Pretend I'm Your's

Chapter 2 The Proposal

Cole Developments smelled like money. Glass. Marble. Air conditioning cold enough to make you forget your account balance.

The receptionist didn’t look up. “Miss Adeyemi? Mr. Cole is waiting. 32nd floor.”

I smoothed down my red dress.

_Wear red._

Tunde’s text from last night burned in my head.

I hated that I obeyed it.

The elevator had mirrors on every side. I checked myself. Straight back. Chin up.

Professional. Not desperate. Not the girl David left with nothing.

_Ding._

The doors opened straight into his office.

And there he was.

Tunde Cole. Behind a desk bigger than my sitting room. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. No agbada today. Just black. And a watch that could buy my car twice.

He wasn’t on his phone. He wasn’t typing.

He was waiting. For me.

“Close the door.”

I did. My heels sounded too loud.

“You came,” he said.

“You said 50 million.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a businesswoman.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. Barely. “Sit.”

The chair bit cold through my dress.

On the desk, a folder. Bold letters: _EXCLUSIVE VENDOR AGREEMENT - COLE GRAND VENUE._

My pulse jumped.

“Let’s be clear,” Tunde leaned back. “This isn’t about feelings. It’s about leverage.”

“Against David,” I said.

His eyes cut to mine. “Against my parents. Against investors. Against anyone who thinks I’m too young to buy 40 acres and settle down.”

“And me?”

“You need the contract. I need a fiancée who won’t embarrass me.”

He pushed the folder forward. “6 weeks. Starting today.”

I flipped it open. The zeros blurred. 50M. Plus bonus.

“What’s the catch?”

He stood and walked to the window. Abuja stretched below us like it belonged to him.

“Three rules.”

_“Rule 1: We’re convincing. Holding hands. Family dinners. Photos. If we’re seen, we’re together.” _

I nodded. Acting. I could act.

_“Rule 2: No kissing. Unless there’s an audience.” _

My stomach flipped. “Who decides that?”

“I do.” He turned, eyes locking on mine. “To keep it safe.”

Safe.

“And Rule 3?”

He faced me fully. “No falling for me.”

The room went quiet.

“Excuse me?”

“My ex made this messy,” he said, flat. “I don’t do messy, Zara.”

He said my name slowly. Like he’d said it in his head before.

“So we stay professional. You do your job. I do mine. In 6 weeks we do a ‘mutual split’ and walk away.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “You don’t get to make rules about my feelings, Mr. Cole.”

“No.” His jaw tightened. “I make rules for my company. Take it or leave it.”

50 million flashed behind my eyes. Salaries. Debt. The loan David left me with.

One signature and I could breathe again.

But Rule 3.

No falling.

Like I had a switch for that.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I call the next planner,” he said. “And you go back to begging David for 200k booths.”

Ouch.

I picked up the pen.

“Fine. But I have rules too.”

Tunde arched a brow.

“Rule 1: I approve every public appearance. No surprises.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule 2: One person each. Mine is Amaka. My sister. Nosy, but she can keep secrets. Yours?”

“Nneka. My PA.”

“And Rule 3.” I met his eyes. “You don’t touch me unless we agree to it. No random waist-holds.”

Something dark moved in his gaze. Then it was gone.

“Deal.”

I signed. _Zara Adeyemi._

He signed under me. _Tunde Cole._

Two pens. One very loud silence.

“Congratulations,” he said, offering his hand. “We’re engaged.”

I took it. Warm. Calloused. Nothing like I expected.

“Congratulations,” I whispered. “We’re lying.”

His mouth twitched. “First appearance. Tonight. My parents’ dinner. 7 PM.”

“Tonight?!”

“You said no blindsiding.” He moved around the desk, stopping close. Too close. Cedar and money.

“You wanted in, Zara. This is what ‘in’ looks like.”

He showed me his phone. Us. At the fair. His arm around me. My face caught mid-shock.

Already on 3 blogs: "Tech Mogul Tunde Cole Engaged to Wedding Planner Zara Adeyemi._

My phone vibrated.

David: "You’ve got to be kidding me."

Sister: _ZARA!!! WHAT IS THIS???_

“This is fast,” I said.

“That’s the point.” He was already at the door. “Come on. We need a ring.”

“A ring?”

“Can’t fake an engagement without one.” He held the door open. “Don’t worry. It’s not real. I’ll take it back in 6 weeks.”

Elevator. SUV. Jewelry store. _Oga._

Two hours later, a 3-carat rock sat on my finger. Heavy. Like a cuff.

Text from Nneka: _Dinner 8pm. His mom is cooking._

In the car, quiet.

“You did well,” Tunde said finally.

I looked at him. “Was I supposed to?”

He glanced at the ring in my hand. “I don’t know. But you did.”

His parents’ house glowed ahead. Jollof in the air.

Before we got out, he turned to me.

“Remember the rules.”

I nodded.

“Especially Rule 3,” he said, with a low voice.

“Right.” My throat was dry. “No falling.”

He opened my door. Laced his fingers with mine.

And walking up those steps, I had no idea who I was lying to anymore.

Him.

Or me.