Future Mrs. Wagner?

The transformation from "Frankie the Frankfurter" to "Future Mrs. Wagner" took exactly forty-five minutes and involved a very confused personal assistant named Marcus, who had been rehired via a frantic, mustard-scented text.

Lilia sat in the back of a sleek black town car, clutching her knees. She was still wearing her diner uniform, but she’d been wrapped in a charcoal wool coat Sion had tossed at her. Beside her, Sion was furiously scrubbing his neck with a wet wipe, looking less like a shark and more like a man who had survived a battle with a condiment factory.

"The narrative is simple," Sion said, his voice clipped as he ignored the fact that he was currently shirtless, waiting for Marcus to meet them with a fresh suit. "We met months ago. You’re an aspiring entrepreneur—which isn't a lie, considering the restaurant—and we’ve been keeping it private because I’m... well, me. Today was supposed to be our 'public debut,' but we had a clumsy accident in the parking lot. It shows I’m not perfect. It shows I’m human."

"It shows you’re a magnet for processed meat," Lilia muttered, looking out the window at the rain. "What about my family? My grandmother? She’s going to see this on the news and think I’ve lost my mind. Or worse, she’ll think I’m actually dating a man who wears a scowl as a personality trait."

Sion paused, his hand hovering over a fresh silk tie that Marcus had just shoved through the car window at a red light. He looked at Lilia—really looked at her. She was small, soaked to the bone, and currently the only thing standing between him and a hostile takeover.

"Tell your grandmother the truth, if you must," Sion said, his tone softening by a fraction of a degree. "But the rest of the world needs to believe I am a man capable of love. Or at least a man capable of being tackled into a puddle by someone he cares about."

The car pulled up to the curb of Wagner Enterprises. A swarm of reporters was already there—Sion’s "assistant" had leaked the location of the "accident" minutes ago. The plan was in motion.

"Wait!" Lilia grabbed his arm as he reached for the door handle. "I can’t go out there like this. I look like I’ve been through a car wash."

Sion reached out, his fingers surprisingly warm as he tucked a damp curl behind her ear. For a split second, the "billionaire shark" disappeared, replaced by something genuine. "Lilia, the more disheveled you look, the more they’ll believe we’re in love. Perfection is boring. This—" he gestured to her messy hair and his own lingering yellow stain "—is a headline."

He stepped out of the car first, then turned and offered his hand. It was the classic gentleman’s move, designed for the cameras. Lilia took a deep breath, fixed a smile on her face that she hoped looked "smitten" rather than "terrified," and stepped into the flashbulbs.

"Mr. Wagner! Who is the woman?"

"Is it true you were seen at a local diner?"

"Sion, look this way!"

Sion pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist with a proprietary grip that made Lilia’s heart do a strange, unscripted flip. He leaned down, whispering near her ear for the benefit of the microphones. "Smile, Frankfurter. We’re about to make you a star."

As they ascended the marble steps of his empire, Lilia realized the five hundred thousand dollars might be the easy part. Surviving the man holding her was going to be the real challenge.