Page 13 of Fallen Heir

Because while she was making me look like the good guy…I’d be uncovering who she really was.

I let the silence stretch for a moment longer, watching her eyes flick between mine and the desk.

She was calculating—smart enough to spot a trap, but hopefully not quick enough to realize she’d already stepped into it.

“You know,” I said finally, voice low and steady, “you really should consider it.”

She blinked. “Consider what? Playing your fake girlfriend? Absolutely not.”

“You said it yourself. Consistency, stability, one woman.”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Awoman. That doesn’t mean me.”

“But it makes the most sense,” I countered smoothly, trying not to react to the way my body responded to her fire. The sharp tone in her sultry voice, the flush in her cheeks—she was a wreck, and it was doing things to me I didn’t want to unpack.

She was nearly a foot shorter than me, but that only made it worse. The way she squared up when she was angry—defiant, fierce—it lit something in me that had no business being part of this conversation. She was combustible, and I was already burning, my cock coming to life as I watched her every move.

And when she paused—when she bit her bottom lip like she always did when she was thinking—I couldn’t stop the image that flashed through my head. Her lips. Around me. Her mouth slowly driving me to madness. I adjusted slightly in my seat, grinding my teeth to keep my focus.

Not the time. Not the place. But God help me, it didn’t matter. I wanted her under control… but not for the reasons I was pretending.

“You’re already in the role. You know how to handle public pressure. You’d be coaching whoever I hired anyway—and frankly, I don’t trust anyone else with my reputation.”

She crossed her arms. Defensive. Frustrated. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “How do you even know you can trust me? We just met.”

Fair question. Logical, especially since I was still trying to figure out who the hell she really was—what secrets she was guarding so fiercely.

But logic had nothing to do with the way my gut answered.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

It wasn’t her words or her posture. It was the silence between them. The way she flinched at certain questions. The way her eyes held back more than they gave away. She was hiding something, maybe everything.

But she wasn’t lying. Not to me. Not yet.

And that counted for more than it should have.

I should’ve paused. Should’ve deflected. Said something safe. But I didn’t.

Instead, I added, voice lower this time, “But something tells me I can.”

And for a man who only trusted an amount of people he could count on one hand... that was saying a lot.

“That’s not how this works,” she said. “I’m your PR strategist. Not your… date.”

“Think of it as a partnership,” I said, leaning in. “Temporary. On paper. Controlled. You’d dictate the terms, the appearances, the spin. You’re the best at this—and now you’d be in full control of the narrative. Who better to rewrite the headlines than the woman living them?”

She hesitated. I saw the flicker in her expression—the moment she ran through every angle, every headline, every advantage.

“You’d sign an NDA,” I added. “There’d be a compensation package. Boundaries. Clear exit strategy.”

Still nothing.

So I went for it.

“One event,” I said. “Try it once. See how it feels.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If I hate it, I walk.”