Chapter6
1432 Words
THE AGREEMENT
~TESSA'S POV~
"So let me get this straight," I said, pacing the length of Nathaniel's ridiculously large office. "You want me to pretend to be your fiancée—for how long exactly?"
Nathaniel leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that enraging smirk. "Until the media loses interest."
I barked out a laugh. "Right. Because the world will just forget that Nathaniel Pierce, tech billionaire and most eligible bachelor, got engaged to a complete nobody."
"You're hardly a nobody now," he pointed out, gesturing to his laptop where headlines about us were still flooding in. "You're the mysterious woman who captured my heart."
"Captured your—" I stopped mid-sentence, pressing my fingers to my temples. "This is insane."
"Is it?" He moved to the bar cart in the corner of his office, pouring two glasses of amber liquid. "Think about it, Tessa. You need this as much as I do."
I stopped pacing. "Excuse me?"
He handed me a glass, which I reluctantly accepted. "The media has already painted you as either a gold digger or a desperate nobody. If we end this now, that's the narrative that sticks."
I took a sip, welcoming the burn. "And what's your alternative?"
"We control the story." His eyes locked with mine, steady and calculating. "We give them a love story so compelling they have no choice but to believe it. Then, when the time is right, we end things amicably. You walk away with your reputation intact—maybe even enhanced."
"And what do you get out of this?"
His lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's just say it serves my purposes to appear settled for a while."
I narrowed my eyes. There was more he wasn't saying, but before I could push further, he moved to his desk and pulled out a folder.
"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly." He slid the folder across the desk toward me. "Terms and conditions."
"You've got to be kidding me." But when I flipped open the folder, there it was—a contract, complete with legal jargon and signature lines. "A fake engagement contract? You prepared this already?"
"I like to be thorough."
I scanned the pages, my eyebrows climbing higher with each clause. "Public appearances... social media guidelines... approved topics of conversation..." I looked up at him. "This is ridiculous."
"This is necessary." Nathaniel's playful behavior vanished, replaced by the shrewd businessman I'd witnessed yesterday. "If we're going to pull this off, we need rules."
I sat down, reading more carefully now. "It says here I agree to 'present myself in a manner befitting the fiancée of Nathaniel Pierce.' What does that even mean?"
"It means no more worn-out sneakers and coffee-stained t-shirts."
I glanced down at my current outfit—jeans and a simple blouse—then back at him with a glare. "I don't own coffee-stained t-shirts."
"No? My mistake." His tone suggested it was anything but.
"And what about this?" I jabbed at another paragraph. "I have to clear any major life decisions with you first? Absolutely not."
He shrugged. "Can't have my fiancée suddenly deciding to move across the country or shave her head, can I?"
"Maybe I want to shave my head."
"Do you?"
I huffed. "That's not the point."
For the next hour, we went through the contract line by line. I argued, he disagreed, and somehow we reached compromises that neither of us was entirely happy with—which probably meant they were fair.
"I have some terms of my own," I announced, grabbing a pen from his desk.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
I started writing in the margins. "One: This arrangement has a six-month maximum, regardless of media interest."
He nodded. "Acceptable."
"Two: My personal life remains my own. What I do when we're not playing happy couple is my business."
His jaw tightened almost unnoticeably. "Within reason. Nothing that would contradict our story."
I rolled my eyes but continued. "Three: You must compliment me, sincerely, at least once daily."
That earned me a surprised laugh. "What?"
"You heard me." I kept my expression serious. "If I'm going to be scrutinized by the entire world, the least you can do is boost my ego."
To my shock, he didn't argue. "Fine. Anything else, princess?"
I tapped the pen against my chin. "Four: Once this is over, you help me get a job—a real one, not some pity position."
His eyes narrowed. "You're using this as a career opportunity?"
"Wouldn't you?"
After a moment, he nodded, something like respect flickering in his eyes. "Smart. But I don't give handouts."
"I'm not asking for one. I'm asking for a door to be opened. I'll walk through it myself."
He studied me for a long moment, then extended his hand. "Deal."
I hesitated for just a second before shaking it. His hand was warm, his grip firm, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I'd just made a deal with the devil.
"So," I said, pulling my hand away. "What now?"
Nathaniel checked his watch. "Now, we have lunch. There's a restaurant downstairs that the paparazzi love to stake out. We'll give them something to talk about."
"Already? I haven't even signed the contract yet."
He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "Consider it a trial run."
As we walked toward the elevator, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping into something far bigger than I'd expected. But there was no backing out now.
The elevator doors opened, and Nathaniel placed his hand on the small of my back—a gesture that felt simultaneously personal and possessive.
"Ready, fiancée?" he murmured, close enough that I could feel his breath against my ear.
A shiver ran down my spine that I refused to accept. "As I'll ever be."
The restaurant was exactly as Nathaniel had predicted—crawling with photographers pretending not to notice us. We were seated at a table by the window, perfectly positioned for maximum visibility.
"Smile," Nathaniel said under his breath, his own expression transforming into one of adoration. "You look like you're plotting my murder."
I forced my lips into a curve. "Maybe I am."
He laughed, reaching across the table to take my hand. "There she is. The woman who swept me off my feet."
For someone who claimed to need my help with this charade, he was incredibly good at playing the besotted fiancé. Every touch, every glance was perfectly calibrated to seem natural yet noticeable.
"How did you get so good at this?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
His thumb traced circles on my palm, a gesture that was undeniably distracting. "Practice. Everything in my life has been public since I was twenty-two."
"That sounds exhausting."
Something genuine flashed in his eyes. "It is."
Before I could respond, a shadow fell across our table. I looked up to see a woman with a professional camera and a press badge.
"Mr. Pierce! Ms. Hart! Congratulations on your engagement. Would you mind answering a few questions for City Style magazine?"
Nathaniel's expression remained pleasant, but I felt his fingers tighten around mine. "I'm afraid we're just enjoying a private lunch today."
She persisted, her smile never wavering. "Just one question—how did you know she was the one?"
The trap was obvious. If he stumbled or gave some generic answer, it would fuel speculation that our engagement was a sham. I held my breath, waiting.
Nathaniel turned to me, his eyes softening in a way that seemed impossibly genuine.
"I knew," he said, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear, "the moment she challenged me. Everyone else in my life says yes. Tessa? She says 'prove it.'"
The reporter looked delighted, scribbling frantically in her notebook. "And Ms. Hart? What made you fall for the notoriously unattainable Nathaniel Pierce?"
All eyes turned to me. Including his. And in that moment, I realized this wasn't just about convincing the public. It was about convincing each other.
I took a deep breath and said the first true thing that came to mind.
"He sees me," I said simply. "Not who he wants me to be. Not who everyone expects. Just... me."
The honesty in my voice surprised even me. And when I met Nathaniel's gaze, the look on his face was no longer practiced or performative. It was something else entirely.
Something that made my heart skip.
And that's when I knew I was in trouble.
- Writer
