Chapter 20

“Why me?” I asked, arms crossed and brow twitching. “Out of every woman in Manhattan—why me?”

Ethan didn’t even flinch. “Because I’ve seen your acting. Up close.”

My mouth fell open. Was that… praise?

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I asked, glaring at him.

He blinked once. “Interpret it however you like.”

Oh, I was interpreting it all right. I pressed my palms together muttering an internal prayer for patience.

“You don’t want to marry me” he said, tone matter-of-fact, “and I don’t want to waste time. So, here’s the deal. Pretend to date me in front of my grandfather, and in return, I’ll pay you.”

“I can’t believe you just said that!” I burst out, staring at Ethan like he’d sprouted twenty extra heads. “You want me to... to pretend to be your girlfriend?  What, like fake holding hands? Fake kissing? Fake everything?”

He didn’t blink, his nonchalant gaze met mine, a hint of a smirk playing on those lips. “Yes, Riley. That’s usually how fake dating works.” Sarcasm dripping with every word.

That shut me up. He’s not letting this go anytime soon

I eyed him warily. “You want me to fake-date you... so you don’t have to go through another blind date?”

“No,” he said, calmly placing an elbow on the table. “So I can shut my grandfather up without legally binding myself to someone I’ve never met.”

“You mean… someone else you’ve never met.” I deadpanned.

His lip twitched. “Touché.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. It wasn’t the worst idea. Pretend for a little while, take the money, walk away. Easy. Right?

“Do you need time to think?” he asked.

I blinked. “A little, yeah.”

“Five minutes.”

“Five?!” I gaped. “That’s not even enough time to—”

“Ten,” he interrupted smoothly.

I gripped the edge of the tablecloth. If you weren’t my freaking CEO, I’d flip this entire table.

“You have nine minutes left,” he added helpfully.

This man.

“…So you’re not mad at me?” I finally asked, trying to read the calm on his face.

“Mad?” he tilted his head. “Why would I be mad?”

Maybe because I lied, impersonated someone else, wasted his time, got his assistant involved in a case of mistaken identity, and almost tanked a generational alliance between billion-dollar families?

But sure. Let’s pretend he’s not mad.

“I heard you hate lies,” I mumbled.

“I do,” he said. “Almost as much as I hate wasting time.”

“So… I did both.”

“Mm.” He didn’t even blink. “But I don’t have time to dwell on it. My grandfather is already lining up another date. I don’t intend to sit through another one.”

“So, what—you’re just going to hire me?” I frowned.

“You need money. I need a solution. It’s efficient.” Ethan sipped his wine, as if this was the most reasonable proposal in the world.

I stared at him. “You’re aware you’re talking about hiring me to fake-date you to your family. Right?”

“Do you want me to write it out in a contract?” he asked.

I almost screamed.

“But you said I ruined your plan,” I reminded him.

“You did.” He shrugged. “I intended to marry whoever showed up that night. Problem was, it turned out to be someone who wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

I nearly choked on air. “How was I supposed to know?!”

“You weren’t” he said simply. 

“Look,” he said, leveling me with that unreadable gaze. “You help me handle this, and I’ll make it worth your time.”

I exhaled. “Fine, I’ll help.”

“Great.” He smiled—if you could call it that. It was the fakest smile I’d ever seen. “You’ve saved me three minutes.”

‘Wow, what an honor,’ I thought sarcastically. ‘Enough time to microwave oatmeal.’

“Let’s arrange for you to meet my grandfather” he added.

“Sure,” I muttered, fully surrendering to the spiraling disaster that was now my life.

“Oh, and unblock my number.”

My jaw clenched. “Yes, sir.”

He picked up his fork. “Now let’s eat.”

I picked at my food, too exhausted to argue. My whole body slumped under the weight of what I’d just agreed to. A fake relationship with Ethan freaking Reynolds. The man who could win a gold medal in emotional constipation.

We sat in awkward silence.

Then he glanced up. “What’s your name?”

I blinked. “My.... name?”

“Yes Your real name.”

Oh crap.

“J-Jessica,” I blurted. “Jessica… Thompson.”

“Jessica Thompson,” he repeated slowly.

I nodded, hoping he didn’t notice the sweat breaking across my forehead.

He tilted his head slightly “You don’t look like a Jessica.”

“I get that a lot,” I squeaked.

He hummed and went back to eating. A few moments passed before he frowned and set his fork down.

“It’s cold,” he said. “Should we reorder?”

“No!” I blurted. “I mean—no, I’m fine. Totally edible. Tastes like… gourmet dreams.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I shoveled a bite into my mouth to shut myself up. And then I froze.

It was good.

Like, really good.

Tender, buttery, absolutely worth every penny kind of good.

“This is…” I blinked, chewing slowly. “Insanely delicious.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, expression finally softening.

I kept eating. Despite everything—this man, this date, this twisted mess—I couldn’t deny the food was the only good part.

Until he spoke again.

“One more thing.”

I glanced up, mouth half-full.

“I want you to meet my grandfather by the end of the week.”

I choked on a piece of veal. “What?!!”

His eyes glittered. “We don’t have time to waste. You’re now my girlfriend, Jessica. Better start practicing.”

I stared at him, fork frozen midair.

Because no amount of veal in the world could prepare me this.

My only thought?

Riley is a dead woman.