Chapter 4: Play Pretend (Samantha)

Samantha's Point of View

My fingers drifted along the bottles lined up on the wooden shelf, scanning each label. Before I could reach the last one, a pair of wide, warm hands slid onto my shoulders.

“Do you like what you're seeing, mi amor?”

I swallowed hard and slowly turned my head. Walter’s face was right there—so close that I could feel the soft hiss of his breath against my skin. He rested his forehead on the back of my head while his thumbs kneaded my shoulders as if giving me a massage.

“I’m loving i—”

I didn’t finish. I burst into laughter. His gentle hold instantly tightened, turning painfully firm. I shoved him away.

“How are we supposed to convince everyone if we can’t even act sweet? We’re just practicing and you can’t even take it seriously. We have only a few days left.” His frustration showed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

I lost count of how many times we’d tried to rehearse. And each time, I ruined it—because honestly, who wouldn’t laugh? He just had to choose mi amor as our endearment. Really? Of all things? Honey or babe would’ve been easier. But no—he kept on insisting that it's relevant to his Spanish roots, which is obviously a lie.

“And can you soften up a little? You’re so stiff. Add a little flirtation—act like you can’t breathe without me,” he added. His attitude? Unbelievable. His instructions? Dramatic. His choice of words? Impossible to take seriously. “You already agreed to this deal. Make sure you play your part right.”

Because I wanted to get this practice over with, and because I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his face, I acted. And I acted well.

“Like this?”

I looped my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him, close enough for the rise of my chest to meet his.

I held his gaze, guiding his eyes down to my mouth with deliberate slowness, letting the tension thicken between us. When I looked back into his eyes, I saw it—the slight tilt of his head as he moved closer. My breath stuttered. I closed my eyes and parted my lips just a little.

He cleared his throat.

I blinked.

“That’s enough.”

He gently removed my arms from around him and turned away. For some reason, I couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. It felt like revenge—a satisfying revenge.

“Was that good enough?” I asked.

He faced me, chin lifted like he’d gathered his arrogance back into place.

“It was good. But don’t forget our endearment,” he said, crossing his arms. “Anyway, did you get any updates about the shipment delay in Visayas?”

Just like that, he switched to real work—no transition, no warning.

“There’s still limited access over the San Juanico Bridge,” I explained. “A lot of delivery trucks are stuck and lined up.”

He looked away from me. Interesting. He couldn’t even meet my eyes now.

“And who said land transportation is our only option?” he asked, heavy with sarcasm.

I sighed. “We can move the trucks onto a RORO ship. But that means extra time and costs. Unless the company is willing to spend more and risk losing profit.”

His eyebrows arched, but I continued. “If we load them onto a RORO ship, the trucks still need to travel to the nearest port. Then they’ll wait for the next trip. And ships don’t depart every hour.”

He nodded as he continued listening.

“And after that, there are additional fees,” I finished.

“So what you’re saying is we just let our trucks rot on the other side of the bridge?” he snapped, as if I’d insulted him.

I shook my head. “I’m saying we wait until they allow more trucks through. There’s a weight limit, but it doesn’t mean we can’t pass.”

He stared into the distance, thinking. Then he walked past me and settled on his swivel chair.

“Just go buy me a coffee,” he said, opening his laptop. “And cancel all my meetings this afternoon.”

I shot him a look. “You can’t cancel your meeting with the owner of Hacienda Oledan.”

He looked up sharply. “And who says I can’t? I can because I want to.”

“But—”

“I’m the boss,” he cut me off. Then added, “Mi amor,” with that annoying smirk I hated more than taxes.

“Besides,” he continued, “the reason for the cancellation is very important.”

I raised a brow.

“And by the way,” he added, disregarding my reaction. “You need a little makeover. Sometimes you look more masculine than our security personnel.”