2. Nathan - The Gamble
Chapter Two
NATHAN - THE GAMBLE
I watch her walk out, heels clicking like a countdown to my insanity. Dana Roberts—sharp eyes, quick wit, and the only person who’s ever told me my tie collection is a crime against fashion. On her first day, no less.
She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but I do.
On top of this emotional tug-of-war, I’ve just convinced her to spend an entire weekend pretending to be my girlfriend. Brilliant move, Clarke.
I push off the desk and exhale sharply. This is risky, but I’m out of options.
The Montclair suburban development would change everything—luxury retail, high-end residential, the kind of project that builds empires.
But Wallace Harris controls the zoning board, and he sees single men as liabilities, not visionaries. To get his support, I need to prove I’m stable, reliable—exactly the kind of man he wants shaping the future of his community.
Dana solves that problem. She’s polished, articulate, and knows how to handle difficult clients. For years she’s been running interference—talking down angry board members, charming potential investors, and quietly restructuring our operations to cut unnecessary costs.
Most people would have nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Not Dana—she questions everything, challenges inefficiencies, and somehow makes the company stronger for it. The way she pushed back just now? It wasn’t the first time. And that’s exactly why I need her.
I return to my office chair and flip open my laptop, but my focus wavers. Three years ago, she was just managing my schedule. Now, she’s restructuring entire projects and becoming one of the few people I’d actually trust to do so. I’ve watched her turn her personal assistant role into something more—something indispensable.
It’s no wonder investors listen when she speaks.
No wonder I do.
And this weekend, while we’re pretending—when I don’t have to keep my hands to myself, when she’ll have to smile at me like she means it—I could push that boundary to see how deep the attraction really goes.
It’s dangerous.
I drag a hand down my face, shaking off the thought.
Get it together, Nathan. This weekend is about securing Harris’s support. It’s about proving that I’m more than the ruthless developer he thinks I am.
I glance at my schedule, noting the early departure. If we leave by eight sharp, we’ll have enough time to settle in before the first item on the itinerary.
The intercom buzzes. “Yes?”
“Just confirming,” Dana says, her voice crisp but laced with exasperation. “We leave at 8 a.m. tomorrow, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Should I bring anything specific?”
I smirk. “Just your best impression of someone madly in love with me.”
There’s a pause, and I can practically feel her glare through the line.
“I meant for the client briefing, Mr. Clarke.”
“My answer remains the same,” I tease, testing the limits of how much flirtation I can get away with before I lose myself to her.
The intercom clicks off sharply in response, and I laugh under my breath. She’s going to make this weekend hell for me. I probably deserve it.
I arrive at her apartment building at exactly 7:57 a.m. She never gave me her address, but I’ve had it on file for years—for business, for emergencies. For other reasons I don’t let myself examine too closely.
Dana’s punctual to a fault, so I’m not surprised when she’s waiting in the lobby with a small suitcase in hand.
What does surprise me is how she looks.
Gone is the buttoned-up assistant; in her place stands a woman with dark jeans that fit her curves perfectly, a fitted jacket, and fresh curls framing her face. She could make a paper bag look sophisticated.
She spots my car and starts making her way toward it. In response, I step out to greet her, taking her suitcase. I place it gently in the backseat, unsure what exactly she’s packed.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I offer a smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she replies, slipping into the passenger seat without another word.
Once we’re on the road, the silence between us feels comfortable. She’s scrolling through her phone. I sneak glances at her screen while we’re sitting in Manhattan traffic and notice that she’s triple-checking every detail of the weekend. Reclaiming my attention, I grip the steering wheel, forcing myself to focus on the taillights ahead of us.
“So,” I say, breaking the quiet. “Ready to play the role of a lifetime?”
She lowers her phone, giving me a skeptical look. “You mean playing your loving, devoted girlfriend?”
“Exactly.”
She snorts—then catches herself, clearing her throat as if smoothing over the slip. “Lower your expectations, Mr. Clarke. I’m not much of an actress.”
“I disagree,” I parry. “Remember last month’s board meeting? You convinced Thompson that I was in Dubai when I was actually nursing a hangover.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “That was different. This is…”
“A challenge?”
“A mistake,” she states firmly. “This whole thing—” she gestures between the two of us as she continues her thought, “terrible idea.”
“Probably.”
“Then why are we doing it?”
“Because the company needs this,” I admit, “and I can’t do it without you.”
That catches her attention. She looks at me—really looks at me—like she’s deciphering some code that surrounds me. “Deceit is dangerous, Mr. Clarke.”
“So is crossing the line, but here we are.”
When we arrive at the marina, a gleaming yacht dominates the view—large enough to host a full party, but not gaudy enough to be mistaken for a cruise ship. It’s the kind of ostentatious display that doesn’t need flashy colors to scream old money. Harris doesn’t just have power—he flaunts it.
Dana steps out of the car, her gaze flicking between the yacht and me. Her brows lift. “Wow. It’s…big.”
I press my lips together fighting the immediate, entirely unprofessional thought that wants to follow.
She turns to me, deadpan. “Don’t.”
I smirk, shrugging innocently. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“What can I say? Some things just demand appreciation.”
She exhales, shaking her head before narrowing her eyes. “Please tell me I don’t have to share a room with you.”
I grin. “Would it be so terrible?”
She gives me a look that could freeze hell. “Yes.”
“Relax,” I reply, grabbing her suitcase. “The suite is big enough that you’ll hardly notice I’m there.”
We board, and a crew member escorts us to our suite. Dana’s sharp intake of breath when she sees the room almost makes me laugh—polished wood floors, a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, and a private balcony overlooking the water. Harris knows how to impress.
“There’s only one bed,” she notes, tone flat.
I set her suitcase down. “Part of the act.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re enjoying this too much, Mr. Clarke.”
The formality makes me pause. “You realize you can’t call me that this weekend, right?” I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. “Unless you want Harris thinking this is some kind of workplace harassment situation.”
A flash of something crosses her face—annoyance? Amusement? “Fine. Nathan .”
The way she says my name shouldn’t affect me like it does.
“What’s your plan here?” she asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Charm Harris with your wit and good looks while I stand by and smile?”
“Something like that,” I reply, trying to make it sound like I’m weighing options. “Except you’ll be doing more than smiling. Harris and his wife value strong partnerships. I need you to be yourself—just with a little extra affection for me.”
A grin spreads across my lips, and I watch as her gaze flicks down to them.
“Affection,” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Think you can handle that?”
She steps closer, her gaze locking with mine, and suddenly the room feels too small. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she murmurs, “I’m here because you asked me to be. But if you push me too far, I’ll walk. And I don’t care if it costs you this deal.”
Her words hit like the bell in a boxing match, and damn if I don’t respect her more for it. “Noted,” I respond.
She steps back, giving me one last look before turning toward her suitcase. “Good. Now get out so I can unpack.”
I leave the room, my pulse racing.
This weekend is going to be interesting.