My Rival is My CEO

Chapter 14: The Test Shot

*ELENA'S POV*

"Three... two..."

20 people. 20 phones. My father holding champagne like it was a weapon. Charles holding his smile like it was a contract. And Damian's thigh pressed against mine on a bench that was too small for two CEOs who were supposed to hate each other.

And me whispering: _Rule 4, Knight. You can break Rule 2 tonight. But only if you ask._

Rule 2: No touching without asking.

Damian's hand under the table tightened around mine. The contract was crumpled between our palms, damp now.

He didn't kiss me on two. He didn't kiss me on one either. He did something worse.

He asked.

He turned his head, slow, in front of everyone, his mouth inches from mine, close enough that I could feel his breath, smell the whiskey he didn't drink on the balcony, and he whispered, loud enough for the front row to hear but quiet enough that it was only for me:

"Evans... can I kiss you for the lighting check?"

Asking. In front of my father. In front of his father. In front of 20 senior VPs who thought we were a PR stunt.

My heart slammed against my black dress. This was not the boardroom. This was not the desk. This was a kiss that would be in Wall Street Journal tomorrow if we did it wrong.

If I said no, Clause 12.1 fails tonight. Merger void. Knight Corp bankrupt in 14 days. Damian loses CEO.

If I said yes, it's our first kiss. Not on a balcony at midnight after saving his job. Not drunk. Sober. At 8:17 PM, barefoot, in front of both fathers, for a lighting check.

I looked at his eyes. No smirk. No savage CEO. Just... waiting. Like in finals, when he waited for me to answer the last question because he knew I knew it.

"For the lighting check," I whispered back, savage but shaking, "Yes. You can."

*DAMIAN'S POV*

She said yes.

For the lighting check, yes. That was all I needed.

I didn't do cheek. I didn't do forehead. Charles said real. Robert said convincing. WSJ said real marriage. And Elena Evans, in that black dress, barefoot, hand in mine under the table, said yes.

I put my hand on her jaw. Soft. My thumb brushed her cheekbone. Her lips parted — small, involuntary — and her eyes fluttered closed for half a second before she forced them open again, because she had to watch me do it.

I kissed her.

Not small. Not for lighting.

Real. Mouth on mouth, soft at first, then deeper when she made a tiny sound in the back of her throat and her hand that was in mine moved to my shirt and fisted it. The bench creaked. Someone dropped a wine glass.

The photographer didn't say three-two-one. He just kept clicking. Click click click click.

Zara whispered, "Holy shit."

Maya whispered, "Oh my god, that's not fake."

I felt Elena kiss me back. For a second, she forgot Rule 1, Rule 2, Rule 3. She forgot 2019 Agreement, one desk, one key, one bed. She forgot her father was watching. She just kissed me like she wanted to.

Then her father coughed. Loud.

We broke apart. Half an inch. Her lips were swollen, lipstick smudged on mine. Her bare feet were now on top of my shoes.

"Lighting check," Charles announced, too happily, "Looks great! Very... convincing! WSJ will love it! Robert?"

Robert Evans didn't love it. He was looking at his daughter's smudged lipstick on my mouth like he wanted to wipe it off with a $40M check.

"Very convincing," he said, flat. "Almost too convincing for a fake marriage, wouldn't you say, Elena?"

Elena wiped her mouth fast, eyes down. "It was for the contract, Dad."

"Of course," her father said. "Clause 12.1. Now that you've proven affection for publication, you also need to prove bed-sharing at 8 AM. Photographer will come into bedroom. 8 AM sharp. No exceptions."

20 people went silent again. Because everyone heard what that meant.

Photographer in bedroom. At 8 AM. While we are in bed.

Elena's face went from red to white.

"Wait," she said, standing up so fast the bench almost tipped us both. "Wait — what do you mean in bedroom? Like... while we're sleeping?"

Charles smiled. "Clause says verified by photographer. He needs to see you woke up together. In one bed. Pajamas optional but preferred. Real married couples don't sleep in office dresses, Elena."

Zara choked on champagne again. "Pajamas optional?!"

I stood too. Put myself between Elena and my father. "That's not in the contract. It says share bed. It doesn't say he sleeps in the room."

"It does now," Charles said, pulling out his phone. "Amendment 12.2 — added 10 minutes ago while you two were kissing. Robert signed. I signed. You two already signed at 16, remember? You agreed to all future amendments."

Elena grabbed the phone. Read it. Her hands shook.

*Amendment 12.2: Bed-sharing verification requires photographer entry at 8 AM and visual confirmation that couple spent night in same bed. Pajamas to be provided by PR team.*

Pajamas provided by PR team.

Elena looked at me, eyes wide, lipstick still half gone from the kiss that was still tingling on my mouth.

"Damian," she whispered, so only I could hear over the 20 people pretending not to listen, "We have one bed. We have to sleep in it tonight. Together. And at 8 AM, a photographer is coming into our bedroom to take a picture of us waking up."

She grabbed my arm, nails in.

"And we have no pajamas."

The intercom buzzed again. Third time tonight.

Downstairs voice: "Mr. and Mrs. Knight, your PR package has arrived. Two silk pajama sets. One black, one red. And... one bed. Wait, you already have one bed. Sorry. The package is outside the elevator."

One black. One red. Silk.

Maya looked at the box coming up the elevator and said what everyone was thinking:

"Oh, this is going to be a long night."

The elevator dinged.