TWELVE DAYS TO FALL

Tessa Marlowe had dreamed of this moment since she was fourteen — holding a finished manuscript, sitting across from a publisher, hearing the words, “We want this.” Instead, Graham Whitely closed her book gently, like a doctor preparing to deliver bad news. “Tessa… the writing is good. The idea is good. But we need proof your methods actually work.” Proof. She blinked, stunned. “My clients swear by my rules. You’ve seen the testimonials.” “That’s not enough.” Graham leaned back, thoughtful. “If you can get someone to fall in love with you by Christmas Eve—” he checked his calendar “—twelve days from now—then we’ll publish. Until then, the deal is on hold.” Her heart slammed so hard it hurt. “Twelve days? That’s—” “Short. Yes.” His smile was apologetic, but firm. “Show the world your rules aren’t just theory. Show us they work.” Tessa should have laughed in his face. She should have walked out. She should NOT have blurted— “Fine. I’ll do it.” Graham looked more shocked than impressed. “You’re serious?” “Very.” He slid the unsigned contract toward her. “Bring him to the Christmas Eve gala. If he’s smitten, we sign on the spot.” Smitten. Twelve days. Her entire dream balanced on a stranger’s heart. She walked out of the office with the contract in her hand and panic buzzing under her skin like electricity. I need someone. Fast. Someone who’ll fall quickly. Someone I can follow the rules with. Someone— “Tessa!” She looked up as her best friend, Jamie, practically skidded across the sidewalk toward her. One glance at her face and he groaned. “He didn’t like the book, did he?” “He wants proof,” she muttered. “Real proof. Twelve days to make someone fall in love with me.” Jamie blinked. “Twelve DAYS? Baby, that’s not dating. That’s a hostage situation.” She laughed weakly. It was either laugh or cry. “Okay,” he declared, looping his arm through hers. “Emergency plan. We go out tonight. You test your rules. We find someone who looks emotionally available and slightly desperate. It’ll be perfect.” She didn’t feel perfect. She felt like a fraud with a ticking clock. But she nodded. “Tonight.” Later That Night The bar was warm, loud, strung in gold lights and tinsel. Jamie scanned the room like a talent scout. “That one?” He pointed to a guy aggressively staring at his own reflection. “No.” “The one petting the jukebox?” “Absolutely not.” “Okay, you’re picky— Oop, wait— Tessa, he’s looking at you.” She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want— Then she bumped into someone’s chest. A large, very solid chest. Her drink sloshed. “Oh—God—sorry!” Strong hands steadied her. And then she heard him. “You okay?” The voice was warm. Deep. Patient in a way men rarely were. Tessa finally looked up. And froze. He was… beautiful. Tall, with dark hair that looked effortlessly messy and eyes that held the kind of quiet that made you curious. He wore a simple winter jacket, hands still lightly on her elbows, like he was making sure she wouldn’t fall. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted again. “I didn’t see you.” “It’s fine,” he said, smiling — a real smile, soft around the edges. “Kind of glad you bumped into me, actually.” Her brain short-circuited. Rule Three: Do not get flustered. Maintain control. Yeah — impossible. “I’m Tessa.” “Rowan,” he said, offering his hand. She took it before she could think. His palm was warm. His thumb brushed her knuckles — gently, accidentally — and it sent a stupid flutter through her. Jamie, not even pretending to be subtle, gave her a double thumbs-up from behind Rowan’s shoulder. Rowan glanced at the bar. “Can I get you a replacement drink? You lost about half of that one.” “Oh—yeah. Sure.” They ordered drinks. They talked. They clicked. Instantly. Effortlessly. Not because she used her rules. Not because she tried. Because something about him felt… right. He made her laugh. He listened like she mattered. He looked at her like he was memorizing her expressions. And for the first time, her twelve rules felt small and stupid and irrelevant. They played darts. She missed every shot. He pretended to miss too. They talked about Christmas traditions, and careers, and embarrassing childhood stories. Every second felt easy. Too easy. Dangerously easy. At one point, he stepped behind her to help with her dart stance. His hands closed lightly around her waist, guiding her arms, his breath warm near her ear. Her heart stopped. Then sprinted. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything real. This was supposed to be an experiment. A task. A deadline. But as she stood there with Rowan’s hands on her hips, her chest tight and her breath quick— She knew one thing with absolute certainty: She was in trouble.