It didn’t sound nearly as fake as I wanted it to.
“This is ridiculous,” Kieren muttered, all broody and barefoot at the edge of his pristine, overpriced kitchen.
I didn’t even bother responding. The contract was spread out on the table in front of me—black and white proof of just how far off the rails my week had gone. I flipped through it like it was a brunch menu, ignoring the way Kieren hovered like he wanted to snatch it back.
“You punched someone for me,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “We’re already halfway to an engagement.”
His jaw twitched.
I reached the signature page, uncapped the pen, and signed.
Just like that.
Kieren blinked. “You’re not even going to pretend to hesitate?”
“Nope.” I clicked the pen shut with a satisfying snap and slid the papers toward his agent. “I like chaos. And I really like proving you wrong.”
I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the weight of his stare. Like he was trying to figure me out again. Like he hadn’t already decided what box to shove me into.
Matt—Harvard-law calm as ever—collected the contract and began typing on his laptop like we hadn’t just signed our lives over to a PR stunt. “Congratulations. You’re now in a mutually beneficial public-facing arrangement. I’ll send digital copies to your reps.”
“Fantastic,” I said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint off my blazer. “Do I get a commemorative t-shirt?”
Kieren’s voice was dry. “Limited edition. I Survived Kieren Walker’s PR Strategy, and All I Got Was This Contractual Relationship.”
I glanced at him. “Wow. You’re funnier when you’re annoyed.”
He crossed his arms. “You said yes too fast.”
I arched a brow. “Afraid I’m taking this too lightly?”
“No. Afraid you’re not taking me seriously.”
That stopped me. Just for a second.
Then I smiled—tight-lipped and unreadable. “Relax, Walker. I take everything seriously. Especially revenge.”
Matt packed up his laptop like he couldn’t get out of the condo fast enough. “I’ll email the finalized version tonight,” he said, sliding the contract into his briefcase. Talia was still on speakerphone, sounding far too amused for someone making hourly legal fees.
“This is going to be so fun to watch,” she chirped before disconnecting.
And then it was just me and Kieren.
The air shifted the second the door clicked shut. Quieter, heavier, like the walls had been waiting for this moment. He moved first—of course he did—padding into the kitchen barefoot and pulling two glasses from a cabinet. He didn’t ask if I wanted one. He just poured, slow and steady, the amber liquid catching the low light.
Bourbon. Strong. No ice.
He slid a glass across the counter to me. “So what now?”
I took it, wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. “Now we… what? Smile for the cameras?”
He smirked without humor. “Now we lie to the world.”
The way he said it—flat, resigned—made something in my chest tighten. This wasn’t his first time playing a part. Probably wasn’t even his tenth.
Silence stretched between us. Long enough for the bourbon’s smell to rise up and fill my head, warm and sharp. Long enough for me to realize we were standing closer than we should, with no one watching.
“You think I’m doing this to make you feel better?” I asked finally.
