Chapter 5
“Explain this,” Lauren snapped, slapping the magazine down on the table between them with a sharp, echoing crack. The sound hung in the air like a gavel strike, loud and final.
James barely glanced at it, his eyes steady as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the armrest. His face didn’t change. Unbothered. Untouchable.
Evie, on the other hand, raised a brow, her gaze sliding down to the magazine with deliberate slowness.
She tilted her head, taking in the glossy front page.
Her. Alone. Stepping into her building, curls wild, eyes sharp, midnight blue dress still hugging every curve.
The headline stretched across the top in bold, screaming letters:
“Future Mr. & Mrs. Not Living Together? Are Things Not as Bright as They Seem?”
Evie let out a breath through her nose, slow and unimpressed. “Wow,” she said, dragging the word out like it was something to be studied. “They could’ve at least gone for something catchy.”
“Catchy isn’t the problem, Evie,” Lauren snapped, her glare cutting hard enough to leave marks. She jabbed her finger at the headline like it had personally offended her.
“This is a problem. They’re calling out the entire storyline. The minute people start sniffing around, you know what happens next.” Her gaze shot to James, sharp as a blade. “They’ll pull at this until the whole thing unravels.”
James sighed, his head tipping back just slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s one picture, Lauren,” he muttered, his tone calm but heavy with exhaustion. “One picture of her walking into her own building.”
Lauren’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, her nails tapping on the magazine cover in rapid succession. Tap, tap, tap—each tap sharper than the last.
“And you know what that picture says?” she shot back, eyes locked on him like a wolf about to bite. “It says you’re not living together. It says this ‘deep, wild love’ you’re selling is just for the cameras.” Her eyes flicked to Evie, then back to James.
“You think that’s gonna fly? You think people are gonna see that and say, ‘Oh, how cute, they’re doing long-distance from across the city’? No. They’re gonna say, ‘Fake.’”
“Maybe they will,” James muttered, his voice still maddeningly calm as he picked up the magazine, glancing at the picture like it was mildly inconvenient at best. “Or maybe they’ll get bored in 24 hours and move on to some celebrity’s bad haircut.
” He tossed it back on the table, landing it perfectly on top of Lauren’s hand.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Her jaw set tight, her eyes burning with that look—the one that meant she was about to burn the whole room down if no one listened.
“Not this time, James,” she said coldly, her voice like ice under pressure.
“They’re not going to get bored. They’ll dig.
They’ll find more pictures, more inconsistencies.
They’ll write it into a story, and once it’s a story, it’s fact.
” Her gaze snapped to Evie. “Starting tonight, you two are moving in together.”
“Nope,” Evie said, lifting both hands like she was warding off a curse. “I like my space, Lauren. I’m not shoving my life into his closet so some bored blogger can sleep at night.”
“Same,” James said flatly, eyes still on the magazine. “I’m not playing house just to keep them entertained.”
Lauren’s eyes shifted to each of them, her gaze so sharp it felt like being pinned under glass. She tilted her head, slow and calculated, like she was deciding where to cut first.
“Oh, that’s cute,” she said, her smile slow but dangerous. “You think this is a discussion.” She glanced at the headline, her eyes narrowing like she could see straight through it.
“This isn’t a suggestion, kids. It’s damage control. Your fiancés. Fiancés live together. No more pictures of Evie walking home alone at night. No more ‘where is he’ headlines. You live together. Period.”
“Not happening,” James said, his voice firmer now, his eyes flicking up to hers. “I’m not rearranging my entire life just because one photographer got a lucky shot.”
“Not my problem,” Lauren fired back, her eyes sharp as a whip crack. “You’re not just James anymore. You’re half of a love story. And love stories have to look the part.
Public perception is the whole game.” She leaned forward, her eyes zeroed in on him. “And if you two only plan on playing this for six months, then guess what? We need to speed things up.”
Evie frowned, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Speed things up how?”
Lauren tilted her head and smiled like a shark that smelled blood. “Simple,” she said, her voice so sweet it was almost patronizing. “You’re getting married next month.”
The room went silent. Dead silent.
Evie froze mid-sip of her coffee, her eyes darting to James so fast it was like she expected him to tell her it was a joke. He didn’t. He was still staring at Lauren like he’d misheard her.
“Excuse me?” Evie asked, setting her coffee down slowly, her voice just a little too calm. Her gaze shifted back to Lauren, steady but sharp.
“You heard me,” Lauren said, straightening to her full height, heels clicking as she took a step forward. “You’re getting married next month. Elope, chapel wedding, courthouse, I don’t care.
But the minute that ring hit her finger, it stopped being about slow burns and ‘maybe later.’ We need headlines. Flashy ones. Big, bold, heart-stopping, fairytale romance headlines. People love a wedding, especially one they didn’t see coming.”
James sat forward slowly, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. He stared at Lauren for a long moment, his gaze steady, sharp, and silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that didn’t end with agreement.
But Evie knew better. She knew this was coming.
This was the entire point. From the moment she signed that contract, she knew the role didn’t stop at "fiancée." She knew “engagement” was just a shiny placeholder until the next big move. This wasn’t news. This wasn’t a shock.
And yet—
Her chest went tight. Her mouth opened, her first impulse sitting heavy on the back of her tongue, ready to snap out a sharp, immediate “no.”
No.
Absolutely not.
Not happening.
But she didn’t say it. Her jaw tightened, her lips pressing together as the moment stretched too long, too quiet.
Her eyes flicked to James, watching him, waiting for him to react first. He didn’t. Not at first, anyway. His hands stayed clasped, his eyes locked on Lauren like he was calculating something she couldn’t see.
Evie took a breath—slow, steady, and quieter than she felt. Her fingers curled against her knee, nails digging in just enough to ground herself. This is what you signed up for. This is what you’re being paid for. Get it together.
“Next month?” he asked, his voice slow and deliberate like he was testing the weight of it.
Lauren smiled wide and bright like she’d just dropped the winning hand at the table.
“That’s right,” she said. “Call your families. Get your guest lists ready. Tell them to bring tissues because they’re going to need them.” She leaned forward, her grin sharp enough to slice through steel. “We’re going to make them believe it’s real.”
Her gaze shifted to Evie, zeroing in like a missile. “And you—you better learn to cry on cue, sweetheart, because I want tears when you walk down that aisle.”
Evie tilted her head, her lips curling into a grin that was all sharp edges and no softness. Her voice was light and sweet but laced with venom. “Oh, don’t worry, Lauren. I’ll cry. Just not for the reason you think.”
Lauren’s smile widened, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a victory—it felt like a warning. “Good,” she said, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “Because tears sell.”
The sharp click of her heels echoed against the floor as she walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, glancing back at them one last time.
“I’ll have the PR team draft the announcement. Expect it by tomorrow morning.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the silence to swell like a balloon ready to burst.
Evie stared at the door for a long moment, her nails tapping a soft rhythm against the table. The tension in the room was palpable, heavy, and thick, and yet she couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at her lips. She turned her head slowly, meeting James’s gaze.
“Congratulations, darling,” she said, folding her arms across her chest as her grin deepened. “We’re getting married.”
James tilted his head back against the chair, his eyes closing as he let out a long, drawn-out breath. His jaw worked, his fingers drummed once more on the armrest, and then he muttered, “Can’t wait,” his tone dripping with dry resignation.
Evie leaned back in her chair, watching him with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and amusement. “Think she’ll want us to coordinate our vows?”
His eyes opened slowly, cutting to her with a look so sharp it made her grin widen.
“Don’t push me, Monroe,” he said, his voice calm but dangerous.
“Oh, but that’s my job, isn’t it?” she shot back, crossing one leg over the other as she tilted her head in mock thought. “I mean, if we’re going to be Mr. and Mrs., we might as well keep things authentic.”
He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady and unblinking. Then, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips, he said, “Authentic, huh? Better start practicing those tears, sweetheart.”
Evie’s grin didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t worry, James. When I cry, it’ll be award-winning.”
“Good,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Because the cameras won’t miss a thing.”
The tension between them was electric, crackling in the silence as they stared each other down. Evie finally stood, smoothing out the hem of her blazer as she picked up her coffee.
“Well,” she said, turning toward the door. “Guess I’d better start clearing my schedule. Weddings don’t plan themselves.”
James stayed seated, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as he watched her walk away. His eyes stayed on her.