“Too much?” Her voice pulled him back.
“Not necessarily. It’s isolated.” He set his chopsticks down. “No through-roads, only a dirt path leading to the water. There’s a dock, and sometimes people fish, but mostly it’s peaceful. A good place to disappear if needed.”
“Fishing?” Her voice rose an octave. “You? With a fishing pole? I need photographic evidence.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his mouth twitching. “It was one time. In a rowboat, not waders.”
“Even better!” She clasped her hands dramatically. “Please tell me you wore one of those vests with all the little pockets.”
“You’re impossible.” His tone was dry, but he didn’t deny it, which only encouraged her.
“So our fake engagement story involves the ever-dignified Ronan Wilder fumbling with fish and hooks?” A smile played on her lips.
“Not exactly.” His voice was careful, city lights reflecting off his glasses. “I was twelve. My uncle insisted I learn ‘life skills.’ It became a disaster.”
Her eyes lit up. “I have to hear this.”
He sighed before relenting. “ I caught a fish, panicked, and the line snapped. The fish flopped into the boat, and I nearly capsized us trying to escape it. My uncle had to save both me and the fish.”
She burst out laughing. “I can see it—you, all gangly limbs, flailing while this poor fish—” She couldn’t even finish.
“Are you done?” he asked, watching her.
“Not even close. This is gold. We have to use it.” She spoke between giggles. “You take me fishing at the lake house, try to impress me, but history repeats. The fish goes rogue, and I heroically save the day.”
“You heroically save the day?”
“Absolutely. I wrestle that fish into submission while you sit in awe. That’s when you realize you can’t live without me. Boom. Proposal.” She grinned triumphantly.
“That’s absurd.”
“Absurdly charming.” She pointed a takeout chopstick at him. “Which is why it’s perfect. Trust me, people eat up this kind of thing. It makes you seem…human.”
He went silent. Human. As if that was a trait he needed to work on. This ridiculous charade was already pushing his patience to its limit.
Apparently satisfied with his silence, she snapped her notebook shut with a flourish and pushed back her chair. “Well,” she announced, rising to her feet, “I think that’s enough fake romance for one night. Unless you’ve got any other thrilling details to add, like how we bonded over our mutual love of spreadsheets.”
He watched her, debating whether to dignify that with a response.
For once, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on him, thoughtful. The oversized conference room felt different, like the air had shifted around them.
“I think we’ve exhausted all angles.” He leaned back. “You did a good job.”
She froze mid-motion, her bag half-slung over her shoulder, then turned to him, her expression filled with feigned disbelief. “Was that—” She gasped dramatically, clutching a hand to her chest. “A compliment? From you? Stop the presses.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Noted.” She grinned at him, wide and easy. “Goodnight, boss man. Try not to overthink this whole ‘pretend to love me’ thing. You’ll sprain a muscle.”
“Goodnight,” he said.
She lingered a second longer than necessary, her eyes sweeping over him as if weighing unspoken words before deciding against them. Then, with a playful wink, she turned and walked away. The door swung shut behind her.
He sat still, staring at the vacant space where she’d been only moments ago.
The room felt bigger now. Colder.
“Just business.”
