Chapter 4
SASHA
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the open window, a sound so foreign to me that it took me a moment to remember where I was. In my old apartment, my morning call came in the form of police sirens or the sound of shattering glass.
Denver's penthouse was in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods surrounding Huntington Harbor. Surrounded by trees in the hills, and sprawling estates, we were far from the noise and pollution of the city. The bed was enormous, the sheets impossibly soft, and for a moment, I allowed myself to sink into the luxury of it all. Then reality came crashing back.
I was living with Denver Roberts. The man who had turned my life upside down in a matter of days. The man who was now, technically, my fake boyfriend. The thought made my stomach churn. I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, and glanced around the room. My suitcase was still half-packed with my clothes spilling out onto the floor. I hadn't bothered to unpack last night, too overwhelmed by the sudden changes in my life.
I slipped out of bed and padded to the attached bathroom. With quick steps, I half-skipped and half-tiptoed my way across the room. The tile floor was freezing against my bare feet, and I made a note to buy some slippers if I was going to be living here for the next six months. Spotless glass and white marble surrounded me in the bathroom which was as big as my apartment bedroom. The sink and counters were made of a single piece of unblemished marble, and the walk-in shower which was big enough for a football team was surrounded by gleaming glass walls. Next to the shower was a sleek oval bathtub that looked like something out of an alien spaceship.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that had woken me. The stalker's face had been blurred, but his voice had been clear as he whispered threats that made my blood run cold.
By the time I finished my morning ritual, I heard the faint sound of clinking dishes coming from the kitchen. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday. As I got dressed, I hesitated, unsure if I was ready to face Denver. But my stomach made the final decision. The smell of coffee and something sweet wafting through the air was too tempting to resist.
I found him in the kitchen, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. To my surprise, there wasn't a personal chef at the stove like I had expected a CEO of his wealth to have. He was there, flipping pancakes with a practiced ease that surprised me. The sight was so domestic, so unlike the image of the grumpy billionaire I had in my head, that I couldn't help but stare.
"Morning," he said without looking up. "I hope you like pancakes."
"I do," I replied, my voice still rough from sleep. I leaned against the counter and watched him. "I didn't take you for the cooking type."
He smirked as he flipped a pancake onto a plate. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sasha."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a challenge?"
He glanced at me, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Maybe. My household staff has the weekend off. They do have their own families that I'm sure they want to spend some time with instead of hanging out here all the time."
I rolled my eyes and moved to the table, where a cup of coffee was already waiting for me. To my surprise, it was exactly how I liked it, a dash of cream with a teaspoon of sugar. How did he figure out how I liked my coffee in the short time we had known each other? Denver Roberts was a curiosity. I took a sip, savoring the rich, bold flavor. "You're full of surprises, Denver."
He set a plate of pancakes in front of me, along with a small bowl of fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup. "Eat. We have a lot to discuss."
I picked up my fork, cutting into the fluffy pancake. "Like what?"
He sat across from me, his own plate in hand. "Like how we're going to sell this relationship to the board. And to the public. We have this weekend to figure everything out before we make our debut at the office."
I chewed slowly, considering his words. "I've been thinking about that. It needs to look real. We don't want people to think we're in love or anything."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're worried people might think we're in love?"
I felt my cheeks heat up. "No. I'm just saying we need to be careful, make it look natural. It's way too out of the blue and unexpected. We don't want to give anyone the wrong idea."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "And what's the wrong idea, Sasha?"
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. "You know what I mean. We're not actually together. If we keep this simple, then it will be easier to disentangle out of the situation at the end of six months. We can just say that we dated and things didn't work out in the end. This is just an arrangement."
He nodded, but there was something in his expression that made me uneasy. "Right. Just an arrangement."
We ate in silence for a few minutes, his words hanging in the air. Finally, I set my fork down and looked at him. "So, what's the plan?"
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "First, we need to make it look like we've been together for a while. That means we'll have to come up with a story about how we met, how long we've been dating, all that."
I nodded. "Okay. What else?"
"We'll need to make public appearances. Events, press conferences, fashion shows, that kind of thing. We'll have to act like a couple in front of the cameras. In fact, there's a charity event to raise funds for the local children's hospital next Saturday."
I frowned. "So soon? I'm not exactly comfortable with that."
"I know," he said, his voice softening. "But it's necessary. If we're going to convince the board, we need to make this look real."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. But we stick to the boundaries we agreed on. No kissing, no touching, none of that."
He rolled his eyes. "We will have to touch each other a little bit to make it convincing, Sasha."
I blew out a breath and glared at him. "Okay, fine, but we keep it family-friendly. Hugging and kisses on the cheeks only."
He nodded. "Agreed."
We spent the next hour hashing out the details of our plan, from the story of how we met to the events we would attend. By the time we were done, I felt a little more in control, but the weight of what we were doing still hung over me. Could I really pull it off? A part of me felt like a fraud.
As I stood to clear the table, Denver reached out and gently grabbed my wrist. "Sasha."
I looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "What?"
"I know this isn't easy for you. But I want you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to protect you. From the stalker, from the board, from everything. No matter what happens with this fake relationship, I will keep you safe and give you an opportunity to lead your own line."
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "Thank you, Denver."
He released my wrist, and I quickly turned away to escape to the dishwasher. I busied myself with the dishes while he cleaned up the kitchen table. But his words lingered in my mind, stirring up emotions I wasn't ready to face. This arrangement was supposed to be simple, but already, it was becoming anything but.
For the rest of the afternoon, we fell into a strange rhythm. Denver worked from home in an office on the other side of the penthouse. I could hear him on the phone and the sounds of his typing on his computer through the closed doors. His presence was a constant reminder that I wasn't alone.
While he was in the office, I explored the penthouse and settled on setting up my workspace in the living room. I spread out my sketches on the sofa and coffee table. Soon, I was lost in the flow of work as I added finishing touches to the sketches.
For lunch, I rummaged around the fridge and found the supplies to make a turkey and ham sandwich. Denver didn't emerge from his office until it was almost sunset.
"Do you like seafood?" He asked. His shirt slightly rumpled and there was a determined set to his jaw that told me he had been deep in work all day. As he made his way to the fridge, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing lean tanned muscles that flexed with each movement. My breath caught in my throat and I clenched my fingers on the edge of the table like they were his arms.
I nodded. Clearing my throat, I found my voice. "Yeah, what do you have in mind?"
"How about grilled halibut in a garlic white wine sauce with roasted vegetables? I figured we could have something lighter and healthier after all the pancakes this morning."
My stomach grumbled and Denver smirked at the noise. "How about you help prepare a salad while I cook?" he asked.
I mock-saluted him and took the knife and cutting board he handed me.
We worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the soft hum of the refrigerator. It was oddly domestic, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in the moment. Despite being forced to live together under unfortunate circumstances, there was something nice about this. About him.
As I chopped the vegetables, I couldn't help but hum under my breath.
"What's that song?" Denver asked.
"Just something I made up," I said with a grin. "It's called Denver's Glare Could Freeze Hell Over." He shot me a look, but I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
"So," Denver said, breaking the silence. "How's the design coming along?"
I glanced up, surprised he'd asked. "It's going. I'm still working out some details, but I think it's coming together."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I'd like to see it sometime. If you're comfortable sharing."
I hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure. Maybe after dinner."
He smiled, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. There was something about his smile, so rare and genuine, that made him look boyish. Not the grumpy billionaire who left a trail of broken hearts and scandals in his wake. Right now, he was just a man who, despite everything, seemed to care about my work.
We finished preparing dinner and sat down at the table, the salad and grilled fish between us with a bottle of wine. The first few bites were quiet and stilted, but as the meal went on, the conversation began to flow more naturally.
"You're a good cook," I said. "I didn't expect that."
He raised an eyebrow. "What, you thought I lived on takeout?"
"Not exactly," I replied. "More like personal chefs who served you caviar and lobster on silver trays."
Denver barked out a laugh and took a sip of his wine. "You're a fashion designer. I figured your talents were limited to fabric and thread, not kitchen knives."
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "Well, believe it or not, I can multitask. Cooking helps me unwind. It's a lot like designing, putting together a mix of ingredients to create something new."
He tilted his head, studying me with those piercing blue eyes. "Interesting. I guess we're more alike than I thought."
I snorted and flaked off a piece of halibut with my fork. "Don't push it, Denver. We're nothing alike."
"You keep telling yourself that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you're underestimating how much we have in common."
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. "Whatever you say, boss."
The nickname slipped out before I could stop it, and Denver's smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the soft light. "I like it when you call me that."
"Don't get used to it," I muttered, shoving a bite of food into my mouth to avoid saying anything else stupid, though my heated cheeks gave away my embarrassment.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. All of the awkward tension that was there earlier faded away with each passing moment. It was strange, how easily we fell into this rhythm after less than twenty-four hours of living together.
"So," he said, breaking the silence again. "You said you'd show me your designs after dinner. Still up for it?"
I hesitated, surprised he'd remembered. "Yeah, sure. But fair warning, they're not finished. And they're different from what XMGH usually does."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Good. Different is what we need. This new American line has to stand out. It's our chance to shake things up."
I nodded, feeling a spark of excitement despite myself. "Alright. Let's do it."
We cleared the table together, the silence between us easy now, almost companionable. When we were done, I led him to the living room where I'd spread out my sketches earlier.
They were scattered across the coffee table, each one a bold, daring vision that I'd poured my heart into.
Denver stood beside me, his presence both comforting and unnerving as he studied the sketches. His eyes moved methodically over each design, his expression unreadable.
I worried my bottom lip between my teeth as I waited for his reaction. This was the first time I'd shown my work to anyone outside of Margot and my social media following. The vulnerability of it made my stomach clench.
"These are incredible," he said finally, his voice low and sincere. He picked up one of the sketches, a gown with large angular shoulder pads and intricate lace flowing down to a dramatic train. "It's bold but delicate at the same time."
I nodded. "That's the effect I was going for. A lot of people think it's a design mistake rather than a deliberate choice."
He glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm not just a grumpy billionaire, Sasha. I know art when I see it. And this? This is art."
My cheeks warmed at the compliment, and I looked away, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks. I've been working on these for a while. They're not exactly what XMGH is known for, though."
"Not yet," he said. "That's why they're perfect. XMGH needs to evolve." He gestured to the table. "And this is the future. It's fresh and daring."
I felt a lump form in my throat, his words hitting me harder than I expected. For so long, I'd felt like an outsider in the fashion world, like my ideas were too unconventional. But hearing Denver of all people validate my work meant more to me than I wanted to admit.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He set the sketch down on the table. Our hands brushed and a flash of heat ran through my body. His presence was overwhelmingly close and I was far too aware of every breath he took. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just stating the obvious. You're talented, Sasha. And I'm not just saying that because you're my fake girlfriend."
I laughed. "Good to know."
He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "But since you are my fake girlfriend, I think it's only fair that I get to see these designs come to life. How about we make this the centerpiece of the new American line?"
My heart skipped a beat. I gaped at him, unsure if I'd heard him correctly. "You're serious about this?"
"Deadly," he said. "These designs are exactly what XMGH needs to stay relevant. They'll make a statement and launch the American line with a splash. This is your chance to show the world what you're capable of."
I felt a rush of emotions. Excitement, disbelief, and a flicker of fear. This was everything I'd been working toward, everything I'd dreamed of. But it was also terrifying. What if I wasn't ready? What if I failed?
"Denver, I don't know what to say," I stammered, my mind racing.
He reached out, squeezing my hand in a gesture that was surprisingly gentle. "Say you'll do it. You've earned this, Sasha. Don't let fear hold you back."
I looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but all I saw was confidence in me, in my work. It was the push I needed.
"Okay," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me. "I'll do it."
His smile was triumphant, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. "Good. We'll announce it at the charity event next week. It'll be the perfect platform to introduce your work to the world."
I nodded, still processing everything. "Thank you, Denver. For believing in me."
He shrugged, his expression softening. "It's not hard to believe in someone as talented as you, Sasha. Just don't let it go to your head."
I laughed, the tension easing as I shook my head. "Don't worry, I'll keep my ego in check."
"Good," he said, his tone teasing. "Remember to keep us little people in mind once you have your own brand and become a household name."
I rolled my eyes. He was being over the top. Like I was ever going to be the next Vivienne Westwood.
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, it felt like we were just two people, joking and teasing like any normal couple.
"Let's rehearse how we're going to announce our relationship at the office," he said.
Reality came crashing back, reminding me that this wasn't real. It was just an arrangement, a means to an end.