Chapter 22

Harper's POV

“Good morning, Mr. Reynolds!” Staff chirped, bowing their heads as Ethan strode through the glass doors of GlowMira like he owned the entire city.

Which, technically, he kind of did.

I, however, was frozen on the sidewalk just outside the lobby, crouched behind a planter like a raccoon avoiding tax fraud.

Did he leave? Is the coast clear? Can I exist without accidentally locking eyes with him again?

I peeked over the ledge, and my soul nearly evaporated through my scalp.

'Nope. Not clear. Ethan Reynolds, six-foot menace, has officially entered the building and hijacked my peace of mind.'

At this rate, I was going to develop premature gray hair.

How was I supposed to work like this? Every hallway, every breakroom coffee pot, every elevator ping sent my fight-or-flight response into full meltdown. I’d become a walking anxiety attack in heels.

And to make things worse?

I jabbed my phone screen in fury.

Still no response.

“Come on, Riley,” I muttered. “You orchestrate an identity fraud, trap me into a date with my boss, and then ghost me?!”

Call declined.

Again.

I stared at the screen like it had slapped me.

“Oh, she wants to die,” I muttered, dialing again before a voice behind me made me jump.

“What are you doing?”

I nearly choked on air. “Mr. Reynol—!”

Nope. Not him. Just Jack. Jack from HR.

I clutched my chest. “Don’t sneak up on people like that, Jack! I thought you were—” I lowered my voice, “—a ghost.”

Jack gave me a weird look. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not.

I waved him off, muttered something about allergies, and slipped inside before I had a breakdown on company property.

The next morning, I was basically a corpse at my desk.

“You alright?” Petra asked, standing beside me with a worried frown.

I lifted my head like I’d been summoned from the underworld. “Hmm?”

“You look… like you fought a printer and lost.”

“That’s oddly accurate.”

“You should take the day off.”

“I’m fine. Just… sleep-deprived. You ever lay in bed thinking about every life decision you’ve ever made?”

Petra blinked. “Last week, actually.”

I gave her a thumbs-up. “Cool. Then you get it.”

I grabbed my purse and stumbled out, Sasha and Connie watching me like I was seconds from spontaneously combusting.

“She’s been acting real weird,” Connie whispered.

“Should we call someone?”

Probably.

—

Outside, I made it about ten steps before my phone rang. Seeing Riley’s name pop up made my blood boil.

“Oh, it’s on.”

I answered with the fury of a woman scorned.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

“Harper—I’m sorry—!”

“Sorry?!” I hissed, ducking into an alley with a bench. “Do you know what I’ve been through?! You sent me into a bear trap with lip gloss and lies! I hope you know I’m planning to shave your eyebrows in your sleep.”

“I panicked!” she whined. “I knew you’d be mad, so I didn’t answer!”

“Oh, that’s rich. You thought I’d be mad? MAD?! Riley Bennett, I had to go toe-to-toe with a man who breathes tax codes for breakfast!”

“I know, I know—I committed a deadly sin—”

“Sin? Try felony!”

“Are you getting married or something?” she teased.

“I hate you,” I seethed.

“I love you.”

“You tricked me!”

“You asked for a blind date!” she whined.

“I asked for a normal man—not my literal CEO!”

There was silence. Then—

“Wait... are you getting married?” she asked slowly.

“No! Of course not! He offered me a job.”

“A job…?”

I rubbed my face, groaning. “He offered me a million dollars to fake-date him in front of his grandfather. That’s it.”

“Wait, seriously? That’s it? I thought he was dead set on marriage.”

“So did I!” I cried. “Turns out he just wants to win some weird family war with a fake girlfriend.”

“Well... you’re really good at being fake,” she offered helpfully.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly so I wouldn’t commit a felony through the phone.

“Look,” she said, “you lied, he hired you, and no one’s been fired yet. You’re rich, he gets his cover story. It’s kind of genius?”

“If I get found out, you’re on rent duties”

“If you get fired, I’ll just hire you myself. You can be my personal stylist-slash-bodyguard-slash-revenge assistant.”

‘’You better be ready to support my entire family. Learn how to fry chicken. We’re opening a food truck or you’re so dead”

“I CAN’T DIE YET—I JUST FELL IN LOVE!”

“Riley—no—”

“It’s David!” she squealed.

“I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!”

“But he’s so hot, Harper. He looks like a forbidden snack and speaks French—”

“I WILL END THIS CALL.”

“FINE. But meet me tonight. I’ll explain everything!”

“You’d better bring wine and a written apology.”

Click.

I leaned back with a groan and stared at the clouds.

How long was I supposed to keep this up?

The phone rang again.

I answered with pure rage. “IF YOU CALL ME ONE MORE TIME, YOU FLAMING WENCH—”

“I prefer ‘suitor,’” came the clipped, familiar voice.

I froze. “Mr. Reynolds?!”

“Wrong time?”

I laughed nervously. “No! No, I just—I thought you were someone else.”

“I gathered,” he said dryly. “Interesting vocabulary you have.”

“Creative expression. It's healthy.”

“Are you at work?”

“Yes—no—technically?”

He paused. “I thought you were a freelancer.”

Crap.

“This is… supplementary. You know, freelance side hustle.”

“Where?”

“Nearby.”

“Where exactly?”

I stared at the badge around my neck and panicked. “Midtown.”

“That’s vague.”

“Midtown’s a big place.”

“I’ll stop by.”

“No!”

Pause.

“…Why not?”

“Because!” I scrambled. “Because we can always see each other, not just now, I’m kinda busy?”

‘’ But we’re still meeting later, so I might as well just pick you now’’

‘’Huh??, we didn’t’ agree to that’’

“We did. I said, ‘See you tomorrow.’”

“And I thought that was just… a friendly goodbye!”

“I said it twice. First was a farewell. Second was a meeting request.”

I blinked. “You’re telling me you use tone inflection to confirm appointments?”

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”

“No. Not even close.”

“I thought it was clear.”

“It was not clear! You can’t Jedi-mind-trick me with ‘see you tomorrow’ and expect me to hear italics!”

There was a long silence. Then:

“Where’s your office?”

“Far.”

“You just said it was nearby.”

“It’s… far-near. Emotionally far.”

“…Emotionally far?”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“I noticed,” he said. “You sound unstable.”

“Thanks.”

“Text me the address.”

“No!”

“I’ll send mine then. Meet me after work.”

“That’s fine.”

I hung up and slammed my forehead against the bench.

Why was I like this?

I got up, moving down the block when a group of coworkers passed by, chatting.

“Did you see him this morning?”

“Yeah, he walked right through the lobby like a Greek god.”

“I heard he’s even hotter when he’s running numbers.”

“Ugh, I’d let him ruin my credit score.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a headache.

‘Sure, he’s hot. Hot like a flamethrower aimed at my life.’