Chapter 2
Riley had barely slept the night before. After the chaos of Sophia’s dramatic exit and Elizabeth’s completely serious offer to fake-date her for Christmas, she’d spent hours pacing her tiny studio apartment, muttering to herself like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
And now, here she was. Back in the penthouse. Same floor-to-ceiling windows. Same eerie quiet. Same terrifyingly composed woman seated on a velvet dining chair like she owned the world, and maybe she did.
Riley sat opposite her, clutching a mug of peppermint tea with both hands like it was a life preserver. Elizabeth, of course, had opted for black coffee in a porcelain cup that probably cost more than Riley’s car insurance.
“I thought about it,” Riley said at last.
Elizabeth lifted one elegant eyebrow. “And?”
“And I think I’ve lost my mind,” Riley muttered.
Elizabeth set down her cup with a soft clink. “You’re accepting.”
“I’m… not saying yes,” Riley hedged. “But I’m not saying no.”
A corner of Elizabeth’s mouth tugged in what might have been a smile, on anyone else. On her, it felt like a well-executed PR strategy.
“You’ll be compensated fairly,” she said, calm as ever. “In addition to your regular pay, I’ll cover expenses, double your holiday bonus, and I’ve already arranged for a winter wardrobe. I assume your current coat isn’t up to Vermont standards.”
Riley instinctively glanced at her ancient puffer jacket slung over the back of the chair, its stuffing visible at one shoulder. “Okay, rude. But also… accurate.”
Elizabeth folded her hands, long fingers laced like a chess master contemplating her next move. “It’s ten days. You’ll arrive with me, play the role of my affectionate partner, and depart after Christmas dinner. We can even ‘break up’ publicly if you like, once the holiday is over.”
“That’s… so romantic,” Riley said, voice squeaky with disbelief. “Truly. Nothing says holiday cheer like strategic heartbreak.”
Elizabeth didn’t blink. “You’ll be staying in my family’s estate. We’ll be in close quarters. And we’ll need to be convincing.”
Riley’s heart did a full somersault. “Convincing like… how convincing?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, gaze cool. “We’ll need to appear physically comfortable. Some hand-holding. Possibly the occasional kiss. Nothing extravagant. Just… enough.”
“Enough to trick your mother into believing you’re in love with your assistant.”
Elizabeth’s voice was calm. “You’re not just my assistant. You’re clever, quick, adaptable. And you’re easy on the eyes. They’ll believe it.”
Riley gaped. “Did you just call me hot?”
“I said you’re aesthetically pleasing. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’m sorry,” Riley said, trying to laugh but kind of wheezing instead. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Elizabeth stood and moved toward the window, her silhouette framed by the soft gray-blue of falling snow. “I don’t enjoy Christmas. I especially don’t enjoy being paraded in front of judgmental relatives as a cautionary tale for what happens when you prioritize career over companionship.”
“Wow,” Riley whispered. “That sounds deeply traumatic.”
Elizabeth didn’t turn around. “It’s tiresome. And it gives them ammunition. Bringing someone home, someone believable, will make the time easier.”
Riley stared into her tea. “You know I’ve had a crush on you for months, right?”
Elizabeth turned, surprised. “I suspected.”
“Cool. Just checking.” Riley’s face was fully on fire now. “Because this is kind of the plot of every workplace romance disaster. I already babble when you’re near me, and now you want to touch me? In front of your family? I’ll be a human tomato by day two.”
“Then they’ll assume we’re madly in love.”
“Jesus Christ,” Riley muttered into her mug.
Elizabeth returned to her seat, composed as ever. “Do you want me to find someone else?”
The idea made Riley flinch more than it should have. The thought of someone else holding Elizabeth’s hand, standing in as her perfectly polished girlfriend, sent a weird twist of something like jealousy through her stomach.
“No,” she said, too quickly. “I mean, no, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”
Elizabeth gave a satisfied nod. “Good.”
“But we need rules,” Riley blurted. “Ground rules. Boundaries. So I don’t spontaneously combust halfway through Christmas Eve dinner.”
Elizabeth steepled her fingers. “Very well. What are your terms?”
“Okay, first,” Riley said, counting on her fingers, “no real kissing unless it’s absolutely necessary. Like, must-convince-an-aunt level emergency.”
Elizabeth’s expression didn’t change. “Fine.”
“Second, separate beds if possible. Or at least… no spooning. And no morning cuddles. Or late-night cuddles. Or any accidental nakedness.”
Elizabeth blinked once. “Noted.”
“And third, if you start falling in love with me, which would be understandable given my unrelenting charm and tragically relatable backstory, you have to tell me so I can flee before it gets messy.”
Elizabeth actually laughed. A dry, short sound, more breath than amusement, but it made Riley’s heart do a strange little skip.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Elizabeth said.
Riley exhaled sharply and leaned back, covering her face with both hands. “This is either going to be the best idea of my life or a complete flaming disaster.”
Elizabeth sipped her coffee, utterly unbothered. “I prefer not to deal in binaries.”
“Oh my god,” Riley said, dropping her hands. “You are a robot.”
“I’m efficient,” Elizabeth corrected. “There’s a difference.”
They sat in silence for a moment, broken only by the quiet tick of the designer clock on the far wall.
Finally, Riley said, “What happens if your family asks how we met?”
Elizabeth didn’t hesitate. “At work. Classic boss-assistant scenario. Slow-burn, enemies to lovers.”
“Have you been reading romance novels?”
Elizabeth gave her a level look. “I do some research before entering into complex arrangements.”
Riley giggled, half-horrified, half-thrilled. “This is going to be such a mess.”
Elizabeth stood. “Pack warm clothes. We leave tomorrow.”
Riley blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”
“Is that a problem?”
Riley opened her mouth to say yes. That she hadn’t done laundry. That her car wouldn’t make it across town. That her nerves were already frayed from one too many frozen dinners and overdue bills.
But then she remembered: Rent. Student loans. Her perpetually dying phone. And the fact that somewhere deep down, she wanted to spend Christmas beside Elizabeth, even if it was all pretend.
So instead, she stood too.
“No problem,” she said. “Fake girlfriend reporting for duty.”
“Perfect. And here’s my end of the deal,” Elizabeth said as she tapped on her tablet a few times before lifting it for Riley to see.
Riley stared at the screen of Elizabeth’s tablet as if it had grown horns.
“That can’t be real,” she muttered, blinking hard.
Across the glossy marble kitchen island, Elizabeth tapped once more, finalizing the transfer. “It’s real.”
Riley’s phone buzzed a second later. She fumbled for it, still stunned, and opened her banking app with trembling fingers.
Her breath hitched.
Five digits. Commas. A balance that made her light-headed.
“Elizabeth,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You just transferred me… This is, this is obscene.”
“It’s a bonus,” Elizabeth said, not looking up as she slid her tablet back into its leather case. “Holiday compensation. You’ll earn every cent.”
“I haven’t even faked a single kiss yet.”
“You agreed to play my devoted girlfriend in front of my family for ten days. The emotional labor alone is worth double.”
Riley slumped into the nearest stool. Her boots squeaked against the polished floor like they didn’t belong here, because they didn’t. She didn’t.
But her bank account now told a different story.
“I could pay off my credit card,” she said numbly. “I could get the heat fixed in my apartment. I could actually buy groceries that don’t come in cans.”
“Then I assume we’re in agreement,” Elizabeth said, as if she were confirming a business acquisition.
Riley blinked at her. “Is this how you propose fake relationships to all your employees?”
Elizabeth arched one perfectly sculpted brow. “Only the charming, chaotic ones with coffee stains and excellent improvisational instincts.”
That earned her a reluctant laugh.
“I don’t even know what to wear to a rich-person Christmas,” Riley said, tugging at the hem of her fraying sweater. “Does Vermont require wool gowns? Designer flannel? Are antlers optional?”
Elizabeth reached for her phone, already swiping through contacts. “I’ve arranged for my personal shopper to call you in the next half hour. She’ll collect your measurements, send a capsule wardrobe, and have it delivered by tonight.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “Like… clothes? For me?”
Elizabeth gave her a sidelong look. “Obviously. I told you that was part of the deal. I can’t have my fake girlfriend show up in…” she trailed off, glancing meaningfully at Riley’s ensemble, “that.”
Riley gasped, mock-offended. “Hey. This hoodie is vintage.”
“It’s unraveling.”
“That’s called texture.”
Elizabeth didn’t smile, exactly, but her mouth curved the tiniest bit. “Regardless, you’ll be properly outfitted. Cocktail attire, casual wear, sleepwear.”
Riley paled. “Sleepwear?”
Elizabeth set down her phone. “My mother believes in tradition. Matching pajamas. Stocking photos. There will be cameras.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“I suggest you start practicing looking at me adoringly,” Elizabeth said dryly. “It needs to be convincing.”
Riley groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. “I’m going to die. This is going to kill me.”
“Unlikely. You’re far too stubborn to die of embarrassment.”
“You have read romance novels,” Riley mumbled into the marble.
She heard Elizabeth’s chair slide back, then the soft click of her heels crossing the kitchen. A moment later, there was a warm mug pressed into her hand.
Peppermint tea. Again.
“You drink this when you’re overwhelmed,” Elizabeth said simply.
Riley lifted her head, genuinely startled. “You… noticed that?”
Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. “I observe the people I work with.”
“Creepy, but appreciated.”
“You’re welcome.”
Riley held the mug between both hands, letting the warmth soak in. The daze was starting to lift, but only just. Her head was spinning with visions of flannel sheets, crackling fireplaces, and Elizabeth’s cold fingers brushing hers in front of a roaring hearth.
She was in so far over her head, she couldn’t even see the surface anymore.
Elizabeth’s phone chimed.
“That will be Camille,” she said, tapping to answer. “Your personal shopper. She’ll need your sizes. Be specific.”
“Great,” Riley muttered. “Nothing like telling a stranger over the phone how wide my hips are.”
Elizabeth offered her the phone like it was a contract.
Riley took it with a sigh. “Hi, Camille. Yes, it’s me. I’m the fake girlfriend. Let’s make magic happen.”
Elizabeth, for the first time since this whole charade began, let out a quiet breath of something that might have been amusement.
Riley didn’t catch it, too busy describing her shoe size and admitting that she hadn’t worn a proper bra in six months, but the soft sound hung in the air like a rare birdcall.
Fifteen minutes later, measurements sent and instructions followed, Riley ended the call and slumped again.
“I think she’s sending me a velvet jumpsuit,” she said faintly. “I’ve peaked.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’ll have my driver pick you up tomorrow morning at nine. We’ll fly into Burlington, then drive the rest of the way.”
“Do I need a passport to enter upper-class New England?”
“Just don’t call it a cottage. My mother will have a fit.”
Riley stood, gathering her bag with trembling fingers.
She was doing this. It was happening. She was officially going to pretend to be Elizabeth Coventry’s girlfriend, survive ten days with her aristocratic family, and wear matching pajamas while trying not to spontaneously combust from sexual tension.
As she reached the private elevator, she turned back. Elizabeth was already at her laptop again, typing something with cool precision, like she hadn’t just turned Riley’s entire life upside down.
Riley hesitated.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Thanks for… I mean… for trusting me with this. I know it’s not easy.”
Elizabeth didn’t look up. “You’re welcome. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a whisper.
Outside, the wind whipped at Riley’s coat as she stumbled into the city, blinking against the cold. Her phone buzzed.
A text from her landlord.
RENT OVERDUE. FINAL NOTICE.
Riley stared at it. Then up at the cloudy sky.
She tucked her phone away, pulled her scarf tighter, and muttered to herself, “Right. I’m doing this.”
And she walked off down the street, confused, terrified, and very possibly about to fake-date her way into disaster.