Chapter 2 Fake Fiancée
TWO
Fake Fiancée
April
“Killian?" she said, voice rough. "What are you—are you looking for floor wax?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he caught it and let it fall.
"I saw," he said.
"You saw."
"I heard what he called it."
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. "A prank."
"I'm sorry."
He'd seen. He knew. And instead of pretending he hadn't, he'd planted himself outside a supply closet.
April's fingers tightened on the edge of the door. "I just needed five minutes."
"I know."
Then Killian stepped forward and pulled her in.
Her cheek hit wool and warmth. His hand settled between her shoulder blades. His other arm wrapped around her waist.
April went still.
Then her shoulders dropped and she sagged into him like someone had cut her strings.
He smelled expensive. Cologne and something underneath—soap or just him or maybe the fact that he wasn't Chad.
His hand shifted between her shoulder blades. Flattened. Pressed.
Her breathing slowed.
"If he thought you and I were together," she said into his chest so it came out muffled, "he would lose his mind."
Killian's breathing changed. The arm around her waist tightened, pulled her closer.
"You're asking me to fake-date you."
"Engaged." Her fingers curled into his shirt. The word came out mean and sharp and exactly right. "He'll spiral. Publicly. It'll be beautiful."
She still hadn't lifted her head. Wasn't planning to. This was a perfectly reasonable place to plan revenge—pressed against her CEO's chest in a supply closet hallway, mascara probably everywhere.
His hand slid lower on her back. His arms wrapped tighter. Her ribs felt the pressure—good pressure, the kind that holds things together.
"He'll believe it," Killian said.
She tipped her head back just enough to look at him. "You think?"
"Yes. Because Chad believes what hurts him."
Her forehead dropped back against wool. Her spine had gone soft. When had that happened?
"So we just—what, walk out there? Announce it?"
"We don't give him room to doubt it."
"How?"
"I have something in my office. Come with me."
She stepped back, hooked her arm through his. They made it one step before she paused, turned back, and walked to the cupcake box by the supply closet door. Killian raised an eyebrow—part question, part judgment.
"I paid for it."
She flipped the lid, plucked the #1 Boyfriend pick out of the frosting, and tossed it back into the box. This was her double-chocolate fudge terrible-decision cupcake, and she was going to enjoy it.
She took a massive, defiant bite.
Then her face fell.
It tasted like regret with frosting.
She stared at the cupcake like it had personally betrayed her, then shoved the rest back in the box and wiped her hands with a napkin like she could erase the moment.
She hooked her arm through his again. "Okay. Now let's go ruin his day."
They walked the length of the executive floor in silence, long enough for April to catalog every reason this was a terrible idea.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she said. "It's petty."
"It's consequence," Killian said.
His office door closed behind them. He slid the sailboat painting aside and placed his hand on the biometric panel, then turned back to her with a small velvet box.
"Killian, that's—" April breathed, eyes wide.
"A solution," he said as he flipped the lid, so the diamond caught the light. "My grandmother's."
"I can't wear a family heirloom for a prank." April shook her head.
"Why not? It's not doing anyone any good locked away in a dark box. Let it do some damage for once." He extended his hand, palm up, holding the ring loosely in his other. "May I?"
She placed her left hand in his and Killian slid the ring on her finger. The band settled against her skin like it had been waiting.
Killian was watching her. She didn't know how long he'd been doing it. But something in his face had shifted. Like he'd stopped pretending not to see her.
"You don't have to," she said quickly. "I know this is…"
"Unhinged," he supplied.
It was an insane 2 a.m. idea, the kind that should wither in the daylight. Her mouth twitched. "Yeah."
"If we tell the office we're engaged," he said, "they'll expect us to act like it." He stepped closer. "They'll expect us to be unable to keep our hands off each other." His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up.
"We should probably practice," he said. His fingers closed around her wrist. She didn't move. His thumb dragged up the inside of her arm, tracing the vein, and April forgot what she'd been about to say. "For the sake of the prank."
"For the prank," April echoed, though it came out as little more than a breath.
His fingers slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, thumb tracing the curve behind her ear. His other hand settled at the small of her back.
She told herself it was adrenaline. She tried to remember the plan, the logic, the reason for this.
He leaned in. Slowly. So slowly she could have stepped back, could have laughed it off, could have remembered this was supposed to be fake.
Her head tilted back on instinct. Her lips parted.
"Tell me to stop, April."
She felt the sound of her name more than heard it. His breath was warm against her mouth. She didn't tell him to stop.
His mouth found hers. Soft at first, testing. Then his hand flattened against her back and pulled her in and April forgot what forgetting felt like. The kiss turned slow and deep and she tried to remember why this was supposed to be fake.
She made a sound she didn't plan on making—something between a gasp and a sigh that got lost between their mouths.
Her hands were in his hair. When had that happened? And why did he taste like coffee and why was she leaning into him like he was the only solid thing in the room and why was this supposed to be fake again?
His thumb traced her jaw. She chased it.
The cologne she'd noticed earlier was everywhere now, his chest solid against hers, and somewhere in the rapidly shrinking logical part of her brain a voice was saying this is supposed to be practice but the rest of her had stopped listening three seconds into the kiss.
They pulled apart at the same time but didn't step away. Their foreheads nearly touched.
April kept her eyes closed. She wasn't ready to let the room back in. The ghost of his mouth was still heavy on hers, and if she opened her eyes, she'd have to acknowledge the "practice" was over and the "strategy" had resumed.
Killian's thumb brushed her cheek. Back and forth, slow enough to steady her.
They stepped back further, just enough to put air between them.
Killian cleared his throat. "That should be convincing enough."
She adjusted her blazer and glanced at the diamond glinting on her hand. "Ready."
His mouth twitched, close to a smile, as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his hand returning to the small of her back. April fell into step beside him.
Chad came around the corner at a near-jog, tie askew. His eyes landed on April first, relief blooming across his face, then dropped to Killian's hand at her waist. He stopped so fast his expensive loafers squeaked on the marble.
"April!" Chad's voice cracked. "Thank God. I've been looking everywhere for you. You saw this—this hilarious prank I was doing with Brenda, and you just left."
April didn't stop walking. "Chad, leave me alone."
His eyes flicked from Killian's face to the arm on April’s back.
"Uh…" Chad blinked, his brain clearly misfiring. "What's going on? Why are you holding my girlfriend?"
Chad's eyes tracked Killian's hand as it slid from the small of April's back to wrap around her waist, tucking her closer.
"Actually, Chad, I'm glad you're here. Saves us an awkward phone call."
"An awkward what?"
"We weren't sure how to tell you," Killian said as he looked down at April. "But since you've clearly moved on with Brenda, I suppose there's no need to hide it anymore. We didn't want to hurt you, but April and I can't deny it any longer."
Chad's face went through a series of tragic shades, landing somewhere between ash grey and sunburnt rage. "Hide it? Hide what? What are you talking about?!"
April raised her left hand as if to tuck her hair behind her ear and let the heirloom diamond catch the fluorescent light, throwing a disco of lies down the hallway.
"I thought your little 'prank' with Brenda was your way of telling me you wanted out.
It's such a relief. Now we can finally go public. "
"Engaged?!" Chad choked. "Killian, she's my girl! We've been together three years! This—this is a prank, right? This is the best 'Gotcha' ever! Good one, man! You almost had me!"
He let out a laugh that sounded like it had been strangled halfway up his throat. His eyes darted from April's face to the diamond, then to April tucked into the CEO's side like she'd always belonged there. The color drained from his face.
"No, seriously, this is a bit, right?" His voice cracked again.
He gestured wildly between them, movements jerky and uncoordinated.
"You're not actually with him, April. You said he was intense and emotionally constipated!
You said you'd never date someone who schedules their life in fifteen-minute blocks!
I get it. Ha-ha. Okay. Joke's over now. Let's all go to lunch and laugh about it.
" Chad clapped Killian on the shoulder like they were frat brothers sharing a bit.
Killian shrugged him off. "It's no prank, bro." Then he laced his fingers through April's, the ring pressing into her skin. He leaned in. "Smile. We're making him regret everything."
Then, louder: "We have a formal announcement to make." His voice carried the authority of a corporate acquisition as he led April toward the bullpen without looking back at Chad.
"Wait! Announcement?" Chad stuttered, still rooted to the spot.
He scrambled after them, shoes squealing in protest. "This is a joke! I know it! April, cupcake, stop being so dramatic and tell him the prank is over!"
Cupcake. He called her cupcake like twenty minutes and one HR violation ago hadn't happened.
They reached the center of the bullpen—April, Killian, and Chad trailing behind them like the world's worst parade—and fifty pairs of eyes lifted from dual monitors as Killian stopped. He raised their joined hands just slightly, the diamond doing the rest.
"Team," Killian said, "I have some personal news."
The office held its breath. Even the printers stopped.
"I've always kept my private life separate from the firm. Today, April and I are no longer doing that. We're engaged."
A gasp rippled through the room, already accelerating into something that would spread faster than gossip at a small-town church potluck.
"Wait, wasn't she with Chad?"
"Is that a ten-carat diamond?"
The murmurs dissolved into applause that swelled quickly; no one wanted to be the employee not applauding the CEO.
Chad broke through the crowd. He lunged, reaching for April's arm. "April, look at me! You can't just—"
Arthur was there before anyone else moved. He calmly reached for a nearby ergonomic chair and rolled it between them like a chess piece placed to block checkmate.
Chad stumbled back, suddenly separated from April by reinforced lumbar support and pure HR compliance.
Arthur looked down at him with the same expression he reserved for suspicious mileage claims on expense reports.
Chad tried to step around the chair, but Arthur shifted just enough to block him. Whispers spread. Phones slipped into camera mode. The crowd absorbed him like quicksand, closing ranks around April and Killian.
Killian checked his watch. His expression returned to business, but his hand stayed at April's waist.
"I hate to leave you in the middle of our celebration, darling," he murmured, "but I have a board meeting I can't reschedule."
He turned, raising his voice to reclaim the room. "Since today is a day for surprises"—his eyes cut briefly to Chad—"I've arranged for a catered lunch for the entire floor. Consider it a celebration of our new chapter."
He turned to Arthur. "Make sure she isn't bothered. By anyone."
Arthur nodded once, with the gravity of a man double-checking a billion-dollar spreadsheet. "I have her."
Killian gave April one last look that didn't ask for anything or pretend nothing had happened, then turned toward the elevators.
Before she could talk herself out of it, her fingers brushed his wrist. Killian turned towards her instantly. For a heartbeat, his eyes softened; not calculating, not CEO-steeled, just a man waiting for her.
April rose onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
Killian went utterly still.
April pulled back first, her hand falling away as easily as it had landed. "Thank you."
He closed the distance, dipping his head until their foreheads touched.
His mouth quirked, brief, but unmistakable. Then he straightened, nodded once like he'd just accepted a solemn contract, and turned towards the elevators.