STORY
1571 Words
MAXWELL'S POV
I pushed open the heavy double doors to the master bedroom and flipped the switch on the wall.
The lights dimmed automatically to a warm, golden glow, highlighting the king-sized bed, the silk drapes, and the mahogany furniture that cost more than most people’s cars.
It was a room designed for comfort, yet I rarely slept more than four hours a night in it.
"This is it," I said, stepping aside to let Andrea enter.
She walked in slowly, her cheap black flats sinking into the plush cream carpet. She looked around, her eyes wide, taking in the sheer size of the space.
"It's... big," she murmured.
"It's functional," I corrected, closing the door behind us. "The bathroom is through that door on the left. It has a jacuzzi and a steam shower. The walk-in closet is on the right. Leo will have your things here within the hour, but for now, you should probably get cleaned up."
She nodded, but then she paused, looking down at her clothes. She plucked at the fabric of her skirt with a grimace. "I can't sleep in this. It smells like alcohol and fryer grease. And I don't have anything else until Leo gets here."
I looked at her and she was right. She looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped, and the uniform was clearly uncomfortable. I couldn't have my new fiancée sleeping in a dirty waitress outfit. It felt... wrong.
"Wait here," I said.
I walked past her into the closet. It was organized with military precision, suits on one side, shirts on the other, casual wear in the back. I bypassed the silk pajamas I never wore, gifts from ex-girlfriends who thought they could change me and grabbed a plain white dress shirt from the casual section. It was crisp and of clean cotton.
I walked back out and tossed it to her. She caught it against her chest, looking surprised.
"Wear that," I said. "It will swallow you whole, but it's clean."
"Thank you," she said softly, clutching the fabric.
"Go shower," I ordered, checking my watch. It was nearly 1:00 AM. "When you come out, we need to get our story straight. If you hesitate for even a second when Edward asks how we met, he will tear you apart."
She disappeared into the bathroom and I heard the lock click, followed by the sound of the shower turning on.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed my face with my hands. What the hell was I doing? Twelve hours ago, my biggest problem was a merger with a Japanese tech firm. Now, I had a fake fiancée in my shower and a lie that could cost me my legacy if it fell apart.
I stood up and paced the room, I honestly needed a drink, but I needed a clear head more.
Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
I stopped pacing near the window.
Andrea stepped out, her hair was wet, combed back from her face, revealing delicate features I hadn't fully appreciated under the harsh lights of the gala.
She was wearing my shirt, and as I predicted, it was massive on her. The sleeves were rolled up three times just to find her hands, and the hem hit her mid-thigh, leaving her legs bare.
It should have looked ridiculous, Instead, it looked intimate.
She had scrubbed her face clean of the little makeup she wore. She looked younger, softer, and dangerously innocent.
"Is this okay?" she asked, tugging at the hem self-consciously. "I feel like a child playing dress-up."
I cleared my throat, forcing my brain to switch back to business mode. "It's fine. Come sit. We have work to do."
She sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs under her and I pulled a leather armchair closer so I was facing her.
"Okay," I started, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. "Edward is going to ask the standard questions. Where did we meet? When? How long have we been seeing each other? We need a narrative that is simple enough to remember but romantic enough to explain why I'm suddenly engaged."
"We can't say we met at the gala," she said, wringing her hands in her lap. "That was a disaster."
"Agreed. We need to go back further. Three months." I tapped my chin, thinking. "Where would I meet someone like you? I don't go to libraries, and you don't go to board meetings."
"A coffee shop?" she suggested.
"Too cliché," I dismissed. "Edward hates clichés. It needs to be serendipitous."
"The park," she said. "Central Park. Near the reservoir. I go there on Sundays to sketch people."
I considered it because it was plausible. I ran near the reservoir occasionally to clear my head.
"Okay," I nodded. "I was running. You were sketching. I stopped to... what? Admire your art?"
"No," she shook her head, a small, mischievous smile playing on her lips. "You stopped because the wind blew my sketchbook page away and it landed at your feet. You picked it up."
I stared at her. "That sounds like a bad romance novel."
"Exactly," she countered. "People love bad romance novels. It makes us sound like destiny intervened. If you say you just walked up and talked to me, your grandfather won't believe it. He knows you don't talk to strangers."
She had a point.
"Fine," I conceded. "The wind blew your paper. I picked it up. I saw the drawing. What was it?"
"A portrait," she said instantly. "Of an old couple sitting on a bench holding hands."
"Sentimental," I muttered. "Edward will hate it. Which means it's perfect. So, I saw the drawing, I was moved by your talent, and I asked you for coffee."
"And I said no," she added.
I raised an eyebrow. "You said no?"
"If I said yes immediately, you would have been bored," she said, her eyes challenging me. "I said no because I was busy. You had to persist. You came back the next Sunday. And the next."
I looked at her, really took my time to look at her. She was good at this, better than I expected.
"You made me chase you," I said slowly. "I like that. It explains why I'm so obsessed. I'm not used to hearing 'no'."
"See?" she said. "It works."
"Alright. Three months ago. Central Park. You played hard to get. We've been seeing each other secretly because you were intimidated by my wealth and I didn't want the press to harass you."
"Simple," she agreed.
"One more thing," I said, standing up. "Physicality. Edward is old-fashioned, but he isn't blind. If we stand three feet apart, he'll know it's a sham. You need to be comfortable touching me."
"I can touch you," she said.
"Prove it."
She hesitated, then stood up. She walked the two steps between us. She reached out and placed her hand on my forearm. Her palm was warm, but her fingers were light.
"Like this?" she asked.
"More," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "You're supposed to be in love with me, Andrea. You're supposed to want to rip my clothes off."
She took a breath and moved closer. She slid her hand up my arm, over the curve of my shoulder, and rested it on my chest, right over my heart. She looked up at me, tilting her head back.
"Maxwell," she whispered.
My heart gave a stupid, traitorous thump against her palm. I could smell the soap she had used, my soap. She smelled like sandalwood and rain. Being this close to her wasn't just a business transaction anymore. It felt electric, looking at her eyes which were dark and deep, and for a second, I forgot about the contract, hell, I even forgot about Edward.
I caught her wrist, stopping her hand before it could slide up to my neck.
"That's enough," I said roughly. "That will work."
I stepped back, putting distance between us. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin and hot like a furnace.
"You take the bed," I said, turning toward the door. "I'll sleep in the guest room down the hall."
"You don't have to leave," she said. "This bed is huge. We can…"
"No," I cut her off. "We can't. Get some sleep, Andrea. Edward will be here at seven."
I walked out of the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind me. I leaned against the wood for a second, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding.
I walked down the dark hallway to the guest room, but I knew I wasn't going to sleep. I threw myself onto the smaller bed and stared at the ceiling.
I had brought a stranger into my home, a stranger who smelled like heaven and lied as easily as she breathed.
And tomorrow, I had to convince the scariest man I knew that she was the love of my life.
"You are an i***t, Maxwell," I whispered to the empty room. "A complete idiot."
My phone buzzed on the nightstand and it was a text from Leo.
LEO: The package has been retrieved from her apartment. The cat is fed. The clothes will be there by 6 AM. Good luck, Sir.
I tossed the phone aside and closed my eyes because I knew luck wasn't going to be enough. I needed a miracle.
- Writer
