Chapter 2: His Deal, My Downfall

By morning, Adrian Harrington sat in his favorite corner of the private club—a sanctuary so immaculate it whispered power in every gleaming detail. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a skyline of glass and steel, sunlight flashing off distant towers. He stirred his black coffee with practiced indifference, but his thoughts refused to settle.

Across from him lounged Marcus Hale—oldest friend, occasional tormentor, and the only man alive who still treated him like the reckless prep-school rebel he once was.

Adrian traced the rim of his cup, the ceramic warm beneath his fingertips. The city shimmered outside the glass, but he barely noticed.

“You’re brooding,” Marcus said, dropping sugar into his espresso. “Which means either the markets tanked overnight or you met a woman.”

Adrian’s brow lifted in dry amusement. “Not everything revolves around women.”

“With you, it usually does.” Marcus smirked. “Spill it.”

Adrian considered brushing him off, but Marcus had always been annoyingly good at prying past his defenses.

“Last night, an intern nearly stepped in front of my car.”

Marcus’s eyebrows rose, unimpressed. “And you’re sulking over…traffic safety?”

“She wasn’t just anyone. Elena Ramirez.” Adrian’s jaw tightened at the memory—the spark in her eyes when she’d snapped back at him instead of groveling. “She wasn’t afraid of me. That’s rare.”

Marcus’s grin widened. “So she’s got a spine. I like her already. You, however—” he leaned forward “—you need her.”

Adrian’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.”

“The board’s restless,” Marcus said, his voice sharpening. “Your reputation—playboy, scandals, models like revolving doors—it’s hurting you. They want stability. Commitment. Proof you’re more than a headline.”

“I’m not getting married to appease a board.” Adrian’s voice was clipped steel.

“No one said marriage.” Marcus took a slow sip. “But imagine showing up to events with a steady partner. Someone who doesn’t scream ‘publicity stunt.’ Someone real enough to shut the rumors down.”

Adrian arched a brow. “Hire someone, you mean?”

“Not exactly.” Marcus’s smile turned sly. “You’ve already found her. That intern—Elena. Ordinary enough to look believable, sharp enough to hold her own. And best of all, she clearly doesn’t worship the ground you walk on.”

Adrian bristled. “She would never agree.”

“Then convince her. You’ve closed tougher deals.”

The idea lodged in Adrian’s mind like a thorn. He hated needing anyone, hated that the thought of a single intern solving a problem his board had whispered about for months actually made sense. But logic was logic. Survival, power, legacy—sentiment couldn’t interfere. If he wanted Harrington Enterprises untouchable, he had to play the game.

And maybe Elena Ramirez was the perfect piece.

Elena nearly dropped her coffee when she saw him waiting in the lobby. Adrian Harrington did not wait—not for interns, not for anyone. Heads turned as though gravity itself bent toward him.

“Elena Ramirez,” he said smoothly, gaze locking on hers. “In my office. Now.”

Every nerve buzzed as she followed him into the elevator. By the time they reached the top floor, her palms were damp.

Inside his office—a glass fortress above the city—Adrian gestured to a chair. “I owe you an apology for last night.”

Elena blinked. “You tracked me down just to say sorry?”

“Not exactly.” His voice lowered, all calculation. “I have a proposal.”

Her stomach dipped. “Proposal?”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said. “You pretend to be my girlfriend for a few months. In return, I’ll make sure your career takes off—connections, recommendations, funding. Whatever you need. You’d be set.”

For a beat she could only stare. Then laughter—sharp and incredulous—burst out of her. “You nearly ran me over, and now you want me to fake-date you? Are you serious?”

“I never joke,” Adrian replied, unflinching. “The board needs stability. You need opportunity. We help each other.”

“This is insane.”

“Insane,” he agreed softly, “but effective.”

She folded her arms, glaring. “Why me? You could hire a model. Or call one of the women you’ve already—”

“That’s the point.” His interruption was cool, deliberate. “No one would believe it. You don’t want this. Which makes you perfect.”

Her knees felt weak, a nervous laugh escaping before she could stop it. Am I really considering this? Elena’s pulse thudded. She thought of Maya, of tuition, of rent. Of how heavy responsibility felt when you carried it alone. Maybe this was the chance she’d been chasing without even realizing it.

His gaze pinned her, sharp as glass. “You’ve been pretending your whole life, Elena. Smiling when you want to scream. Pushing forward when you want to break. This is no different—except this time, you get something back.”

The truth in his words cut too close. She hated that part of her considered it.

“If I say yes,” she whispered, “this stays pretend. No lines crossed.”

Something flickered in his eyes—gone too fast to name. “Strictly pretend.”

The air shifted, heavy with finality. Elena’s chest tightened. Somehow, agreeing felt less like opportunity and more like stepping into a performance with no script. She swallowed hard. This has to stay pretend. And yet the weight of his gaze, the ruthless certainty in his eyes, made her wonder if pretending would ever be enough.

She thought of Maya’s laughter, their cramped apartment, the weight of rent envelopes. Then she thought of Adrian, watching her with that unsettling calm.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the door opened. Marcus strolled in, casual confidence radiating as if he owned the room.

He leaned lazily against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ah,” he said, voice dripping amusement. “So this is the girl. Tell me, Ramirez—do you have any idea what you’re about to sign up for?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, but Marcus only grinned wider at the tension.

Elena froze. Marcus chuckled, looking between them with dangerous delight.

“Well,” he said, “this just got interesting.”