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“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Declan said, his green eyes staring into mine. “You are going to climb on my back and I’m going to give you a piggyback ride.”

“What?”

“No argument and no discussion,” he said. “This isn’t up for debate. You weigh about five pounds, and it’s a beautiful morning for me to take a walk. You can concentrate on deep breathing while going for a ride on your fake boyfriend’s back.”

Five pounds, my ass, but I’ll let that delightful exaggeration slide.

I wanted to argue, but I could see on his face that there was no point.

And I was also getting so tired, the bone-deep exhaustion that always followed an attack settling over me.

I was so mad at myself for being reckless with this again.

I had definite issues when it came to my inhaler; my therapist’s theory was that it was like the physical evidence of my hidden imperfections or something.

I wasn’t sure if that was exactly true, but I did have a lot of childhood memories that included trying to hide from my mother how often I had to use it.

She’d made no secret of the fact that it wasn’t cheap, dealing with my asthma, and she’d also made it clear that my inability to be the healthy, athletic daughter she’d always wanted was a huge disappointment to her.

So yeah—I was a little neurotic about my puffer.

Logically I knew it was just medicine to help a relatively common health issue, but getting myself to take it in public without feeling like my insecure ten-year-old self was another thing entirely.

“Okay,” I said, shaking my head because I just really couldn’t believe this was happening. “But, Declan, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, and his mouth turned up the tiniest bit, like he was trying to reassure me. “This is seriously no big deal. I’m not competitive about running and I don’t feel like it’s a loss that I didn’t get to prove I’m faster than Gloria in accounting. Now get on.”

He turned and crouched down so I could jump on his back. It was absolutely absurd, but I climbed onto his back and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He started walking, and I started feeling marginally better as I concentrated on taking big, slow breaths.

“So how long have you had asthma?” he asked, not shying away from discussing it. There were sporadic people walking and running around us now, the noncompetitive hanger-backers who didn’t care about what time they finished, but they weren’t really paying attention to us.

“Pretty much my whole life,” I said, not wanting to discuss it but then again, I wasn’t going to be seeing Declan anymore after tonight, so what did it matter?

“It wasn’t as bad when I was little, and it’s not this bad all the time.

Most of the time I take my daily medicine in the morning and then I don’t really think about it.

It only becomes an issue when I’m around things I’m allergic to, like cats and dogs, and in the fall. ”

“So you decided to run in a race in the fall,” he said, and the arms that were wrapped around the backs of my knees felt warm and strong. I don’t know why I was noticing them, but it suddenly seemed like that was all I could feel.

“You’re paying a lot for my services, so the least I could do was give the 5K a shot,” I explained, expecting him to appreciate the sacrifice.

The frustration was back in his voice when he asked, “Did you really think I was such an asshole that if you told me you couldn’t run in this race, I wouldn’t pay you?”

He sounded insulted.

“No, no, it’s not that,” I said, even though that was exactly what I’d been worried about—minus the asshole part. “It’s more that I wouldn’t want you to pay me if I didn’t fulfill my obligations.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, and I thought he wasn’t going to comment. But after a moment or two, he said, “You know, when you stood in that stupid shirt and threatened to call the cops on me for stalking, I never would’ve believed you’d be so dedicated to our ruse.”

“That’s because you didn’t know me,” I said, remembering the way he’d looked down at me in the stinky alley like I was an annoying gnat.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, and his voice was a little weird when he added, “And now I do.”

“And now you do,” I repeated, feeling unsettled by the acknowledgment.

“So what do we have going on the rest of the day?” I blurted, trying to reset the tone of the morning. “I think you said something about a brunch, but I couldn’t find anything online about a shareholder breakfast.”

“Well that’s because this is not for everyone,” he said, shifting to boost me higher on his back. “Also, you need to stop talking. Concentrate on those deep breaths and we can talk after you sound better.”

I wanted to argue, but then I started coughing, which kind of proved his point.

I wasn’t sure if it was to shut me up, but he started explaining the event.

“There is a brunch for a select group of investors at Monk Aviation, a private send-off to the shareholders who are leaving in their private planes. Everyone socializes in the hangar, Warren says a few words, and then everyone boards their planes and the weekend is over.”

Private planes.

Even after witnessing the lives of the wealthy all weekend and seeing the next-level ways in which they moved about in the world, I still hadn’t imagined private planes.

It was yet another reminder of how different I was than all of them.

When we got closer to the pavilion, people started noticing Declan carrying me toward the finish line on his back.

Of course.

But it was all surprised laughter, as if we were absolutely the most adorable couple. The people standing at the finish line were grinning and clapping, and I wished so badly that their misconceptions were real.

Not that we were an actual couple, but that we were just being adorable and Declan hadn’t been forced to rescue me from my own terrible health management.

He carried me over to a picnic table and lowered himself so I could get down, and as I climbed off his back, I saw his parents walking over.

I hadn’t really seen them at the last couple of events, but he told me they didn’t attend everything because they liked visiting friends when they were in town.

I was torn between being happy to see friendly faces converging upon us and feeling guilty because I genuinely liked them and was starting to really hate all the lies.

I also hated the reality that someday I might just pop up in conversation as “that Abi girl” that Declan dated briefly.

I don’t know why I cared—it probably had to do with the fact that I didn’t really have much family in my life or very many friends of my own—but it somehow felt like a loss that I would ultimately be purged from their circle.

“What is all this?” his mom asked with a grin.

“Abi twisted her ankle,” Declan said, giving me a surreptitious look.

“Well, thank goodness she had you to help her back,” his dad said.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Abi didn’t need me,” Declan said, smiling. Only I could sense the sarcasm in his smile and words. “I’ve never met anyone who takes care of themselves the way she does.”

I wanted to roll my eyes.

Yes, I get it, Dex.

After his parents moved away to talk to someone else, Declan dropped to a squat in front of me.

“Listen,” he said quietly, giving me serious eye contact that made something inside me go soft again. I wanted to reach out and run a hand over his jawline.

But I didn’t.

“After the 5K, usually everybody socializes here at the park for an hour or two. There are mimosas and bagels in the tent, and it’s a beautiful morning, so everybody will be sipping and talking about the weekend.

I was going to subject you to that, but I think it might be a better idea for me to get you back to the apartment so you can get in a breathing treatment. ”

“No, I seriously am fine now,” I said, meaning it. “I promise I’m not just saying that. As long as you don’t force me to run, or bury my face in a dog’s fur, I am fine to stay and socialize at your side.”

“You sure?” he asked, his eyes moving all over my face like he was looking for the truth.

“I am,” I said, and then I couldn’t stop my hand from doing it, from touching his cheek. “Thank you.”

His eyes were all I could see as we shared a look. I couldn’t explain what exactly was happening between us as our eyes stayed locked together, but it felt nice and warm and like it meant something.

“Shall we go socialize, then, girlfriend of mine?” he asked, his mouth moving into a sweet smile that made my chest feel pinched.

“We shall,” I said, standing up.

His big hand wrapped around mine and my eyes felt scratchy as he pulled me to my feet. I was so soft for him at the moment, weak for the person who’d cared for me, that it was a little dangerous.

This is a job, dipshit—get it together.

I cleared my throat and lifted my chin.

This is my job.

We started walking around the tented areas of the park, Declan chatting with everybody, and I was glad I was there for him.

Because it seemed like the colleagues closest to his age and at his level within the company were all present and they all had spouses.

Most of them had children, actually, and they were happily participating in this adorable family event.

Looking at it all spread out in front of me, I totally understood why he was seen as less than when it came to the business.

All these people appeared to be fully fledged adults with their lives together.

Kids in bouncy houses, dogs leashed to strollers, Volvos with car seats; they were it .

Declan, on the other hand, was young and attractive. Alone. It made sense that they would look at him and see somebody who might be brilliant at the moment but not necessarily a long-term leadership solution when so much of his life had yet to be carved out.

It was an archaic way of thinking, totally unfair and biased (and an absolute HR violation), but I could see why he’d feel pressured into this .

When I left his side to grab an apple from the refreshment table, I watched him.

He looked so comfortable talking to everyone, like there wasn’t an awkward bone in the man’s body. He was open and friendly as he engaged with spouses and children, and he was the same with his colleagues, though his face got a little more “business intense” when he spoke to them.

Which made me think of his phone call last night.

Were he and Roman… up to something?

I didn’t know anything about what he did in his role, but since Roman didn’t work for Hathaway, it seemed weird to me that they’d be on what had sounded like a pretty serious work call at two in the morning.

What was that about?

What did their “investments” entail? I’d overheard Roman say they were a two-man operation, which was absolutely bizarre, but I didn’t need to understand.

They were two rich dudes, doing rich-dude things, clearly trying to make themselves even richer.

By the time I went to sleep that night he’d be out of my life forever, so it was of no importance to me whether Declan Powell was scheming.

I picked up a Granny Smith, watching him as he conversed with a silver-haired guy and his wife, and a feeling of pride came at me out of nowhere. We were nothing to each other in real life, but he’d still made me a priority when I’d needed him.

Which was something I wasn’t used to.

When I joined him, I wrapped both my arms around his right arm and smiled up at him.

“What?” he said, smirking down at me.

“Nothing,” I replied, still smiling. “You just look very handsome this morning.”

I looked at the silver-haired woman and said, “He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

“Oh, very handsome,” she agreed, beaming as if we were the most lovely couple she’d ever met. “He looks a lot like his grandmother.”

I didn’t agree with that , because Declan actually smiled sometimes and was capable of kindness.

From what I’d seen so far, Nana Marian was the opposite of that; kind of a wealthy old battle-axe.

I spent the rest of the time at the park being a dreamboat of a girlfriend, pointing out my necklace and gushing about how thoughtful Declan was. I was pouring it on thick, but as far as I could tell, everyone believed it.

And Declan looked like he was absolutely on board.

His hands never strayed far from me, little touches to my elbow or my back, and occasionally pushing back a stray tendril of my hair when it blew across my face; all the sweet, subconscious things that somebody did to their significant other when they cared about them.

It was top-grade acting, and if I didn’t constantly remind myself that the man was indeed pretending, I might’ve been in a little trouble.

When we finally got to the car, I buckled my seat belt and said, “Just try and tell me I wasn’t the best girlfriend ever this morning.”

His smile disappeared and he looked anything but pleased as he turned the key. “The best girlfriend ever wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way for a meaningless 5K. The best girlfriend in the world wouldn’t let herself get into a health crisis because she was too nice to say anything.”

“Are you mad at me?” I asked, shocked by how upset he looked.

He’d seemed concerned when I’d been having my asthma attack, yes, but he hadn’t looked anything like this irritated man who was pulling out of the parking lot.

“Yes, I’m mad—are you kidding me?” he said, his voice full of frustration. “That was fucking terrifying, Abi. Why would you do that to yourself? I don’t even understand.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, kind of shrugging before turning to look out my window. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t talk as he drove, and I was so conflicted I wouldn’t have known what to say if he did want to talk. Because it was natural for someone—anyone—to worry about someone having a health crisis.

He was simply being a decent human being.

But something about Declan’s worry, and the way he’d taken care of me, felt personal.

And it was disturbing how much I liked it.