"It's also pretty assuming of you. What if I didn't get it?"
She just smiles and shrugs. "Then we'll still have cake."
We sit, drinking coffee in comfortable silence. Everything I've worked for, everything I've achieved, but she's the part that matters most.
I'm about to tell her that when her phone buzzes. Her face changes as she reads the screen, her forehead furrows, and she starts chewing on her bottom lip.
Shit. Did something happen?
"Adrian..." The tone makes my stomach drop. She hands me her phone.
HEADLINE: "Romance Novelist Emmy Blake's Real-Life Love Story: Fake Dating her Estate Lawyer?"
SUBHEADING: "Sources claim relationship with attorney Adrian Hale began as arrangement to satisfy inheritance clause."
Cold rage floods through me. "Graham Whitmore. That son of a?—"
I start reading, my jaw clenches with each line. Every word makes me angrier.
"This could destroy your career," I say. "Your reputation as a writer—the scandal will follow you?—"
I'm planning our legal strategy—defamation suit, retraction demands—when I realize Emmy is making a weird sound. I turn to her, so confused and unsure I'm actually seeing this.
She's laughing. Actually laughing, tears streaming down her face.
"Emmy?"
She points at the article, still laughing. I stare, completely lost, briefly wondering if the stress finally got to her and she's losing it.
"We really have all the popular tropes pat down," she gasps through laughter. "Enemies to lovers. Fake dating. Forced proximity. All we're missing is a one-bed scenario. Though technically we've been sharing a bed?—"
"Your career?—"
Emmy leans back and wipes her eyes. "You destroyed our agreement. Who will believe Whitmore?"
Our relationship is real now, documented in genuine texts, photos, and witnesses. Whitmore has nothing but speculation and anonymous sources that won't hold up in any proceeding.
"You're not worried?" I ask, watching her carefully.
"Should I be?" She tilts her head, that challenging look I've come to love.
"No. No, you shouldn't be."
The intercom buzzes, my receptionist's voice breaking the moment. "Mr. Whitmore is here."
My lips draw together tightly as I meet Emmy's eyes. "Send him in."
She moves to stand beside my desk without needing to be asked, presenting a united front as Graham enters with that triumphant expression already plastered across his smug face.
"I assume you've seen the article."
"Withdraw your motion, Graham. The relationship requirement has been met."
"Your relationship is fake!" He waves his phone like it's damning evidence. "The article proves?—"
"Nothing. You're a lawyer." My voice drops to the lethal calm I reserve for hostile witnesses. "You should know better than to make accusations without evidence."
"I have sources!" His voice rises, and desperation creeps in.
