Page 48 of Tessa and Nash

Silence.

His mouth opens. Closes. Then his head shakes ferociously.

“No,” he whispers fiercely. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

I tilt my head. “Then I suppose the council finds out you fabricated commitment to manipulate them.”

His jaw clenches. “You’d destroy my project out of spite?”

“Out of accuracy,” I correct. “But I don’t want to.”

That stops him.

“You don’t,” he says slowly.

“No,” I admit. “I want the truth. And if my uncle is wrong, I want proof.”

“And how does you pretending to be my fiancée help with that?” he asks.

I smile faintly. “Because it puts me exactly where I need to be—around the meetings, the plans. If there’s something you’re hiding, or something you don’t even know, you won’t be able to keep it from me.”

“And your uncle?”

“I’ll tell him this is the only way I can keep an eye on you,” I say. “If he’s right, I'll expose it. If he’s wrong…” I shrug. “Then maybe everyone learns something.”

Nash stares at me like I’ve suggested arson. “This is insane.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But you don’t have much choice.”

He laughs once, sharp and quiet. “You really enjoy this.”

“I enjoy leverage,” I reply.

He looks down at the table. Then back at me. “And if I say no?”

I sip my coffee. “Then I walk out of here and let Buckhorn do what it does best.”

The silence stretches.

Finally, he exhales.

“…Fine,” he mutters. “But this is temporary.”

“Of course,” I say sweetly. “Just long enough to convince everyone.”

“And you won’t enjoy this.”

I smile.

“Oh, Nash,” I say softly. “I already am.”

I lean forward, lowering my tone until it blends into the clatter and hum of the diner.

“If we’re doing this,” I say, “we’re doing it correctly.”