THE ARRANGEMENT
Ciara Daniels had perfected the art of fake enthusiasm. Smile—just enough to seem polite, not desperate. Laugh—lightly, but never so much that it felt real. Keep the conversation flowing, even when all she wanted was to slip out the nearest exit.
The chandelier above her glittered like a thousand tiny paparazzi flashes, spotlighting every uncomfortable moment at her mother’s latest “chance encounter.” She smoothed the skirt of her emerald wrap dress, already counting the seconds until she could make a plausible excuse.
And then she saw him.
Her date. Her blind date.
And the universe, apparently, had a twisted sense of humor.
Jubril Adams.
Perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Watch that probably cost more than her apartment lease. The same man whose signature had ended her ex-boyfriend’s career at the firm.
He stopped mid-stride when their eyes met. Recognition flickered, followed by the kind of slow, assessing glance that made Ciara’s spine straighten despite herself.
“Daniels,” he said, voice deep and smooth, as if her name belonged in a courtroom. “This is… unexpected.”
She forced a smile. “Trust me, I’m as thrilled as you are.”
They sat, menus opening in unison like defensive shields. The tension between them was sharp enough to slice through the glossy tablecloth.
The waiter appeared, a discreet smile masking his curiosity at the ice-cold atmosphere between the two.
“Would you like to start with wine?” he asked.
Ciara opened her mouth to say no—she needed a clear head for whatever verbal sparring was about to unfold—but Jubril spoke first.
“Pinot Noir. Two glasses.” His tone left no room for debate.
Ciara arched a brow. “Ordering for me already? How charming.”
He looked up from his menu, dark eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. “Consider it efficiency. I assumed you’d appreciate not wasting time.”
“Oh, I love efficiency,” she said sweetly. “Especially when it’s not at my expense. Like, say… firing my boyfriend without notice.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Your boyfriend was stealing from the firm.”
“Allegedly,” she shot back. “But sure—let’s not ruin our pleasant evening with facts.”
The waiter reappeared with their wine, blissfully unaware that he was delivering fuel to a lit fire. Ciara took a sip, savoring the bold dryness if only to buy herself a moment.
Jubril leaned back in his chair, studying her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken against her will. “Why are you here, Ciara?”
“My mother,” she said, as if that explained everything. Which it did. “She’s convinced that if she throws enough ‘respectable bachelors’ my way, one of them will magically convince me to walk down the aisle.”
His lips curved in the barest suggestion of a smirk. “So we’re both here under duress.”
That piqued her curiosity. “Your family, too?”
“Relentless,” he admitted. “My father thinks my single status is bad for the ‘family image.’”
Ciara snorted. “Ah yes, the public relations nightmare of a thirty-something man without a ring. Truly scandalous.”
For the first time, he laughed. A real laugh. It was low and unexpected, and it unsettled her more than any glare ever could.
“What if,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “we could make them stop?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m listening.”
“We pretend,” he said simply. “A relationship. Enough public appearances, enough smiles for the society pages. They get what they want, we get our freedom.”
Her instinct screamed to refuse—alliances with men like Jubril were dangerous. But then again… so were her mother’s matchmaking schemes.
“And when it all ‘ends’?” she asked.
He smiled like a man who always got the verdict he wanted. “It ends when we say it ends.”
And just like that, the deal of a lifetime—or the disaster of the century—was on the table.
