental state. Whispers of a 'collapse' are already circulating among the donors.
Is it drugs? A breakdown?
The board is spooked. Aston is already stirring the pot, asking if you're fit to lead the acquisition of the Holloway Group. We are moving the closing date to the end of the fiscal quarter. Labor Day.
We expect a clean bill of health and zero public scandals between now and then.
If the deal falls through because of your 'impulsive behavior,' we pull the funding.
— Dad.
I stare at the words.
Royce Aston. Of course. The man has been trying to snake my position for years, and now he has a direct line to my medical records. He didn't call my father to help; he called to plant the seed of doubt.
Is it drugs?
Not Are you in pain? Not Do you have brain damage?
Just How does this look?
My own father hears I'm unconscious in a hospital, and his first instinct isn't to drive here; it's to check the stock price and push the closing date.
Labor Day. The rest of the summer.
They are benching me. All because Aston has them convinced I'm volatile.
"Is it bad?" Ivy asks. Her voice is small.
I look up at her. She's chewing on her lower lip, twisting a loose thread on that ruined champagne dress.
She looks guilty. She looks terrified.
And she looks... useful.
I look at the email again. Zero public scandals.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I minimize the email and open a browser window. I type Ever After, Inc. into the search bar.
The website loads instantly. I tap on the 'About Us' page. Three smiling faces stare back at me. Ivy Sullivan. Maddy Chang. Savannah Kingston.
I check the footer of the page. Ever After, Inc. An LLC. Excellent. That means they have assets. That means they have something to lose.
My brain, which usually runs on spreadsheets and risk assessment algorithms, makes a sudden, lateral jump.
I look at Ivy. I look at the 'Fiancée' bracelet on her wrist. I remember the nurse's beaming face.
That's true love, right there.
The lie is already in the system. The witness, Mason Kincaid, saw the assault. The hospital staff saw the devotion.
If I deny it, I'm the unstable guy who got into a brawl at a wedding, exactly the narrative Aston is trying to sell.
If I lean into it... I'm the settled, happy man who had a minor accident while celebrating with his fiancée.
I look at Ivy again. Really look at her.
Under the dirt and the panic, she's... polished. Attractive, in a sharp, dangerous sort of way. She handled the nurse with the ease of a politician. She stood up to me even when she was terrified.
She's a fixer. A professional liar.
And right now, she owes me.
"Ivy," I say slowly. "You work for Ever After, Inc., don't you? You and your friends own it."
She blinks, confused by the pivot. "Yes. Maddy, Savvy, and me. We're partners."
"LLC?"
"Yes."
"And you don't have corporate liability insurance that covers 'assaulting a guest,' do you?"
Her face goes chalk-white. "Brooks. Please. Don't sue the company. Sue me if you have to. I have... a savings account. I have a 2018 Honda Civic. You can have it."
"I don't want your Honda Civic," I say, dismissing the offer with a wave of my hand. "And I don't want to sue your company. That sounds like a lot of paperwork."
She lets out a breath, her shoulders sagging. "Thank God. Thank you. I promise, I'll sign whatever you want. An NDA, a settlement agreement, whatever..."
"I don't want that," I interrupt.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room spins, but I plant my feet on the cold floor and wait for the horizon to settle.
I look her dead in the eye.
"I want a fiancée."
Ivy stares at me. "What?"
"My board has pushed the closing to Labor Day," I say, checking the date on my phone.
"That's eight weeks from now. I spent my twenties convincing them I wasn't my father's reckless son anymore.
One hospital visit, and they think I'm falling back into old patterns.
They think I'm volatile. They think I'm a liability. "
"Volatile?" Ivy asks, her brow furrowing in confusion. "It was a thirty-second scuffle in a garden, Brooks. No one even saw what happened. And even if they did, no one has said a word. There's no scandal."
"There is now," I say, turning the phone so she can see the screen. "Someone at the intake desk flagged my name. My father got a call from a hospital board member asking if I was all right." I let the implication sink in. "As if I'd been found face-down in a gutter somewhere."
Ivy blinks. "What?"
"That's the problem," I explain. "The wedding guests didn't see anything, so there is no story to contradict the rumors starting right here in this room. The board knows I'm hospitalized, but they don't know why. It's a vacuum, Ivy. And they are filling it with 'breakdown.'"
I gesture to her wrist.
"You've already provided the narrative to fill that vacuum. I need you to stick to the script."
"You..." She shakes her head, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "You're joking. You have a concussion. You're delirious."
"I have never been clearer," I say. "Here is the deal. You put me in this bed. You created the question mark hanging over my career. So, you are going to help me answer it."
"You want me to... pretend to be your fiancée? For real?"
"For eight weeks," I say. "We spend the summer in the Hamptons. My parents are hosting the season at Eastmoor. You will come with me. You'll charm my mother, impress my father, and smile for the cameras while looking lovingly into my eyes so I can close this deal."
"You're insane," she whispers. "I can't do that. I have a job! I have a life! I can't leave for two months to play house with a man I—with a man I don't even know."
"You have a job if you still have a company," I point out softly.
The threat lands. I see it hit her. Her eyes widen, filling with horror.
"You wouldn't."
"I would," I lie.
I wouldn't. Suing a wedding planner is terrible PR. But she doesn't know that. She sees a venture capitalist in a tailored suit, or at least a hospital gown that used to be a suit, and she assumes I am a monster.
I might as well use the reputation.
"Negligence," I list off, counting on my fingers.
"Emotional distress. Loss of business opportunities due to physical injury.
I could tie Ever After, Inc. up in court for years.
Your friends, Maddy? Savvy? They'd be deposed.
Their assets frozen. The legal fees alone would bankrupt a boutique agency in six months. "
Ivy looks sick. She takes a step back, hitting the wall. "This is blackmail."
"This is a transaction," I correct. "You broke it. You buy it."
She stares at me, her chest heaving. Her mind is racing, looking for an exit, looking for a contingency plan. But there isn't one. I have the leverage, and she knows it.
"What happens after Labor Day?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
"We break up," I say. "Amicably. We issue a joint statement. Conscious uncoupling. You get to be the one who leaves me, if you want. It plays better for sympathy."
"And the lawsuit?"
"Disappears. I sign a full waiver of liability the day the deal closes. You walk away free and clear."
She shuts her eyes. She presses the heels of her hands against her forehead, rubbing hard.
"My friends," she says. "I can't lie to them. Maddy will know. Savvy will definitely know. They were there, Brooks. They saw me tackle you. They know I think you're..." She trails off.
"An arrogant prick?" I supply.
She opens her eyes. "I was going to say, 'a menace,' but sure."
"Fine," I concede. "I don't care if your partners know, as long as the board doesn't. But they sign NDAs. If this leaks to the press, the deal is off, and I file the lawsuit."
She drops her hands. She looks at me. The panic is still there, but it's hardening into something else. Resignation. Determination.
"Eight weeks," she says.
"Until Labor Day."
"And I have to go to the Hamptons."
"Pack a bag. We leave on Friday."
She looks down at her wrist again, at the curling thermal paper that sealed her fate. She looks back up at me, and for a second, I see the fire that made her launch herself across a garden path.
"You're a monster," she says.
I offer her a thin, predatory grin.
"I'm a businessman, Ivy. And you're my best asset."