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My pulse quickens. Sweat clings to my palms. This is it—the deal I’ve been working for, my chance to fulfill my father’s legacy—and I’m on the edge of losing it.
Just as it all threatens to crush me, a soft knock echoes through the door. My head snaps up, my heart stuttering in my chest. The door swings open, and Amara steps in. Her wide eyesflick to the members of the board, and a faint flush spreads across her face.
“I’m so sorry. I forgot the meeting was today, and—”
“That’s okay, Amara,” I say, my shoulders loosening just a little. I push myself up from the chair, moving toward her. Her confused gaze meets mine, her green eyes clouded with uncertainty. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I step closer. Without thinking, I take her hand.
The room falls dead silent.
Amara gasps, her eyes flicking down to our joined hands. I can feel the weight of their stares, the pressure building in the air, and something inside me snaps.
I turn to face them, my grip on Amara’s hand tightening. A wide smile spreads across my face, and the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Have you met my fiancée?”
Chapter five
Amara
I’m still drunk.
There’s no other possible explanation for why Nicholas Blackwood, my boss and notorioustoo-good-looking-for-his-own-goodCEO, is holding my hand like it’s no big deal and calling me hisfiancée.
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I briefly wonder if I’m about to pass out. This is just a very,veryvivid dream while I’m inebriated… right? But when my head starts to pound from my questionable decision to take those tequila shots last night, I know for sure this isn’t a dream.
“I don’t understand,” the man at the center of the group speaks up, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glances from me to Nicholas. The others—dressed in suits that probably cost more than my rent—echo his disbelief with silent stares.
I can’t say I blame them. I’m just as lost.
I glance at Nicholas, whose fingers are still casually wrapped around mine. The man’s grip isn’t letting go anytime soon, andwhen his eyes meet mine, I swear, time stops. He looks at me like I’m the only one in the room, and it’s honestly kind of terrifying.
But also extremelyhot.
One of the other guys clears his throat. “My apologies, Mr. Blackwood, but we were under the impression you weren’t seeing anyone.”
Nicholas doesn’t even flinch under their questions. Instead, he tightens his hold on my hand. I glance up at him, and his gaze catches mine, with a silent request to follow his lead.
“Fortunately, your assumptions are wrong,” he replies in the polished tone that somehow manages to make everything sound so plausible.
His eyes linger on mine, way too intense, and I have to remind myself that we’re surrounded by people. I try not to notice the heat blooming in my chest or the way his gaze seems to burn into me, memorizing every single detail.
I have no idea what kind of alternate universe I’ve stumbled into, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like the one I left last night.
He finally looks away, his gaze drifting back to the board. For a split second, his fingers loosen in mine, and I brace myself for him to pull away, to backpedal on whatever wild story he was just spinning. But then, with zero warning, he laces our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“We’re engaged,” he announces, his voice dripping with confidence. No doubt. No hesitation. Just a hundred questions swirling in my head.
I blink up at him, my jaw practically scraping the floor. Seriously? He’s sticking with this?
“Engaged?” the older guy at the head of the table repeats, his brows furrowing as he taps his pen against his chin. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood, but when exactly did this… relationship begin?” His tone is polite, but the skepticism is thick enough to cut with a knife.
I swear, my skin goes clammy. Lying isn’t exactly my strong suit. Pretending? Even worse. And right now, I’m standing here like an idiot with no freaking idea what’s going on.
“Recently,” Nicholas replies, his voice as steady as ever, his finger gently trailing over the back of my hand. And, of course, the goosebumps are back.Great. “Very recently.”
Like, thirty seconds ago, to be exact.
I bite down on my cheek, fighting the urge to blurt something—anything—that would make this less painfully awkward. But all I can do is stand here, praying I don’t look like I’m about to melt into a puddle right on the spot. Their gaze travels over me, assessing, judging, looking for cracks in the story, weighing whether I’m worthy enough to stand by a man like him.