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I’m in a hallway thinking about a woman who spent six months bringing me coffee I never asked for, who chased me barefoot down arena steps, who looked at a ten-million-dollar ring like it mattered because I put it there, not because of what it cost.

She signed a contract for money.

I tuck the phone away, square my shoulders, and head for the elevator. It's almost ten and I know Aria has a dress fitting at ten-thirty because Everly texted me to make sure my driver was available. My driver. For her fitting. Because somehow, without anyone's permission, the infrastructure of my life has already started rearranging itself around her.

Time to get back to work.

I have a company to run. A fake engagement to maintain. A board to manage. A contract to honor. And a woman in my penthouse who has no idea that I swam forty laps this morning trying to outrun the memory of her kiss and didn't even come close.

But maybe today, I'll work from home.

Chapter Eight

ARIA

For one disorienting second, I expect chipped paint and crooked blinds and the old heater in my apartment preparing to kick on like it’s possessed. But then I remember that Everett is buying out my lease on my apartment.

Instead, I'm in his penthouse with smooth white plaster, recessed lighting, and the silence of a space so expensive it’s never had to apologize for noise problems.

Right.

Everett’s penthouse. My temporary home.

We met with Christian and Everly yesterday.

I roll over onto my side to reach for my phone on the nightstand when my eyes catch on the ring.

Engaged.

Fake engaged with the ten-million-dollar rock on my finger.

I’m living with a billionaire who fired me, signed a contract with his family that maps out every detail of our fake marriage, and sat across from Christian while he explained that an unconsummated marriage can be annulled—and an annulment means the trust doesn’t count.

There’s going to be a wedding and Everett will be the groom. What I still can’t believe is that I’m the bride.

I take a deep breath and remember what all of this is for. Dad and Brookhaven. It’s worth it. All of this.

I grab my phone from the nightstand.

9:42 a.m.

I can’t remember the last time I slept in this late. If I were still working at the arena, I’d already be dressed, halfway through my second coffee of the day and well into trying to think of new ways to impress my grumpy boss.

It’s still odd to remember that I’m not his assistant anymore.

I’m his fiancée.

Then I remember, I have to call Brookhaven to check on this month’s payment that I need to go down to make.

I sit up too fast and dial before I can think myself into a panic. Payment is due today and I nearly forgot.

A front desk receptionist answers on the second ring.

"Brookhaven Memory Center, this is Gladys."

"Gladys." My voice comes out thinner than I want, so I clear my throat and try again. "Hi, it’s Aria Taylor. I believe the monthly payment is due today for Henry Taylor and I—"

"So funny you should call, I just talked to your fiancé less than an hour ago, Mr. Kauffman. Congratulations by the way. I had no idea. You’re all set. He covered the payment for the quarter."