Chapter 6
NATE
“Let me get this straight,” Grayson, my best friend since childhood, says over the phone. “You convinced the girl who made the tabloids with you to be your fake fiancée for the next six months.”
I let out a groan, falling deeper into the cushioned leather of my car seat. “Yes.”
“And in exchange, you’re paying for her PhD?”
It sounds so stupid when he says it like that.
“Yes.”
“And now you’re about to spend an evening with her for the first time outside of your fated run-ins?”
“Yes,” I mutter.
“And you really think this is going to fix all your problems?” Grayson asks with genuine curiosity.
For the first time since this conversation started, my answer to his question is no, but I can’t bring myself to respond. This plan has no choice but to work. Otherwise, I’m screwed.
“Oh, this is rich.” Grayson’s fit of laughter dissolves into a harsh, deathly wheeze. “I want to be mad that I had to call to find this out, but honestly, this might be the best thing that’s happened to you.”
I give in to the inevitable roll of my eyes.
Filling Grayson in about the mess that’s become my life these past couple of weeks was not on my to-do list. Ever. I planned to move on as if nothing had happened and fulfill my reputation-fixing duties without a second thought.
But when he called and brought up the topic of those horrid headlines—there was no avoiding it. The engagement still hasn’t been announced, but I thought the news would be better heard from me than from the grapevine.
That’s how I found myself divulging all sorts of information—from Melanie’s stalking tendencies to today’s rehearsal engagement dinner.
You’d think a best friend would have more sympathy for the absolute shit show that’s become my life, but I’m afraid I’ve been proven wrong.
“Okay, okay. Apologies for all the teasing. But look on the bright side—no more dates with your mom’s friends’ daughters!” Grayson’s laughter fades to a loud ringing as the blood drains from my face.
My mother.
My father.
My sister.
Fuck. Even my brother. They can never find out.
The man snorts when I make my stance known. “You seriously think you’re getting away with this without them ever finding out?”
“Yes?” Even I don’t sound convinced.
“Yeah, good luck with that, Nate. Your parents read every news article written about you and frame your accomplishments on the living room wall. You aren’t getting away with this. But for now, tell me about the fake fiancée? What’s the verdict? Is she pretty? Miraculously and exactly your type?”
“Shut up, Grayson,” I say, now officially annoyed.
The man chuckles lightly. “Looks like I got my answer.”
“Even if I were to find her attractive, the girl would never go for me—she hates me with a passion that could rival the fiery pits of hell. I’ve been raised well enough not to chase women who want nothing to do with me.”
“Sounds like an enemies-to-lovers pipeline if I’ve ever heard one!”
I groan in disbelief. “I don’t know where you get these things from.”
The man laughs a little too mysteriously for my liking, but it falls short when the insistent beeping of his pager cuts him off. “I’ll be back. Don’t think I’ve let you off the hook.” The call ends with a sharp beep before I can object.
A firm knock on my car window startles me. I flinch on instinct and turn to see the woman of the hour. With the slight press of a button, I lower the tinted glass by an inch—just enough to see her angry brown eyes glaring into mine.
Vivienne sticks her finger through the barely there crack, wiggling it around. “You know, you could roll down the window a little more. I don’t bite.”
Consider me a genie because her wish just became my command.
I press the button again, lowering the window by another inch. And I can’t help but bite back my smile as her lips press into a thin line.
“You’re not funny.”
“Weird. I’m usually told the opposite.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, the motion unintentionally drawing my gaze downward before it trails over the rest of her form.
Smooth skin glows under the soft city lights.
Thick and long, wavy brown hair falls to her waist. The fitted red top tucked into dark blue jeans accentuates her hourglass figure.
Grayson might be right. Vivienne is gorgeous, and somehow, miraculously and exactly my type.
“Has anyone told you that you get distracted easily?”
My eyes snap back up to hers in a panic, an obvious smirk playing along her lips. Busted. Not that she has a right to call me out when I’ve caught her doing the same.
“Either way, I came here to tell you that your presence is required in the restaurant. A girl by the name of Melanie—who claims to be your cousin—spent the past ten minutes yelling at me for being tardy. It’s only fair you meet the same fate.”
I turn in the direction of the restaurant we’d rented out for the evening to see exactly that—a furious Melanie thrashing her arms from behind the glass windows.
Eyes red. Hair wild. Biceps bulging from the workout. By the looks of it, I’m in for far worse treatment than a ten-minute scolding.
I’m proven right when Melanie smacks my arm hard the second we walk through the restaurant doors.
Vivienne chuckles at my pain while I frown. Her win and my loss don’t last long, though, when a loud clap shatters the air, startling us both.
“Enough threats for now. Let’s get into why you’re here today.”
Melanie leads us to a circular table set up with an explosion of colors. Red, purple, pink—roses, lilies, tulips—there isn’t a shade or type of flower missing. The surface is overflowing with bouquets in pretty vases, obscuring the white tablecloth below.
“The foundation of any good relationship, real or fake, is based on common ground. Without it, this charade will fall apart. Today’s purpose is to get you to think, act, and behave like a couple.
” She ends her harsh explanation with a beaming smile and an excited wiggle of her fingers toward the flowers. “Now choose.”
I blink twice in Melanie’s direction while Vivienne stares at the table in stupor. My cousin’s face falls flat when she realizes we haven’t caught on.
“You’re supposed to pick one and agree on the bouquet for the engagement party.”
I drag a hand across my face, the rough stubble a reminder of how little time I’ve had for myself. As much as I appreciate the effort and initiative Melanie has poured into organizing all of this, I don’t see how it's supposed to help us.
We have bigger fish to fry, and she knows that.
Things at the company have only gotten worse since the stock market opened this past Monday morning. Shares are dropping. Investors are backing out. People are boycotting flights with our planes. It’s all falling apart in real time. Picking flowers should be the last thing on our minds.
“The red ones.” Vivienne points to the roses. “After all, it’s the color Nate will be drenched in by the time this arrangement is over.”
Melanie’s eyes snap to Vivienne’s, shock rippling through her as her mouth falls open.
I, on the other hand, want to be furious. Angry that my time is being wasted. But that comment lights something within me. This is the perfect opening to blow off steam in what I quickly see becoming my favorite pastime—messing with Vivienne Brown.
“Already trying to murder your fiancé?” I drawl.
“I’ve been plotting since the first day we met.” She shoots me a saccharine smile as she bats her lashes.
“Now, that’s not very kind,” I scold with a devilish smirk. “Luckily for you, I’d also pick the red roses—an ode to that little dress you wore when I first saw you, all dolled up and looking awfully like my future wife.”
Vivienne’s smile fades as quickly as it appeared, her expression turning wildly unimpressed. “Really going at it with the snark today, huh?”
“There’s no snark, only truth. I meant every word I said.” I shoot her a wink, which earns me an elbow to the arm.
The thing is, behind my overly dramatized words lies the truth. Vivienne did look beautiful that night. And in that moment, beneath the glow of the moonlight, I’ve never been drawn to anyone like I have her.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she was flirting back, and if it hadn’t been for her sudden realization that I was the guy who soaked her notebook (in her version of the story), God knows where we’d be.
Would I have asked for her number?
Would I have seen her again?
We’ll never really know.
Judging by the look on Melanie’s face, our hostile dynamic isn’t appreciated. I brace myself for the verbal assault, only to be taken aback when her death glare shifts into wide, adoring eyes.
“Gloria!” My cousin pushes past us.
“Melanie! How lovely to see you!” A middle-aged woman carrying a yoga mat and a stereo rushes over to my cousin. She drops everything to pull her in a tight hug. “Is this the future bride and groom?” Her head turns to us, eyes sparkling in excitement.
“Yes, it is. Don’t they look lovely together?” Melanie visibly swoons, her hands clasped together as her voice rises in pitch.
I stop the snort just as it’s about to escape.
Forget about public relations—Melanie missed her call in acting.
“You can go ahead and set up on the dance floor. We’ll join you in a few.” Melanie gestures to the area behind her, where restaurant tables have been shifted aside to make space.
“Dance floor?” The shock in Vivienne’s voice is palpable.
“What better way to get to know someone than to dance with them!”
My stomach drops as the realization hits me like a glass projectile landing on the ground and shattering into thousands of jagged pieces.
Absolutely not.