Chapter 21

My phone buzzed violently, against my nightstand, shattering the last few seconds of sleep I was clinging to. I groaned blindly swiping across the sheets for it with one hand and burying my face in the pillow with the other.

“What time is it…” I cracked an eye open. Pitch black.

The screen glowed:

4:35 A.M.

What the actual hell.

I finally grabbed the phone and answered, already scowling. “This better be good,” I muttered, voice gravelly. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Jessica?” a man’s voice asked smoothly. “Jessica Thompson?”

I blinked. ‘Jessica, …. Who even is that?’

“You’ve got the wrong number, man.” I yawned into the receiver, flopping onto my side.

“The number’s correct.”

“Congrats. Still not Jessica and I don’t do prank calls. Goodbye—”

“Are you sleeping?” he cut in, as if I hadn’t just answered with my voice three octaves lower than usual.

“Obviously.” I muttered, pulling my blanket over my head. “What kind of sociopath calls at—” I checked the screen. “—FOUR THIRTY-FIVE?!”

“Are you sleep-talking?” the voice pressed.   

I groaned. “Who are you?”

“Your employer.”

The voice went colder than a snowstorm.

My eyes flew open.

Oh God.

“Ethan?!” I whisper-yelled, bolting upright.

The ceiling spun for a second as my blood pressure remembered what gravity was.

“Glad to hear you’re finally awake,” he said, completely unfazed.

I sat bolt upright in bed. The screen glared back at me. It was him. My new fake fiancé-slash-nightmare.

I glanced at the time again. Still 4:35.

Why was this man operating like a Wall Street vampire?

“Why are you calling at this ungodly hour?” I hissed, voice raw with sleep.

"Just checking to see if you’d bother answering." 

“You called at four a.m.!”

“I’m busy.”

“So am I!”

“You were sleeping.”

“Yeah, well, some of us are busy sleeping. Still counts.” I yawned hard, burying my face into my pillow. “Is there a law against it in this sacred democracy?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but I could hear papers flipping on his end like he was multitasking running a hedge fund and emotionally destabilizing me.

“Since we’re two people getting married,” he said finally, “think of this as a good morning call.”

I choked on my own spit. “Excuse me—what now?”

“We’re not getting married. We’re pretending to be engaged. Huge difference.”

“Mm,” he hummed, the tiniest bit amused. “Noted.”

“And for the record, good morning calls should start after 8 a.m., not before sunrise.”

“Well then.” His voice was clipped, smug. “I’ll let you get back to your busy schedule.”

“Finally,” I mumbled, already halfway back to dreamland.

“See you tomorrow.”

My eyes popped open.

Wait. What?

“Tomorrow?” I croaked. “What do you mean see you tomorrow?”

“For our meeting.”

“Our what?!”

He sighed. “Relax. I’m joking.”

“You’re what now?”

“It was just a parting phrase, Jessica. But if tomorrow works for you, I’ll call my grandfather.”

“NO!” I shouted, sitting bolt upright again. “Absolutely not. I’m not mentally prepared for that!”

“Mentally prepared to lie?” he asked innocently.

“This and that are two different things!” I snapped, pulling my blanket back over my head.

“I’ll let you sleep now.”

“You better.”

“Miss Jessica.”

I groaned. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Click.

The man had the audacity to hang up on me before I could throw another sarcastic comment.

I stared at my ceiling in a mix of horror and resignation. “This man is going to give me a brain ache.”

Ethan’s POV

The drive to work was quiet, except for the rustling of the trees with the windows half way down.

David glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“You look... different,” he said slowly.

I raised a brow. “How?”

“Relaxed,” he said. “Sort of. You’re even smiling. Which is weird, honestly.”

I didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

It had taken me a full minute after that call to stop thinking about Jessica’s sleepy voice. Her outrage. Her dramatics. Her rant about sacred democracies and sleep schedules.

God help me, it was... kind of cute.

“I take it that was the mystery woman again?” David asked.

I nodded.

“The fake Riley Bennett?”

“She’s not Riley, no.”

“But you’re still going to go through with it?” he asked, more serious now. “The marriage?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I made up my mind.”

David drummed his fingers on the wheel. “You know your grandfather’s been calling nonstop.”

I leaned my head back. “Let him.”

“He’s asking how things are progressing. And I’m running out of vague answers.”

“Tell him I’m not marrying the real Riley Bennett.”

David’s brows lifted. “You’re going to tell him that?”

I shrugged. “He’ll find out soon enough.”

“And when he asks who you are marrying?”

I gave a lazy smirk. “Tell him he’ll meet her soon.”

David snorted. “And you think that’ll satisfy him?”

“No,” I said, amused. “But it’ll buy us time.”

I went back to reviewing the proposal in my hand, but Jessica’s voice was still echoing in my head.

“No! I’m not mentally prepared!”

Maybe I wasn’t either.

But it was already too late.