8. Grant
Chapter eight
Grant
Istep through the lodge's kitchen door knowing Laurie Bennett is about to destroy me.
She stands at the counter, back rigid, gripping her phone. Major sees her, thumps his tail once, then settles back down. Traitor.
"Laurie—"
"No." She spins around. "You don't get to 'Laurie' your way out of this one."
Fair.
I set my keys on the counter. "I can explain."
"You told an entire ballroom we're engaged."
"Technically, I didn't—"
"You let them believe it." Her eyes flash. "Which is worse. You stood there with your hand on my back and your calm billionaire face and let everyone congratulate us on something that does not exist."
"It wasn't planned."
"Then why didn't you correct them?"
Because the moment that donor said engaged, I imagined Jessie Lestor's lawyers circling like sharks. Saw how easily they'd twist temporary housing into exploitation. Saw your dignity shredded in depositions and court filings.
An engaged woman living at my property isn't a victim. She's my future wife.
I don't say any of that.
"The timing was complicated," I manage.
"Complicated." She laughs, sharp and brittle. "You know what's complicated? Explaining to my daughter why strangers think I'm marrying a man I barely know. Explaining to Marianne—who is my best friend, by the way—why her brother just torpedoed my life."
"I didn't torpedo anything."
"You made me a liar!" Her voice cracks. "People looked at me like I was part of your world. Like I belonged there. And none of it was real."
The pain beneath her anger hits harder than the accusation.
I step closer. Not crowding. Just closing the distance.
"What if it could be?" I ask quietly.
She blinks. "What?"
"Real. Temporarily."
"Are you insane?"
"Probably." I pull out a chair, gesture for her to sit. "Hear me out."
"I don't want to sit."
"Please."
She hesitates, then drops into the chair. I take the seat across from her, hands flat on the table.
Major pads over and sits directly between us, head swiveling like he's refereeing.
"If we're engaged," I continue, "temporarily, then your living here makes sense. You're not a contractor I'm taking advantage of. You're my fiancée staying at a property I own while preparing it for use."
"That's insane."
"It's protection." I lean forward. "For you. For Bethany. For the lodge. Jessie can't twist this into exploitation if there's a legitimate relationship."
"There isn't a legitimate relationship!"
"There could be." I run one hand through my hair. "Thirty days. No romance. No expectations beyond public appearances and maintaining the perception of an engagement."
She stares at me like I might bite her.
Her eyes narrow. "What's in it for you?"
"Legal protection for the lodge. A stable public image during the dispute. Proof that the property is actively occupied and maintained."
"And what's in it for me?"
"Thirty days of housing. Full compensation for the cleaning work plus an additional fee for public appearances. A glowing reference that opens doors. And..." I pause. "Your dignity stays intact. Jessie can't paint you as a victim if you're an equal partner in this arrangement."
She bites her lip, thinking.
"I'm not trapping you, Laurie."
"Then why does this feel like a trap?"
"Because you're smart enough to know there are risks."
Her brow furrows. "What kind of risks?"
"People will believe we're engaged. Your name will be attached to mine in public records and media coverage. When we end this in thirty days, there will be questions."
"What do we tell them?"
"The truth. We realized we moved too fast. We're better as friends." I meet her eyes. "Or we say nothing. Let people draw their own conclusions and move on with our lives."
"And Bethany?"
"She's old enough to understand the situation if you explain it. Or we protect her from the details entirely. Your choice."
Laurie leans back, arms crossed. Major's head tilts toward her, then back to me.
"This is insane," she says again.
"Yes."
"You're asking me to lie to everyone I know."
"I'm asking you to let me protect you while we both get what we need."
"What you need," she corrects. "I need a place to live and a paycheck. You need a fake fiancée to make your lawyers happy."
"I need Jessie Lestor to stop treating you like a weak point."
Her expression shifts. Something softer beneath the anger.
"Why do you care?"
Because you walked into my lodge and saw what it could be instead of what it was. Because you didn't flinch when I snapped at you. Because Marianne loves you and Major trusts you.
Because when I put my hand on your back at that event, I wanted it to be real.
"Because you don't deserve to be collateral damage," I say instead.
She studies me. Measuring. Calculating.
"Thirty days," she finally says. "No more."
"Agreed."
She extends her hand across the table. "Then we have a deal."
I take her hand. Her palm is warm, calloused from work. Her grip is firm.
We shake.
Neither of us lets go.
"We should practice," I hear myself say.
"Practice what?"
"Public appearances. If we're engaged, we need to look comfortable together."
Her eyebrow arches. "Comfortable."
"Hand holding. Standing close. Basic couple behavior."
"You're seriously suggesting we rehearse being fake engaged?"
"You're an excellent planner. This is planning."
She almost smiles. Almost.
Then she stands, our hands still clasped, and steps closer.
"Like this?" she asks.
My pulse kicks.
"Exactly like that."
She tilts her head, eyes challenging. "What else?"
I should let go. Step back. Maintain professional distance.
Instead, my thumb brushes across her knuckles.
"We'll figure it out," I manage.
"Thirty days," she whispers.
"Thirty days."