Chapter 12 Odin
Flashing lights and the sound of the basement door being removed from it's hinges announce our eary morning rescue. Firefighters descend with warm coats and flashlights illuminating the dark c orners as we make our way upstairs.
I squint as we emerge into the hallway. After hours in the dim, chilly confines of Nicola's basement, even the indoor lighting seems bright. I extend my hand to help Nicola navigate the steep stairs.
"Thank God," she murmurs, her fingers cold against mine. "I was starting to think we'd be down there forever.
We follow the emergency crew out the front door.
Cameras are suddenly shoved in our faces, and reporters begin shouting questions, their voices overlapping in a chaotic jumble.
"What the hell?" I instinctively move in front of Nicola, shielding her from whatever circus has materialized in her front yard.
As my vision adjusts, I take in the scene: three news vans parked haphazardly along the curb on the other side form the fire and rescue vehicles. Reporters are clutching microphones, and a small crowd of neighbors huddled in winter coats, their breath visible in the cold morning air.
At the center of it all stands Tessa Raye, gesturing dramatically as she speaks to a reporter holding a microphone emblazoned with the local news station's logo.
"The town was completely unprepared," she's saying, her voice carrying across the yard. "People trapped in their homes, power outages everywhere. It's a miracle we haven't had any casualties."
Her performance is so over-the-top it would be comical if it weren't so irritating. The snowstorm, while unexpected, was hardly the apocalyptic event she's describing. But Tessa has always had a flair for the dramatic, especially when cameras are rolling.
"Tessa," I say, keeping my voice even. "What are you doing here?"
"Just making sure everyone in town is safe after that terrible storm," she says with practiced concern, though her eyes linger on me a beat too long before sliding to Nicola.
"Interesting coincidence finding you here, Odin.
I noticed your truck when I was driving by earlier.
" Her smile tightens almost imperceptibly.
"Not many vehicles were out on the roads last night.
You must have had something... quite important to attend to. "
My jaw clenches. I hate this woman. Always have. She's been a persistent thorn in my side since high school, obsessed with me for reasons I've never understood and frankly, never cared to. Now, she's bringing her brand of small-town poison into my life, dragging Nicola into the toxic mix.
"Odin Baxter?" A reporter's voice cuts through the tension. "The billionaire developer?"
And just like that, all attention shifts. Cameras swing toward us, microphones thrust in our direction. Questions fly like bullets.
"Mr. Baxter, what brings you to Ms. Williams' home during the storm?""Are you two acquainted?""Is this related to your development project?"
Tessa interjects, her voice dripping with saccharine insinuation.
"Oh, you know Odin," she purrs. "Always rescuing damsels in distress."
I feel Nicola stiffen beside me. Her hand, still in mine, trembles slightly. I glance down at her, noting the flush creeping up her neck, the panic flickering in her eyes. This isn't just embarrassment—this is fear. Fear for her reputation, her standing in the community, her loss of privacy.
"Ms. Williams and I were discussing the structural integrity of her historic home when the storm hit," I state firmly, my tone brooki ng no argument. "As you can see, we're both fine. Now, if you'll excuse us."
I guide Nicola back inside, closing the door firmly on the barrage of follow-up questions. Through the window, I watch as the reporters turn back to Tessa, who's all too happy to continue her performance.
"Are you okay?" I ask Nicola, who's leaning against the wall, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
"No," she whispers. I'm a third-grade teacher, Odin. In a small town. Where everyone knows everyone's business and parents scrutinize every aspect of my life."
The vulnerability in her voice hits me like a physical blow. I'm accustomed to public scrutiny—it comes with the territory of being both a former rock star and a billionaire businessman. But Nicola isn't. Her life has been private, ordinary, safe. Until I crashed into it.
"I'll handle it," I promise, the words out before I can analyze them.
She laughs, a hollow sound devoid of her usual warmth. "How exactly do you plan to 'handle' the entire town of Redwood Hills gossiping about us being trapped together overnight?"
It's a fair question. One I don't immediately have an answer for.
I pace the length of her living room, mind racing.
The damage control strategies I'd employ in the business world won't work here.
This isn't about stock prices or investor confidence.
This is about a woman's reputation, her livelihood.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Riley. Of course.
"Odin, what the actual hell? Mom just called me in a panic because she saw you on the local news coming out of Nicola's house after being 'trapped together all night.' Please tell me this is some bizarre misunderstanding."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. "It's complicated, Riley."
"Un complicate it. Now. Nicola is my best friend, and if you've done anything to hurt her—"
"I haven't," I cut her off. "And I won't. I promise."
"Then explain."
I glance at Nicola, who's now sitting on her couch, head in her hands. "I can't right now. I'll call you back."
I end the call before Riley can protest, knowing I'll pay for that later. But right now, Nicola is my priority.
An idea begins to form, outlandish at first, but gaining clarity as I turn it over in my mind. It's unconventional, potentially disastrous, but it might just work.
"Nicola," I say, sitting beside her on the couch. "I have a proposition."
She looks up, wariness etched in every line of her face. "I'm listening."
"We tell everyone we're engaged."
Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open in shock. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Hear me out," I continue, warming to the idea. "A secret engagement explains why I was here during the storm. It transforms the narrative from scandalous to romantic. No one questions a man spending the night at his fiancée's house during a snowstorm."
"But we're not engaged," she sputters. "We're barely even friends."
The words sting more than they should. After last night—the conversations, the confessions, the undeniable connection that formed in the darkness of her basement—I'd thought we'd moved beyond mere acquaintances.
But she's right. Whatever is developing between us, it's nowhere near engagement territory.
"It would be fake," I clarify. "A temporary arrangement until the gossip dies down and people move on to the next scandal."
She stares at me, incredulity written across her features. "You want us to pretend to be engaged? To lie to everyone? To your family? To my students and their parents?"
Put like that, it sounds absurd. But I've built my business empire on calculated risks, on seeing opportunities where others see obstacles. And right now, a fake engagement is the cleanest solution to our very real problem.
"Yes," I say simply. "That's exactly what I'm proposing."
Nicola stands abruptly, pacing as I had moments before. "This is insane. Completely, utterly insane."
"Is it?" I challenge. "More insane than letting Tessa Raye and her gossip brigade destroy your reputation? More insane than having parents question your fitness to teach their children because you were trapped with a man during a snowstorm?"
She stops pacing, her back to me. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the internal struggle playing out in the rigid line of her spine.
"Think about it, Nicola. A fake engagement gives us control of the narrative. It protects your reputation. It gives us time to figure out..." I hesitate, unsure how to articulate the nebulous thing developing between us. "To figure out what comes next."
She turns slowly, her green eyes searching mine. "And what does come next, Odin? After we lie to everyone we care about? After we create this elaborate fiction? What happens when it all inevitably falls apart?"
It's a question I don't have a ready answer for. In business, I always have an exit strategy, a clear path forward. But this—this uncharted territory of emotions and connections—is foreign to me.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I say, knowing it's inadequate but unable to offer more.
Nicola laughs again, but this time there's a hint of genuine amusement. "That's your plan? 'We'll figure it out later'? From the man who probably has contingency plans for his contingency plans?"
I c an't help but smile. She's not wrong. "Sometimes improvisation is necessary."
She sits back down, closer to me this time. "This is crazy," she says, but the vehemence has left her voice.
"Probably," I concede. "But it solves our immediate problem."
"And creates a dozen new ones."
"Problems I'm equipped to handle."
She studies me, her gaze penetrating. "Why are you doing this, Odin? Why go to all this trouble for me?"
The question catches me off guard. Why am I doing this? The easy answer is that I feel responsible. I brought this chaos into her life. But there's more to it, something deeper I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"Because you don't deserve to have your life upended because of me," I say finally. "Because what's happening out there—" I gesture toward the window, where the last of the news vans is finally pulling away, "—is my world, not yours. And I want to protect you from it."
Nicola's expression softens, a vulnerability there that makes my chest tighten. "I don't need protecting, Odin."
"Everyone needs protecting sometimes," I counter, thinking of Stevie, of how fiercely I shield her from the harsh realities of the world. "Even stubborn, independent schoolteachers."
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "And grumpy billionaires?"
"Especially grumpy billionaires."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the decision hanging between us. Outside, the snow continues to fall, a gentle reminder of the storm that brought us to this crossroads.
"If we do this," Nicola says finally, "there need to be rules. Boundaries."
Rel ief washes over me. She's considering it. "Of course."
"And a timeline. This can't go on indefinitely."
I nod. "Three months. By then, the town will have moved on to fresh gossip, and we can stage an amicable breakup."
"Three months," she repeats, testing the words. "Playing your fiancée for three months."
"Playing my fiancée," I correct, "not being at my beck and call. You live your life, I live mine. We just... coordinate when necessary."
She takes a deep breath, then meets my gaze directly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll do it. I'll be your fake fiancée." She holds up a finger. "But I have conditions. First, we tell Riley and your mother the truth. I won't lie to my best friend."
It's reasonable, though it complicates things. Riley isn't known for her poker face. "Agreed, but no one else. The fewer people who know the truth, the better."
"Second, this doesn't interfere with my job or my house renovations."
"Of course not."
"And third..." she hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "When this is over, we go back to being... whatever we were before. No complications, no lingering awkwardness."
The third condition gives me pause. Can we really revert to our previous dynamic after three months of pretending to be in love? After whatever happened between us in that basement? I'm not sure, but I nod anyway.
"Agreed."
She extends her hand, businesslike. "Then we have a deal, Mr. Baxter."
I t ake her hand, but instead of shaking it, I bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her sharp intake of breath is gratifying.
"We have a deal, Ms. Williams," I murmur against her skin. "My fiancée."
The blush that spreads across her cheeks is immediate and captivating. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine that this isn't a business arrangement, that the title "fiancée" isn't just a convenient fiction.
But it is. And I need to remember that, no matter how real it might begin to feel.
I release her hand and stand. "I should go. Stevie will be wondering where I am, and we need to start laying the groundwork for our... announcement."
Nicola nods, still looking slightly dazed. "Right. Of course."
At the door, I pause, struck by a sudden thought. "Nicola?"
"Yes?"
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about all of this. About Tessa, the reporters, the gossip. You deserve better."
Her smile is small but genuine. "Maybe I do. But right now, this bizarre fake engagement is the best option I've got. So let's make it convincing, shall we?"
As I step out into the snow, I can't shake the feeling that I've just set something in motion that I won't be able to control. A fake engagement with a woman who challenges me, frustrates me, and increasingly, fascinates me.
What could possibly go wrong?