Chapter 4: She saved my ass

**Warren's POV**

I still can’t believe I did it.

Walked straight up to a woman I’d never seen before, leaned in, and kissed her like we’d been doing it for years.

My heart was jackhammering so hard I thought the bar might hear it. But the contractors were watching, and the deal, my company, everything I’d bled for over the past three years, was hanging by a thread.

They’d made it clear: “We don’t sign with bachelors, Christopher. Family men only. Stable. Committed.”

I’d nodded like a good boy, promised them a wife, and hired an actress to play the part. She took my deposit and vanished. No text. No apology. Just gone. Real professional.

So there I was, standing in the bar, scanning the room like a man looking for a lifeboat. Every woman had a partner. Every smile was taken. I was two minutes from losing everything when the door opened and she walked in.

Not loud. Not flashy. Just… broken open.

Hair wild from the wind, eyes glassy with unshed tears, shoulders carrying the weight of a day I couldn’t even imagine. She moved like someone trying not to fall apart in public. Ordered a whiskey. Downed it. Ordered another.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

“Gentlemen,” I said, turning back to the table with a smile I didn’t feel, “my wife’s just arrived. Give me one minute.”

Then I walked over, heart in my throat, and kissed her.

She froze. Then spun, her fist raised, eyes blazing. I caught her wrist gently, pulled her into a quick hug, and whispered, “Please. Just pretend. I’ll explain everything. I swear.”

She smelled like jasmine and rain. Her hand trembled in mine. But she didn’t pull away.

We walked back to the table. I introduced her as Mrs. Christopher. She shook their hands, smiled like she’d been born for this, and said, “My husband forgot to mention how charming you all are.”

I nearly dropped my glass.

For the next hour, she wasn’t just good; she was brilliant.

She listened. She asked sharp questions. She suggested a restructuring clause that saved us six figures in tax liability. She laughed at their jokes, leaned into me just enough to sell it, and never once looked at me like I was crazy for dragging her into this.

When the contractors finally signed, they shook her hand harder than mine. One of them even said, “You’ve got a keeper, Christopher.”

I wanted to tell him I knew.

They left. The booth felt too big. Too quiet.

She stared at the table, fingers tracing the condensation ring from her glass. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Thank you,” I said, voice low. “You didn’t have to do that. You saved me.”

She stood without a word and walked back to the bar.

I followed like a stray.

“I don’t bite,” I said, sliding onto the stool beside her. “I just… I owe you. More than a drink. More than anything.”

She nodded, eyes on the amber liquid. Downed it. Signaled for another.

“I’m Warren.”

“Jayla.” Her voice was soft now. Tired.

“Its obvious something is bothering you. You don’t have to talk,” I said. “But if you want to… I’m here.”

She laughed, but it broke in the middle. “You don’t want my story, Warren. It’s ugly.”

“I just pretended to be your husband for an hour. I think I can handle ugly.”

She looked at me then. Really looked. And something in her eyes cracked wide open.

“He moved her in,” she whispered. “This morning. His secretary. She’s pregnant. He carried her boxes like I wasn’t even there. Said the house was his. Told me to leave if I didn’t like it.”

Her voice shook. Not with drama; with pain. The kind that doesn’t scream. It just bleeds.

I wanted to punch something. Someone.

“I smashed his car,” she added, a ghost of a smile. “With a flower vase. Then I drove until I ended up here.”

I exhaled. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

I whistled. “Damn. You’re having the worst Tuesday.”

“Try week.” She signaled for another round. “He wants an open marriage. Says five years, no kids, time to ‘move on.’”

“What a loser,” I blurted. “Dump his ass. File first. Take the dog, the yacht, the vacation house—”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Get a dog. Name it Karma. Train it to pee on his shoes.”

She laughed—real this time, head thrown back, dimples on full blast. My chest did a weird flip.

She wiped her eyes quickly, like tears were a weakness she couldn’t afford.

I wanted to hold her hand. I didn’t.

“You know what the worst part is?” she said. “I still love him. Even after all this. I hate that I do.”

I nodded. I knew that kind of love. The kind that keeps you chained even when the door’s wide open.

“But seriously,” I said, leaning in, “cheaters hate being cheated on. Classic hypocrisy. Why not get a boyfriend? Parade him around. Watch Daniel implode.”

She blinked. “A boyfriend? Where am I supposed to find—”

Her gaze snapped to me. “You.”

I choked on whiskey. “Me?”

“You!” She jabbed my chest with a finger. “You owe me. I just saved your merger. You’re contractually obligated to be my fake boyfriend.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how contracts work—”

“Warren.” She leveled me with a stare that could melt steel. “I carried your fake baby for an hour. Your turn.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Define… boyfriend duties?”

She ticked off on her fingers: “Hand-holding. Annoying Daniel. Maybe some light revenge flirting. No feelings, no mess. Thirty-day trial. Like A****n Prime.”

I rubbed my jaw. “You’re terrifying.”

“And you’re welcome.” She grinned, clinking her empty glass against mine. “To fake love and real chaos.”

I raised mine, heart racing for reasons I didn’t want

to examine. “To smashing Teslas and new beginnings.”

“Clank.”

We cheered our glasses together in agreement.