Fake Date, Real Fate

“Blockhim.”“He'stechnicallystillmyboss.”“Thenblockhimwithdignity.”Thecallendedagain.Andthenstartedagain.Iletoutasoundsomewherebetweenagrowlandasob,thenfinallyansweredwiththeenthusiasmofasnailcrawlingthroughsalt.“Yes,Mr.Walton?”“Haveyouchangedyourmindyet?”IcollapsedontothetowelandgazedattheskyasthoughitmightconsumemeentirelyifIpleadedsweetlyenough.“Doyouevertakeabreak?”Iasked,shieldingmyeyeswithonehand.“You'reavoidingthequestion.”“Becauseit'sadumbquestion.”Heexhaled,thesoundsharpandirritatedevenoverphone.“It'snotadumbquestion.It'sabusinessoffer.”“It'saweirdoffer-onethatIalreadysaidnoto.”Therewasabriefpause,andIcouldpracticallyhearhimclenchinghisjawthroughthespeaker.“Youareactingunreasonably.”“Unreasonable?”Isatup.“I'mnottheonedraftingfakegirlfriendcontractslikeit'sanormalTuesday.”“Isabella-”“Certainlynot,Mr.Walton.”Imimickedhistoneperfectly.“ItoldyouI'mnotdoingit.Youneedtofindsomeoneelsetoplaypretendwith.”SYNOPSISIsabellaMillerthoughtsayingnotoherboss’sfakedatingofferwastheendofthestory.ButAdrienWaltondoesn’ttakeno—especiallynotwhenhe’sconvincedshe’sagolddigger.Suddenly,herstudentloansarepilingup,herfather’svetclinicisonthebrinkofevictionandherbrotherisabouttobekickedoutofcollege.Coincidence?Shethinksnot.AdrienWaltoniscalm,calculating—andhe'sjustpulledeverystringtocornerIsabellaintotheperfectposition.Nowshe’sstuckchoosingbetweenprideandsurvival.Sosheagreestohisoffer:behisfakegirlfriend.Nofeelingsattached.Nodrama.Justbusiness.Orsoshethought.“ConferenceRoomB.Fifteenminutes,”hesaid,passingbywithoutaglance.Thefolderhepushedacrossthetablelandedwithathud.Iopenedit.Thecontract.Allofit.---Enemiestolovers?Check.Slowburn?Hmmnyea.Bantersosharpitmightfileyournails?Yes.Deliciousworkplacetension?Ofcourse.Tensionthatcouldmeltsteel?Absolutely.Smut??Wannafindout?Welcometocorporateromancewarfare.There’snoescapingthiscontract.