“Or it suggests that you’ve lost your marbles.” She threw her hands up. “This is insane. You can’t just pencil in a fake engagement between ‘Q3 Projections’ and ‘Order More Toner.’”
“Why not?” His calm confidence was infuriating. “It’s strategic. Temporary. Mutually beneficial.”
“Mutually beneficial?” Her voice rose. “What am I getting out of this? Besides the inevitable tabloid headlines and maybe an ulcer?”
He stepped closer. “You already manage every aspect of my life. Think of this as an extension of your current responsibilities.”
“An extension? There’s a difference between scheduling your dry cleaning and pretending to be your fiancée.”
“Fake means temporary. Nothing more.”
“Fine.” She planted her palms on his desk, leaning in. “If I’m faking this engagement, we’re negotiating terms.”
He sat back, steepling his hands under his chin, and regarded her the way he probably looked at quarterly reports—calculating. “I’m listening.”
“First off.” She began ticking points off on her fingers. “I want a raise. A big one. Enough to cover the therapy I’ll need after this circus.”
“Done.”
“Wait, really?”
“You’re critically undervalued in your current role.” He shrugged. “It’s an overdue adjustment.”
“Okay then.” She spoke slowly. “Second, I want the corner office. You know, the one with the good view and the espresso machine nobody’s allowed to use because it’s ‘for VIP guests only.’” She made air quotes with pointed sarcasm.
“Unnecessary for your position. But I’ll approve weekly access to the espresso machine.”
“Weekly?” she exclaimed. “What, do you think caffeine works on a subscription plan? Fine, moving on. Third, I’m going to need a new wardrobe.”
“Why? You have clothes.”
“Not fiancée-of-a-billionaire clothes.” She gestured to her current attire. “Fake or not, I can’t show up to these events looking like I stepped out of a Hallmark movie set in rural Wisconsin.”
“Fair point.” His mouth tightened as if admitting it pained him. “I’ll authorize a reasonable shopping budget.”
“Define ‘reasonable.’” She crossed her arms.
“Reasonable.” His tone was flat, offering no clarification.
“If I show up in an outfit bedazzled from the clearance rack, people are going to assume you’re losing your touch. Do you want that kind of press?”
He sighed, muttering about being extorted in broad daylight, then said more clearly, “Fine. A generous shopping budget. No bedazzling required.”
“Great.” She straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. “Now let’s talk about how this plan is destined to implode spectacularly.”
“Implode?” He frowned, clearly unaccustomed to anyone predicting failure in his vicinity. “This has been strategically calculated.”
“Sure, it has.” She plopped into the chair across from him, gesturing. “Because nothing says ‘calculated’ like fake engagements.”
She paused, eyes narrowing as the pieces connected. “Let me paint you a picture. Step one: Mr. Beauchamp does a background check. Guess what he finds? Your spotless life history suddenly comes with an extra—how convenient—fiancée who doesn’t exist in any of your previous Christmas cards.”
She leaned in, composed but focused. “You know, this whole thing isn’t some meticulously thought-out plan. It’s a reaction to what you said earlier, isn’t it? You unraveled yourself with that ‘family values’ comment on the phone, and now this is the solution you came up with in a panic.”
“Well, it’s got to be easier than renting a family,” he let slip.
She blinked, a laugh escaping her. “What?”
“Nothing. Let’s move on.”
