Strictly business.
Even if my heart wouldn’t shut the hell up about it.
Kieren Walker lived exactly the way I imagined he would.
A high-rise downtown. Private elevator access. Minimalist to the point of emotional bankruptcy.
The condo looked like it had been staged by a moody interior designer who’d only ever seen Scandinavian furniture catalogs and noir films. Everything was gray—cool-toned, soulless. Steel counters, concrete floors, matte black light fixtures. A single plant wilted pitifully on the windowsill like it had once begged for sunlight and been denied on principle.
It was masculine. Cold. Controlled.
Just like him.
I barely had time to knock before the door opened. And there he was.
Barefoot. Wearing sweats. No shirt.
And not the “I forgot to get dressed” kind of shirtless. No, this was the “I know exactly what I look like and I’m not sorry” kind.
My mouth didn’t drop open. I was stronger than that. But I did take a breath I absolutely didn’t need to take.
His abs were rude. That was the only word for it. Uncalled for and deeply, deeply rude.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low and unimpressed.
“You didn’t specify a time,” I replied, stepping in without waiting for an invitation.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“I’m sure you think a lot of things are my problem.”
He didn’t answer, just lifted one eyebrow like he was trying to decide if I was worth the effort of arguing with. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to punch him or… something else.
Before either could happen, a voice from deeper in the condo cut in, “Good, you’re here.”
Kieren’s agent—Matt something—emerged from the kitchen, carrying a laptop and looking like he’d stepped off the cover of Forbes: Soul-Sucking Legal Edition. His suit was tailored, his expression unreadable, and his energy screamed I bill by the quarter-hour.
“Let’s keep this simple,” Matt said, moving past me to sit at the glass dining table. “Low emotional risk, high visual return. Public appearances, no interviews. You control your own social media but must tag the team account in all relationship-adjacent posts. We approve captions. There will be a monthly calendar of agreed-upon appearances.”
I blinked. “You’ve done this before.”
“I’ve done worse,” he replied, dry as ash. “This is a walk in the park.”
Kieren padded across the room and dropped into one of the chairs, sprawling like he owned the world and was bored of it. I stayed standing.
Matt gestured for me to join them. “This is a contract built for optics, not complications. One fundraiser, two charity events, a few game-day PDA opportunities, and a holiday party. If you’re seen with anyone else romantically, we renegotiate. If either of you backs out, we spin it. Got it?”
“Crystal,” I muttered, sitting across from Kieren.
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop looking at me either. Like he was trying to figure out what kind of storm he’d just invited into his fortress of solitude.
I didn’t break eye contact.
If this was going to be a game, I wasn’t planning to lose.
Even if part of me already suspected we were both in over our heads.
Matt set the laptop on the table like he was presenting legal terms for a hostile merger.
