5. Adrian
Adrian
I had been waiting for her call for the better part of the evening, although I had no intention of admitting that to anyone.
The phone sat on the table beside me, untouched, while I pretended to read through a report I'd already read twice. I wasn't worried about her answer. Eliana would agree. She needed the arrangement as much as I did, whether she had realized it yet or not.
Still, every few minutes, my eyes found the phone.
When it finally rang, I answered before the second vibration.
"Eliana."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
I leaned back in my chair, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "I was wondering how long you'd make me wait."
"I wasn't aware I was making you wait," she replied, her tone immediately defensive.
A smile tugged at my mouth.
There she was.
"I suppose I could pretend I wasn't waiting."
"That would probably be more believable."
I chuckled under my breath, but she didn't let me enjoy it for long.
"I've thought about your offer," she said, and I could hear the seriousness settling into her voice. "And if we're going to do this, there are some things you need to understand."
I straightened slightly.
"Go ahead."
"I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you."
My smile faded, though I kept my voice light. "That hurts."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"I'm not doing it for your money either."
"I didn't think you were."
"Good. Because I'm doing this for my book, for my father, and for something that matters more to me than either of those things."
I said nothing.
"My mother owned a restaurant," she continued. "My father lost it because of the debt, and the bank seized it. I'm going to buy it back someday. I promised him I would."
There was something in the way she said it that made me stop playing with the pen between my fingers.
She wasn't asking for sympathy.
She was stating a fact.
A promise.
"If this arrangement helps me get there, I'll do it," she continued.
"But the moment either of us crosses a line, it's over.
No pretending when we're alone. No expecting anything from me because we're supposed to look like a couple in public.
And if I tell you something makes me uncomfortable, you respect it. "
I stared at the dark window across the room.
Setting the facts and priorities straight.
Smart.
I liked that.
More than I should have.
"Are you finished?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
She went quiet.
"I agree to all of it," I said.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"You don't want to negotiate?"
"No."
"Why?"
I leaned back, letting a small smile return.
"Because you already negotiated with yourself before you called me. I'm not foolish enough to waste your effort."
A soft exhale came through the phone.
I could almost picture her sitting somewhere in that little house of hers, probably frowning at the floor while trying to decide whether she had made a terrible mistake.
The thought amused me.
"There's one more thing," I said.
"What?"
"I want to see you."
There was a pause.
"Why?"
"Because if we're going to convince everyone we're together, I'd like to know the woman I'm going to be pretending to fall for."
She remained silent.
I continued, "Will you be available tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yes."
The answer came so quickly that I couldn't help smiling.
Then she seemed to realize how eager she'd sounded.
"I mean... sure. Yes. I'm available."
I turned my face away from the phone, hiding the smile that had spread across it.
Interesting.
She'd agreed to step into the trap willingly, and somehow she still sounded surprised to find herself inside it.
"Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow."
The call ended.
I lowered the phone and stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
The game had begun.
And for reasons I didn't care to examine, I already wanted to know how far she would let me take it.
The following afternoon, I arrived exactly when I promised.
I could have taken her somewhere extravagant. A private dining room. One of the restaurants where reservations required weeks of planning. Somewhere with crystal glasses and waiters who knew better than to overhear conversations.
Instead, I called her to a quiet café overlooking the James River.
The place sat along the riverfront, tucked away from the louder parts of Richmond. Trees bordered the water, their branches moving gently in the afternoon breeze, while the James rolled steadily beyond the railing. It was peaceful enough that nobody would pay much attention to us.
That mattered.
I wanted her comfortable.
Eliana was already waiting when I approached the table. She looked up as I pulled out the chair opposite her, and for one brief moment, I forgot the reason I'd brought her there.
She looked different when she wasn't surrounded by cameras.
Softer.
More real.
I sat down and studied her for a moment before speaking.
"We need one rule above everything else."
She raised an eyebrow. "Only one?"
"One that matters."
She waited.
"We have to look convincing."
Her expression tightened slightly.
"I thought that was the entire point."
"It is."
I leaned back, watching the river for a moment before returning my attention to her.
"If we're going to do this, people can't look at us and see a contract. They need to see something believable. Chemistry. Comfort. Affection."
"Affection?"
"You're my girlfriend."
"And you're my fake boyfriend."
"Exactly."
She folded her arms. "So what are you suggesting?"
"Nothing you're not comfortable with."
I paused.
"But when we're in public, you can't look at me like you're waiting for the nearest exit."
Her lips twitched.
"I don't do that."
"You did on the first night."
"I was trapped in your SUV."
"Technically, you trapped yourself."
She gave me a warning look.
I smiled.
Then I leaned forward, lowering my voice.
"We'll take it slowly. We learn what makes each other believable. What we like. What we don't. How we behave around each other."
"And if we fail?"
I held her gaze.
"We don't."
Something about the certainty in my voice made her go quiet.
I wasn't sure whether she found it reassuring.
I knew I did.
Because I had spent five years convincing myself that distance could keep old wounds from opening.
Then Eliana Hart had fallen asleep in my car.
And somehow, the one thing I'd spent years trying to escape had found me again.
This time, I wasn't sure I wanted to run.
* * *
Eliana
I hadn't realized accepting Adrian Ashford's offer would turn my carefully ordinary life upside down.
One week ago, my biggest problem had been a manuscript that refused to cooperate. Now I was apparently preparing to attend charity galas, private dinners, and events where people probably considered a thousand-dollar dress reasonably priced.
Today, Adrian had decided I needed a wardrobe upgrade.
I had argued that I already owned clothes.
He had looked at me for three seconds and said, "Not for the world you're about to enter."
I hated that he had a point.
The first boutique we entered looked more like an art gallery than a clothing store.
Everything was arranged with such precision that I immediately became afraid of touching anything.
Dresses hung beneath soft lighting, shoes rested on glass shelves, and the price tags seemed deliberately positioned where people like me would have to look twice before suffering a financial heart attack.
Adrian, however, moved through the store with an ease that suggested he belonged there.
“This one,” he said, stopping beside a dark green dress.
I glanced at the price tag and immediately shook my head. “Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t even tried it.”
“I’ve seen the number.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s just a dress.”
“It costs more than my monthly salary.”
That wiped the amusement from his face. He looked at me for a moment, as though he was finally beginning to understand that the number on that little tag meant something entirely different to me than it did to him.
“Then we’ll find something you’re comfortable with,” he said simply.
That surprised me.
I expected him to argue. Instead, he followed me from rack to rack while I searched for something I could actually imagine wearing without calculating how many months of rent it would cost me.
We visited a few more boutiques. I rejected anything that looked remotely extravagant, and Adrian patiently waited while I compared prices, fabrics, and styles.
Eventually, I found a dress I genuinely loved.
It was elegant without being excessive, with a soft neckline and a flowing skirt that moved beautifully when I walked.
Then I saw the price.
My excitement disappeared.
“No,” I murmured, putting it back.
Adrian noticed. “You liked it.”
“I did.”
“Then why put it back?”
“Because liking something and being able to afford it are two very different things.”
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze moved from the dress to me.
“You're going to be standing beside me at these events,” he said quietly. “I don't want you worrying about whether you look like you belong there.”
“I can find something cheaper.”
“I know you can.”
There was no arrogance in his voice this time. Just a quiet certainty.
“I just want you to have something you actually love wearing.”
I looked at him, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity in his expression.
Before I could argue again, he turned to the sales assistant.
“We'll take this one.”
“Adrian.”
He looked back at me. “You don't have to thank me.”
“I wasn't going to.”
A small smile appeared on his face. “Good.”
I couldn't help laughing.
By the time we left the boutique, there were several bags in his bodyguards’ hands, including the dress I'd tried so hard to put back.
I looked at him. “You bought more than one?”
“You tried them on.”
“I only tried them on to see how they look.”
“You picked them because you liked them. And it was the only reason I needed to buy them.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling as we stepped back onto the Richmond sidewalk.
For someone who claimed this was only a temporary arrangement, Adrian was starting to make it dangerously easy to forget that.
The afternoon somehow became easier after that.
Maybe because I stopped trying to understand the ridiculousness of my life and simply let myself enjoy it.
At the next store, Adrian disappeared for several minutes. When he returned, he wasn't alone.
A bald man in his fifties followed him, carrying two folders, three shopping bags, and an expression that suggested he'd already had a long day.
"Eliana," Adrian said, gesturing toward him. "This is Walter Briggs. My senior assistant."
Walter offered me his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Hart. I'm very organized."
Adrian glanced at the bags hanging from Walter's arms.
"You put the documents in the shopping bags."
Walter looked down.
"I thought they were the important ones."
"They are."
"Then I organized them."
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
"Walter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you remember the email I asked you to send this morning?"
"Of course."
"Did you send it?"
Walter's expression changed.
"I drafted it."
"Did you send it?"
"I intended to."
Adrian stared at him.
Walter sighed.
"You've been firing me for years, sir."
"...You're still here."
"So are you."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Adrian looked at me.
Walter looked at me.
Then Adrian shook his head.
"You're encouraging him."
"I'm sorry."
"You aren't."
"No," I admitted, smiling. "I'm not."
For the first time in months, the smile on my face didn't feel forced.
It was strange.
I'd forgotten what it felt like to have an afternoon where I wasn't worrying about my manuscript, money, or what might happen next.
Adrian seemed to notice.
He didn't comment.
Somehow, that made it better.
By the time he drove me home that evening, I was exhausted.
I rested my head against the window, watching Richmond pass beneath the streetlights.
"You've been quiet," Adrian said.
"I'm tired."
"Too much shopping?"
"Too much spending."
He chuckled.
"Still thinking about the dresses?"
"Someone has to."
"Wear them soon and do a runway walk for an especially private show." He winked.
I turned toward him. "You gotta be kidding me!"
"You've mentioned that."
I smiled.
He glanced at me briefly, his blue eyes catching the passing lights before returning to the road.
"Get some sleep."
"I will."
When we reached my house, he waited until I had unlocked the door before driving away.
I stepped inside, closed the door, and rested my hand against the wall.
For a few seconds, everything was quiet.
Then pain struck behind my temple.
I gasped and pressed my fingers against my head.
The room seemed to tilt.
For one brief second, I saw something that wasn't there.
Hands.
A woman's hands, moving quickly as she unbuttoned someone's shirt.
Laughter.
Warm, familiar laughter somewhere nearby.
Then it vanished.
I stood completely still.
The pain faded almost as quickly as it had come.
My breathing remained uneven.
I pressed trembling fingers against my temples.
Why did that feel like a memory?
Or had I imagined it?