Chapter 2 #2
Every inch of fabric knew exactly where to cling and where to glide.
Her heels dug into the glossy white floor, a quiet rebellion with every shift of weight.
The stylist had spent an obscene amount of time getting her to look “polished but approachable”—as if those two things ever existed in the same person.
“Chin up, Evie. Eyes on me,” the photographer called, his voice sharp but friendly in that way only people paid to smile could manage.
She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing just slightly as she shifted her weight to one hip.
“Perfect. Hold that,” the photographer said, his camera clicking in rapid succession.
Yeah, I bet it’s perfect, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
To her left, James watched her like he was assessing a chessboard.
His suit was charcoal gray, sharp as ever, and his tie was a rich navy blue that somehow made him look more powerful than he already did.
He didn’t hover, didn’t interfere, didn’t even offer a single word of input—he just watched—hands in his pockets. Head tilted slightly.
“Alright, Mr. Reed, step in next to her,” the photographer called, adjusting the lens. “Let’s get a few together. Close, but not too close. We’re going for ‘unshakable power couple,’ not prom king and queen.”
Evie’s lips pressed together tightly as she turned to face him.
He didn’t move at first, just raised a single brow like he’d been expecting this moment all along.
Without a word, he strolled forward with that smooth, deliberate walk he had perfected over the years.
He didn’t walk to people; he walked through them.
“Don’t look so thrilled,” she muttered as he stepped beside her.
“Don’t look so nervous,” he shot back, sliding his hand around her waist like he’d done it a thousand times.
Her eyes darted to his hand at her side, fingers resting just a little too firm against her waist. She felt the weight of it—not heavy, but noticeable. It wasn’t ownership, not exactly, but it was something close to it. She tilted her head toward him, eyes narrowing like she had something to say.
“Careful,” she murmured through her smile. “Touch me like that again, and you’ll owe me dinner.”
His gaze slid to hers, his smile slow and cutting. “If you think I’m that easy, you’re in for a long six months.”
“Long for you, maybe,” she shot back, eyes forward as the camera clicked. “I’m getting paid.”
The photographer clapped his hands once. “Beautiful, love that energy. Let’s do another; this time, I want more connection. Smile like you have a secret.”
James turned his head toward her, eyes scanning her face with a precision that made her want to fold her arms just to create some distance. But she didn’t. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned to face him, tilting her head just enough to match his gaze head-on.
“Secret?” she said quietly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “How about this—I hate this shoot, I hate this blazer, and I definitely hate that tie.”
His eyes flickered, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a grin. “Noted.”
“Good,” she replied, leaning in just a fraction. “Now, do me a favor and stop standing like you’re at a board meeting. You’re supposed to look like you like me.”
He didn’t answer, but she saw the shift. His hand moved on her waist, his body tilting just a little closer, just enough for the camera to catch it. His eyes softened—not in a real way, not in a James Reed cares about you way—but in that expertly calculated way he’d been trained to master.
Oh, he’s good.
The camera snapped rapidly, capturing the moment as if it were a stolen, intimate glance between two lovers.
“Perfection,” the photographer called it. But it wasn’t “perfection”. It was “control”.
James’s eyes shifted to hers, just for a second, and for some reason, she couldn’t look away.
“Looks real, doesn’t it?” he said softly, tilting his head just enough that only she could hear.
Her eyes stayed locked on his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away first.
“That’s the job.” Her voice was also soft but sharp enough to cut. “I’m better at it than you think.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The next shot captured the exact moment his grin turned sharp.
*****
Evie shrugged off the ivory blazer and let it slide off her shoulders with a dramatic sigh.
“Remind me to never let you pick my clothes again,” she muttered, tossing it onto the back of a chair.
“You chose it,” James said from behind her, his voice far too casual for someone who’d just spent the last hour pretending to be in love.
She spun around, one brow raised so high it practically touched her hairline. “Don’t rewrite history. Your stylist shoved it at me like it owed her money.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, his gaze sweeping over her slowly like he was reading the fine print of a contract. “It worked, though.”
“Worked for you,” she muttered, plopping down on the cushioned bench, kicking off her heels with a sharp clack on the tile. “I look like I just stepped out of a political drama.”
James leaned against the doorframe, his hands casually tucked in his pockets.
“You complain a lot,” he mumbled.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, studying the easy confidence in his posture. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her tone softening slightly. “What does your family think about all of this, anyway?”
James blinked slowly, tilting his head like he was considering whether or not to answer.
“They think I’m insane,” he admitted, his grin faint but present. “But they’re used to me doing crazy stuff.”
Evie snorted. “This is a little more than crazy.”
“Is it?” he shot back, lifting a brow. “Crazy’s just relative. This is strategic.”
“Strategic, huh?” She tilted her head, giving him a knowing look. “What’d you tell them exactly?”
He glanced at her, eyes steady but sharp, like he was already regretting letting her in on it. But she was here now, so there was no point in holding back.
“I told them I wanted to settle down,” he said casually like he was talking about picking a new watch or upgrading his car. “Said I was done with the headlines, tired of every mistake turning into a front-page scandal.”
His eyes flicked toward her, his lips twitching into a smirk. “I told them I was back together with you and that I think we really have a connection.”
Her head tilted, her eyes narrowing with slow, deliberate amusement. “A connection?” she repeated, her voice practically dripping with mock disbelief. “You mean the girl you hired to play pretend at a Christmas dinner?”
His grin grew sharper, eyes locked on hers like he was daring her to say more. “It worked then, didn’t it?”
“And they believed you?”
“Not at first,” he admitted with a shrug.
“Called me insane. Said I’d lost it. My brother laughed so hard I thought he’d pass out.
” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes locked on hers with that same quiet intensity that always made her feel like she’d been pulled into a game she didn’t know she was playing.
“But I sold it. Told them it wasn’t just about me. Told them it was about stability. Keeping things clean. No more scandals, no more headlines.”
Her smile faltered just for a second, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head. “And you think this is gonna keep you out of headlines?” She waved a hand between them. “You and me, faking 'true love,' dodging cameras, and playing happy couple for the world?”
He shrugged, too calm for someone betting this much on a lie.
“Better to control the story than be the story.”
Her eyes dropped to his hands, fingers tapping lazily on the table like he had all the time in the world. Her gaze lifted back to his face, and she raised a brow. “You do realize that means they’re waiting for it to blow up, right?”
“Obviously,” he said, his grin pulling wider, slow and dangerous like he knew something she didn’t. “Which is why it won’t.”
“Big words,” she muttered, leaning back again, her arms folding across her chest as she gave him a long, steady look. “What happens when they figure out this whole connection thing is about as real as your taste in art?”
His eyes stayed on hers, steady, unwavering. “Then I’ll do what I always do.”
“Which is?” she asked, lifting a brow.
His grin didn’t falter, his confidence radiating off him like a shield. “Adapt,” he said simply, his tone so calm it almost felt casual.
Evie tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and irritation. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“Comes with the territory,” James replied, his fingers still tapping a slow rhythm on the table. “You’re either ahead of the game or out of it entirely. I don’t intend to lose.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, his words hitting closer than she wanted to admit. “This isn’t a game, James.”
“Everything’s a game,” he countered, his smirk fading just enough to reveal something sharper, something more serious. “The only question is how far you’re willing to go to win.”