Chapter Four
EVELYN
When my best friend Camila mentioned her brother-in-law, Logan Turner, needed a Spanish translator for a medical conference, it seemed like a perfect opportunity for several reasons.
First, and most importantly, I desperately needed the money.
I wasn't even a trained translator; I was a Spanish teacher—or I had been, until the private school I worked for downsized a few months ago.
Now I was clerking at a bookstore, and any weekend gig was a financial lifeline.
My parents are from Puerto Rico, so Spanish was my first language—at least that part I had down.
The second reason was the networking. A room full of international doctors could lead to other jobs, maybe even a position as a bilingual secretary for one of them. At this point, I wasn't picky. I'd even consider relocating.
Third, I'm a complete sucker for medical dramas. Getting a behind-the-scenes peek at a real conference sounded genuinely fun.
And fourth… well, Dr. Logan Turner was undeniably gorgeous.
He had that superhero build—tall and solid—with a classic movie-star face: a strong jaw, striking blue eyes, and dark brown hair.
But more than just handsome, he came across as honest and stable.
My opinion wasn't just based on Camila's stories; the Turners were famous, and I'll admit to a weakness for celebrity gossip.
Of the three brothers, Logan was the most private, the one who barely gave the media anything to work with. To me, that painted a picture of a serious, scandal-free man.
Which is why the scene I'd just been thrust into felt like a category-five scandal.
"You told them I'm their mother," I said, pointing at the twins. "Why would you say that? Why tell such a huge lie?"
"Please, just calm down. I'll explain everything. Like I said, I need your help."
"Help with what?"
He opened his mouth to answer but stopped, his eyes flicking to the girls who were watching us with undisguised curiosity.
He walked to the door, checked the lock, and then removed the key card, slipping it into his pocket.
Next, he went to the desk, picked up some papers, and then came back to take my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I asked, startled.
"It's better if we talk without an audience," he said, closing the door behind us.
I sighed, the logic cutting through my panic. I'd been so flustered I hadn't considered how this was affecting the girls. The rich girls, apparently, who were Logan Turner's daughters. Even if it made no sense.
"Are they really yours?" I asked.
He handed me the papers. It was a letter from a woman named Eleanor. The real mother.
I was just finishing the last lines when he spoke. "Someone left them at my door last night. With a suitcase and that letter."
"You have no way to contact her? No family or friends?"
"Nothing. We lost touch after she dropped out of college."
"You were involved and you didn't think it was strange when she left? You didn't even try to find her?"
"We weren't involved. We had… an arrangement. We were friends."
"'Just' friends?" I couldn't help the sarcasm. "Is that what you call it?"
"I was in college to study."
"And to make babies, apparently."
"Miss García," he said, his voice tight. "Could you please stop judging me for five seconds and just listen to my proposal?"
So, there was a proposal. The word sounded far more significant than "help." A proposal implied an offer, and if he was offering something, the request was anything but simple.
He took a deep breath. "I need you to confirm you're the girls' mother."
"But I'm not their mother."
"The people at this conference don't know that."
"There were journalists out there! They took my picture. This is going to be on the internet. This goes way beyond the conference. I've never been pregnant—everyone who knows me knows that!"
"You're not a public figure, are you? So 'everyone' isn't that many people. It'll blow over in a few days. The only thing that matters is that the people at this conference believe it."
"And why is that so important? You have two daughters; apparently everyone knows. Why not just tell the truth?"
"Nobody will believe the truth based on a letter. They'll say I abandoned a pregnant woman."
"And did you?"
"No. You read the letter."
"Then show them the letter! Why does it matter what they think?"
"It matters because it's the difference between me getting a directorship at a New York hospital or not. A letter can be forged."
"You're going to take care of them now, right? They should hire you based on your credentials, not your personal life."
"That's not how the world works. The board needs to see a man with an impeccable personal life. And you will be very well compensated, I promise."
I sighed, my resolve crumbling at his final argument. I hated seeming mercenary, but… my current situation didn't allow me to be choosy.
Losing my teaching job was just the tip of the iceberg. I'd just gotten out of a toxic relationship and, as a result, was also homeless—it had been my ex's apartment.
Moving back with my parents wasn't an option. Thankfully, my best friend's grandmother, Jenna, had taken me in and given me a job at her bookstore. The salary was enough for a modest apartment, in theory. But I was drowning in debt.
Before our relationship ended, Peter had done worse than cheat. He'd betrayed my trust, maxing out my credit cards and hiding bills, burying me in debt and interest without my knowledge. My credit was now so ruined, no one would rent to me. I was working like a maniac just to dig myself out.
"What, exactly, would I have to do?" I asked.
A glimmer of relief shone in his devastatingly blue eyes. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't agreed. First, I need to know what you expect."
"My family's PR team will issue a statement. You just need to accompany me during the conference. If anyone questions us—especially the hospital board or the press—you confirm the story."
"Then tell me the story. What am I confirming?"
"Alright… We met in college. Where did you study?"
"University of California."
"Perfect. So did I. That makes it easier if anyone checks. We met through mutual friends. I was in my senior year… Wait, how old are you? Please tell me you're over twenty-four. That you were over eighteen six years ago. It would be a much worse scandal if I'd been with a minor."
He really did think of everything.
"I'm twenty-six. I was twenty."
He breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Perfect. So, we dated briefly, and I never even suspected you were pregnant."
"But you suspected Eleanor. You even freaked out about it."
"No. In our version, I didn't freak out. I would never freak out. I'm a balanced man, perfect for high-pressure positions."
"Right… So, you were perfectly calm."
"You were the one who freaked out. You didn't tell me about the pregnancy because… you panicked and decided to raise them alone."
"What? So, I'm the villain in this story?"
"We can blame the pregnancy hormones. It's a built-in alibi. Besides, I'm the one who needs the job."
I started to seriously reconsider if any amount of money was worth becoming the poster child for unstable, deceitful women.
“I also need to get other jobs, you know? Portraying myself as unstable isn’t exactly a great career move. You know what? This is a terrible idea.”
I tried to reach for the door, but Logan stepped in front of it, blocking my path.
“Please, Miss García. Camila assured me you were a good person.”
“She probably told you I was a good translator.”
“Well, yes, that’s what I asked about,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. “But it’s only two days. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
“What good is a payment if it ruins my reputation? With all due respect, Dr. Turner, your situation is… comfortable. Mine isn’t. How do I explain to my friends, my old classmates, my parents, that I’ve had twin daughters all this time? What do I tell them?”
“Your parents and closest friends can know the truth. As for the rest… who cares what they think? They’ll just assume you’re private.
And let’s be realistic—this isn’t going to be front-page news.
My family’s scandals are fodder for cheap gossip sites.
No one of consequence actually reads that stuff. ”
I tried to ignore the sting of being lumped in with the “no one of consequence” crowd, even if it was true. If only I’d checked my phone this morning, I could have avoided this entire mess.
He pressed on. “And like I said, in two days, no one will remember. Trust me, I’ve been dealing with this my whole life.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Turner. The risk is too high for me.”
I sidestepped him and finally reached the door. My hand was on the cool brass knob when his voice stopped me cold.
“One million dollars.”
…What?
I turned slowly, certain I’d misheard. “You… what?”
“One million dollars. For two days.”
Wow,” I breathed, my mind reeling. “That directorship must pay incredibly well.”
“It does. But that’s not what motivates me. This has been my dream since I was a teenager.”
“Are you really willing to pay all that money,” I asked, “just so no one finds out you freaked out over possibly being a father?”
“Not just for that one detail, but I’ve explained the rest. So… what do you say?”
He extended his hand.
It was insane. I knew it was. I could still ruin my name, make myself unhireable in a field that valued a clean record.
But… A million dollars.
With that, I could erase my debt. I could put a down payment on a small apartment. I could finally, finally, stop just surviving and start building a life.
Just two days of lies.
Just two days.
And with that mantra echoing in my head, I reached out and took Logan Turner’s hand, sealing the deal.