Chapter 17

Riley’s POV

It’s funny when I think about it…

If he cared so much about time, about image, about doing things the proper way—he could’ve just married someone else by now. Had his secretary book a chapel, flown in a model from Paris, called it a day. But he didn’t.

Why?

I sat at my desk, rearranging papers for the fourth time, and then froze.

Oh my God.

My jaw dropped, pen clattering to the floor.

Could he have fallen in love with Harper?!

I pictured the two of them—Harper and Ethan—walking down some high-society aisle. Her in one of those sleek, backless dresses she pretends not to like, him looking like a Bond villain who’s never smiled in his life.

Ugh. No. No, no, no.

He definitely did not seem like the type to fall in love. Let alone with someone who made him talk about sex over steak tartare. That man didn’t even seem human. The stare? The way he said, “You’re not Riley,” like it was a death sentence?

He was probably planning her destruction right now.

I grabbed my phone in a panic. I had to warn her—no, text her. Call her. Hire security.

Before I could press send, a frantic knock hit my door.

“Miss Bennett?” one of the interns poked her head in. “There’s someone asking for you in the downstairs lobby.”

My brow furrowed. “Who?”

“David Montgomery.”

I blinked. “David...?”

As in—David-the-secretary-who-I-thought-was-Ethan?

Oh no.

By the time I reached the building lobby, my heart was pounding louder than my heels. And there he was. Smiling like some goddamn prince. 

“Miss Bennett,” he stood up, sheepish. “I hope this isn’t too sudden.”

Sudden? No. This is an ambush. A very well-dressed, brown-eyed ambush.

He bowed slightly. Bowed. What is this, the Regency era?

“I wanted to properly apologize for the confusion. For not introducing myself. For… a lot of things, actually.”

I stared at him, mouth dry. “So… you’re not Ethan Reynolds?”

His face said you really still don’t know? but he just chuckled. “I’m David. His assistant.”

I nodded. Slowly. “So the pasta—”

“Was supposed to be a retrieval mission.” He winced. “I was meant to bring you to him. I just… got a little sidetracked.”

By me, apparently.

There was a pause, one I broke mostly to save myself from drowning in my own embarrassment.

“…Have you eaten?” I blurted.

David blinked. “Uh—no, actually.”

“Good,” I said, too brightly. “Lunch is on me.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Lunch with David was…

Awkward.

Surprisingly pleasant.

He'd chosen a sleek little bistro in Midtown — leather booths, flattering lighting, truffle oil in everything. I should’ve been vibing. I really should’ve. But I was too busy panic-spooning overpriced gnocchi into my mouth while replaying last night’s humiliation on loop.

He took a sip of water, watching me like he was waiting for something.

“Well?” I snapped, voice just a little too shrill. “Aren’t you going to say it?”

David blinked. “Say what?”

“That I’m a liar. Or a lunatic. Or whatever people call girls who accidentally fall for the wrong man and nearly marry the wrong CEO.”

He chuckled softly. “That one’s not on the list of HR training examples.”

I groaned, flopping dramatically against the booth cushion. “This is a PR disaster. I can already hear the headlines. ‘Billionaire Heiress Tricks Innocent Secretary Into Doomed Romance.’”

“I don’t think I was innocent,” he murmured, but I caught the tiny smile. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t mind dinner.”

That made me pause.

“You didn’t?”

He shook his head. “I thought you were… eccentric. But fun.”

Eccentric. Great. Add that to my mental breakdown later.

“I liked talking to you,” he added, almost shyly. “Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I stared at him, brain short-circuiting for a second.

Was he blushing?

Oh God.

Am I blushing?

“I mean,” I fumbled, stabbing a piece of gnocchi with a little too much force, “I did offer to pay, so that makes me the man in the relationship, right?”

David snorted into his napkin. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

The moment held for a beat too long.

Then he cleared his throat and shifted, suddenly more serious. “Ethan’s not going to let this go.”

My heart dropped. “Define ‘not going to let this go.’”

He hesitated. “He wants to meet the real woman from the blind date.”

I forced a laugh. “No way.”

“Riley,” David said, gentler now, “if this isn’t cleared up soon… the chairmen will be involved. Your father, Ethan’s father—”

My fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto the plate.

“Dad?” I whispered.

David winced. “Yeah.”

No.

No, no, no.

Anyone but Dad.

See, my father wasn’t scary in the traditional way. He wasn’t a yeller or a punishment kind of guy. He was worse.

He was a lecturer.

The kind who sat you down with a heavy sigh, folded hands, and asked, “Is this really the person you want to become?”

That was how I lost my AMEX Platinum in 2019. I still have nightmares.

David must’ve noticed my expression shift because he immediately added, “You’re not in trouble. Not yet. But Ethan’s… focused. If he figures out who she is—”

“I know,” I snapped, but not at him. “I know. Just… give me time.”

________________________________________

By the time I got back to my office, I was in full crisis mode.

And I mean full.

Shoes off, bun undone, pacing in circles with three different stress snacks in rotation.

“He wants to marry her?” I muttered aloud, grabbing a handful of trail mix. “He still wants to marry her? After all this?”

I stared at my ceiling like it held the answers to life’s biggest questions. My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and every part of me wanted to scream.

He still wants to marry her. Harper

I slumped into my chair with a groan. “This is a disaster.”

And yet…

They’d look cute together. Ugh, that’s what’s worse. That quiet kind of cute that sneaks up on you. Him all stern and mysterious, her all soft sarcasm and doe eyes. I could see it. I could hear it.

And I couldn’t let it happen.

But if I don’t, he’ll push through with this marriage and I will end up being the bride. The mere thought alone gave me goosebumps. Maybe if I get Harper on board, this could all work out, But HOW!!!

Bribe her?

She probably won’t accept this time.

Tell her dad?

What am I, a narc?, also, how does that even help this issue

Blackmail?

...Tempting. But ineffective.

I sighed and dropped into my chair.

There was only one solution left.

I grabbed my phone, opened my contacts, and stared at Harper’s name.

“There’s only one thing left to do.”