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As much as I'd love to respond with something sharp and scathing, my brain short-circuits, leaving me with nothing but a scoff that comes out like a dying tea kettle. "Oh, yeah, because nothing about that would be suspicious."

"Less suspicious than this." He holds up his phone dramatically, showing me the same message that I got, damning text still glowing on the screen.

I press my lips together, my head spinning. This is a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea. I should shut it down right now, should tell him that under no circumstances am I going to fake date the one man I've spent my whole life trying—and failing—not to want.

But the alternative?

The alternative is my brothers finding out and taking a metaphorical (or possibly literal) shotgun to Liam's life.

I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. "This is the dumbest plan I've ever heard."

Liam smirks, infuriatingly unbothered. "So that's a yes?"

I drop my hands and glare. "This is going to be a disaster."

He leans against my doorframe, arms crossed, looking maddeningly pleased with himself. "Looking forward to it, sweetheart."

4

LIAM

Fake dating Ava Bennett is possibly a bad idea.

It was a bad idea when I said it out loud, a worse idea when she actually agreed, and now, as I step into my loft and toss my keys onto the kitchen counter, it feels like the worst decision I've ever made. And that's saying something, considering I once trusted Vanessa Chase with my heart, my business, and apparently, my sanity.

The place is brimming with the kind of silence that makes your thoughts louder, and right now, my thoughts are a goddamn riot.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire length of the loft, offering a panoramic view of downtown Willow Creek. City lights flicker against the river, their glow stretching across the dark waters like veins of liquid gold. The entire effect is pretty and very soothing, but all I can think about is Ava standing in her apartment, arms crossed, glaring at me like she was already planning my slow demise for roping her into this.

I rake a hand through my hair, roll my sleeves up past my forearms, and head to the kitchen. Overhead lights cast a cool glow over the space, bouncing off stainless steel appliances and polished quartz countertops. It's minimalist and clean, exactly the kind of place that doesn't feel lived in.

Exactly the kind of place Ava would hate.

The thought of her here—picking apart my decor choices, leaving behind mismatched throw blankets and half-empty mugs of tea—shouldn't make my chest feel tight. And yet…

I pour myself a glass of bourbon, letting the slow burn slide down my throat as I lean against the counter, rolling my shoulders to shake off the worry pressing down on me. It doesn't work.

Because the truth is, this is already out of control. I agreed to fake date Ava to keep her safe. To control the narrative before someone else did. But now, all I can think about is how natural it felt to stand in her doorway, watching her glare at me like I'd personally offended every ancestor in her family tree.

How easy it was to tease her.

How much I fucking liked it.

I exhale, finishing my drink in one slow sip before heading for the shower. Cold water should help. Cold water should clear my head.

Spoiler. It doesn't.

By the time I get to The Riverwalk Café the next morning, Dean is already sitting at our usual table, a mug of coffee in hand and his tie loosened just enough to imply that it's been a long morning.

"About time," he says, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. "I was starting to think you finally met someone and spent the night doing something more interesting than paperwork."

I smile, sliding into the seat across from him. "You say that like paperwork isn't thrilling."

Dean snorts. "Your love life is tragic, man."

I could tell him that's about to change. That, for the first time in years, I have a girlfriend. At least, one that exists in theory. But something in my gut stops me.

Dean has always been good at reading me, and if I say Ava's name, if I let even a hint of amusement slip through, he'll pick up on it like a bloodhound on a scent.