The contract arrived in my email the next morning, a fifteen-page PDF with precise language that would have made any corporate lawyer proud. I scanned it over my first cup of coffee, eyes widening at the exhaustive detail. There were sections on public appearances, social media requirements, approved physical contact, and even a detailed schedule of events we would attend together over the next three months. The final page specified a surprisingly generous "compensation package" that made me choke on my coffee.
I called Ava immediately.
"Have you seen this?" I demanded when she picked up.
"The contract? Yeah, it came through at 7 AM sharp. His assistant must be an early riser."
"Did you see the money?" I whispered, as if someone might overhear.
"Hard to miss," Ava replied. "That's more than you make in a year."
"It's almost double," I confirmed, scrolling back to that section. "For three months of pretending to be his girlfriend."
"Sounds like a bargain to me," Ava said with audible smugness. "And I wouldn't say it's 'pretending' exactly. The man is ridiculously hot in person, and clearly interested."
I rolled my eyes. "He's not interested in me, Ava. He's interested in whatever business angle he stands to gain from this arrangement."
"Mmm-hmm," she hummed skeptically. "That's why he specifically requested you wear that blue dress you have—the one that hugs all the right places—to the Mercantile Club dinner tomorrow night."
I frantically scrolled through the contract again. "Where does it say that?"
"Appendix B, 'Wardrobe Considerations.' Third paragraph."
There it was: For the Mercantile Club dinner (April 8), Ms. Chen is requested to wear the sapphire blue Eliza James dress seen in her Instagram post from December 12 of last year.
"How does he even know about that dress?" I asked, mystified.
"Because he's spent the last twenty-four hours studying you," Ava replied matter-of-factly. "Just as you should be studying him. Have you even googled him properly yet?"
I hadn't, beyond that initial panicked search in the office. There hadn't been time between the meeting at The Line and falling into an exhausted sleep after returning home.
"I'll look into him today," I promised. "But first, help me figure out if I should sign this thing or run screaming in the opposite direction."
"Sign it," Ava said without hesitation. "What's the worst that could happen?"
I could think of dozens of worst-case scenarios, but before I could list them, my phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number.
Good morning, Maya. Have you reviewed the contract? -E
My heart rate quickened. "He just texted me."
"What did he say?" Ava asked eagerly.
"He wants to know if I've reviewed the contract." I stared at the message, at the casual use of my first name, at the initial signature. As if we were already intimate enough for such shorthand.
"Text him back," Ava urged.
My fingers hovered over the screen. "What do I say?"
"Tell him you need to discuss some terms in person. Set up a meeting somewhere public but intimate. See if he's really just in this for business."
I shook my head, though she couldn't see me. "That's not what I'm asking. I need to know if the contract is fair, if there are any red flags I'm missing."
"It seems pretty standard for a fake relationship agreement," Ava said with a laugh.
"And how would you know what's standard?" I retorted.
"I've read enough romance novels. This is straight out of 'The Billionaire's Convenient Fiancée.'"
I groaned. "This isn't fiction, Ava. This is my actual life."
"Look," she said, her tone turning serious. "The money is good. The terms are clear. The time period is limited. And it solves your Daniel-and-Sophia problem perfectly. I say you sign it and see where this goes."
I took a deep breath, knowing she was right but still feeling that flutter of warning in my chest. After another moment of hesitation, I replied to Ethan's text:
I've reviewed it. Everything seems in order. -Maya
His response came almost immediately:
Excellent. The car will pick you up at 7 PM tomorrow for the Mercantile Club dinner. Wear the blue dress. -E
I stared at the message, equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his commanding tone. Without thinking too hard about it, I typed back:
The blue dress is at the cleaners. I'll find something else suitable. -M
This time, there was a longer pause before his reply:
The dress has already been picked up from Luxe Cleaners on Valencia Street. It will be delivered to you by 5 PM today, along with appropriate accessories. -E
A chill ran through me. How did he know where I took my dry cleaning? It was unsettling enough that he knew about the dress, but this level of detail about my life felt invasive.
Have you been investigating me? -M
This time, the pause stretched even longer. Finally:
Of course. Just as I assume you're investigating me. Knowledge is power, Maya. I never enter any arrangement at a disadvantage. See you tomorrow at 7. -E
I set my phone down slowly, a mixture of emotions swirling inside me. There was something undeniably attractive about his confidence, but also something alarming about his thoroughness.
"So?" Ava prompted. "What did he say?"
I summarized our exchange, ending with: "He's having my dress delivered today. He knows where I take my dry cleaning, Ava."
"That's either extremely creepy or incredibly romantic," she mused. "I'm leaning toward the latter."
"You would," I muttered. "I need to find out more about him before tomorrow night."
After ending the call with Ava, I opened my laptop and dove into research mode. Ethan Blackwood's digital footprint was substantial but carefully cultivated. Born to wealthy parents in Boston—father a surgeon, mother a biochemist—he'd shown early promise in both medicine and technology. After his parents died in a car accident when he was twenty-two, he'd channeled his grief into founding Nexus Technologies, focusing on diagnostic software that could detect diseases earlier than conventional methods.
His professional accomplishments were impressive, but his personal life was more guarded. There were society page photos with various beautiful women over the years, but no relationships lasting more than a few months. Colleagues described him as brilliant but intensely private; employees praised his leadership but noted his demanding standards.
By noon, I felt like I knew the public version of Ethan Blackwood, but I was no closer to understanding his true motivations for our arrangement.
My doorbell rang at exactly 5 PM. A courier handed me a large garment bag with "Ms. Maya Chen" written in elegant script on the attached card. Inside was my blue dress, freshly cleaned and pressed, along with a velvet jewelry box containing a simple but stunning sapphire pendant on a white gold chain.
The card read: To complement your eyes. -E
I touched the pendant gingerly, unsure whether to be flattered or unnerved by this attention to detail. The necklace was beautiful but understated—expensive without being ostentatious, exactly what I would have chosen for myself if I could afford it.
How had he known?
The car arrived promptly at 7 PM the next evening—a sleek black Audi with tinted windows. The driver, an older gentleman with a kind smile, introduced himself as Harrison and held the door open for me.
"Mr. Blackwood sends his apologies," Harrison said as we pulled away from my apartment. "He had an unexpected conference call with Tokyo. He'll meet you at the club."
I nodded, trying to hide my relief at having a few more minutes to prepare myself mentally. I wore the blue dress as instructed, with the sapphire pendant resting against my collarbone. My hair was swept up in an elegant knot, and I'd spent far too long on my makeup, aiming for a natural look that had taken an unnatural amount of effort to achieve.
The Mercantile Club occupied the top three floors of one of San Francisco's most exclusive buildings. I'd walked past it dozens of times but had never been inside. As Harrison escorted me through the ornate lobby to a private elevator, I felt distinctly out of place among the well-heeled members coming and going with practiced nonchalance.
"First time at the club?" Harrison asked kindly as we ascended.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked with a nervous smile.
"Only to those who remember their own first visit," he replied. "Mr. Blackwood requested the Morgan Room. Best view in the house."
The elevator opened directly into a reception area where a poised woman in a black suit checked my name against her list.
"Ms. Chen, welcome to the Mercantile Club. Mr. Blackwood is already waiting for you."
She led me through corridors lined with dark wood paneling and original artwork to a private dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. The Golden Gate Bridge glowed in the distance, orange towers stark against the darkening sky.
Ethan stood as I entered, and my breath caught involuntarily. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, a subtle blue tie that matched my dress exactly. Those intense eyes met mine, traveling briefly down my figure before returning to my face with unmistakable appreciation.
"Maya," he said, coming around the table to greet me. "You look stunning."
He leaned in and kissed my cheek, his hand resting lightly on my waist. The gesture was clearly for the benefit of the staff, but it sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach nonetheless.
"Thank you for the necklace," I said when he'd stepped back. "It wasn't necessary."
"It was entirely necessary," he countered, guiding me to my seat with a light touch at the small of my back. "Details matter in performances like ours."
A waiter appeared with champagne, pouring two flutes from a bottle that probably cost more than my monthly rent. When we were alone again, Ethan raised his glass.
"To convincing performances," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
I lifted my own glass. "To mutual benefit."
Something flickered in his expression—amusement, perhaps, or approval of my directness. We drank, the champagne crisp and perfect on my tongue.
"I have something for you," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and extracting a small velvet box.
My heart stuttered. "What is this?"
"The next logical step in our narrative," he replied, opening the box to reveal a stunning emerald-cut diamond ring surrounded by smaller sapphires. "If we're dating seriously enough to attend events together, you should have a ring."
I stared at the ring, then at him. "This isn't in the contract."
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Check section 7.3, 'Progression of Relationship Status.' We're on an accelerated timeline."
"You want me to wear an engagement ring?" I asked incredulously. "Isn't that moving rather fast, even for our fictional relationship?"
"It's precisely because our time is limited that we need to establish the seriousness of our connection quickly," he explained, removing the ring from its box. "May I?"
I hesitated, then extended my left hand. His fingers were warm as they held mine, sliding the ring into place with practiced ease. It fit perfectly.
"How did you know my size?" I asked, though I had a feeling I knew the answer.
"The same way I knew about the blue dress," he replied. "Research."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The ring felt heavy on my finger, significant in ways I hadn't anticipated.
"Now," he said, finally breaking the silence, "we should discuss tonight's objective."
I pulled my attention away from the ring. "Objective?"
"Gabriel Montgomery," Ethan said, leaning back in his chair. "He's joining us for dessert."
The name meant nothing to me. "Who is Gabriel Montgomery?"
"Only the most influential venture capitalist in medical technology," Ethan replied. "And potentially the key investor in Nexus's new diagnostic platform."
Understanding dawned. "This is why you wanted a fake girlfriend. To impress an investor."
Ethan's expression remained impassive. "Montgomery is old-fashioned. He believes in stability, family values, long-term commitments. My reputation as a..." he paused, searching for the right word.
"Workaholic bachelor with a string of model girlfriends?" I supplied.
His mouth quirked. "I was going to say 'dedicated professional with limited personal attachments,' but your description works too. Either way, it doesn't inspire the kind of confidence Montgomery wants in his investment partners."
"So I'm window dressing," I said flatly. "The dutiful girlfriend who proves you're capable of commitment."
"You're much more than window dressing, Maya," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "You're educated, accomplished, articulate. You have a successful career in a creative field. You come from a respectable family with strong values. You're exactly the type of partner that would impress someone like Montgomery without raising suspicions about your sudden appearance in my life."
I couldn't decide if I should be flattered or offended by his assessment. "You've really thought this through."
"I always do," he replied simply.
Before I could respond, our server appeared with the first course—a delicate scallop crudo that looked more like art than food. As we ate, Ethan shifted the conversation, asking detailed questions about my work at Prism Design. I found myself drawn into a discussion about user interface psychology and the emotional impact of design choices, surprised by his genuine interest and insightful questions.
By the time our main courses arrived, I had almost forgotten that this was a business arrangement rather than a date. Ethan was an attentive listener and a thoughtful conversationalist, drawing me out on topics I was passionate about while sharing enough of his own thoughts to keep the exchange balanced.
"What made you focus on medical diagnostics?" I asked as I savored a perfectly cooked piece of sea bass.
Something flickered across his face—a shadow of emotion quickly suppressed. "My parents," he said after a moment. "They died when I was in my final year at MIT. Car accident on a rainy night."
"I'm sorry," I said, surprised by this personal disclosure.
He nodded, his expression distant. "Before that, though, my mother had been misdiagnosed for months. Persistent cough, fatigue. Three different doctors said it was bronchitis, maybe early COPD from her lab work. By the time they found the lung cancer, it had metastasized."
I set down my fork, moved by the quiet pain in his voice. "That's awful."
"It happens all too often," he said, his focus returning to the present. "Human error, systemic inefficiencies, bias in diagnostic procedures. Our software can help eliminate those factors, potentially saving thousands of lives."
"Is that why you need Montgomery's investment?" I asked.
Ethan's expression hardened slightly. "We don't need his money. Nexus is profitable and well-capitalized. But Montgomery's connections in the hospital administration world could accelerate our deployment timeline by years. That means more lives saved sooner."
I studied him across the table, seeing beyond the polished exterior to the driven man beneath. "This really matters to you."
"Of course it does," he replied, a flash of intensity in his eyes. "What's the point of success if you're not using it to change things that matter?"
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed with a text message. He glanced at it briefly.
"Montgomery is on his way up," he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His demeanor shifted subtly, shoulders straightening, expression becoming more guarded. "Ready for your debut as the woman who captured Ethan Blackwood's heart?"
I took a deep breath, adjusting the sapphire pendant at my throat. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Ethan reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb brushing over the diamond ring. "You'll be perfect," he said softly, with such conviction that for a moment, I almost believed him. "Just follow my lead."
The maître d' appeared at the door, ushering in an older gentleman with silver hair and sharp eyes. Ethan rose smoothly, his hand still holding mine, pulling me gently to my feet beside him.
"Gabriel," he said warmly, "I'd like you to meet Maya Chen, the woman you've been hearing so much about."
Montgomery's assessing gaze took in our clasped hands, the ring on my finger, the matching blue of Ethan's tie and my dress. His expression revealed nothing as he extended his hand to me.
"Miss Chen," he said, his voice a cultured baritone. "I understand congratulations are in order."
I smiled, channeling every ounce of confidence I could muster. "Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. Ethan speaks very highly of you."
Montgomery's eyebrow lifted slightly as he took the seat Ethan held for him. "Does he? That's a pleasant surprise. Your fiancé is typically rather sparing with compliments."
Fiancé. The word hung in the air between us, a fictional label that suddenly felt very real. I glanced at Ethan, who had retaken his seat beside me, his hand now resting possessively on the back of my chair.
"Only where they're not deserved," Ethan replied smoothly. "Maya and I were just discussing the deployment timeline for the diagnostic platform. She has some interesting perspectives on the user interface design."
Montgomery turned his keen gaze to me. "Is that so? Are you in the medical field, Miss Chen?"
"Please, call me Maya," I said with a smile. "And no, I'm a graphic designer specializing in user experience. I work primarily with financial and technology clients, helping them create interfaces that are both aesthetically pleasing and intuitively functional."
"Maya has been helping me reconsider some of our platform's interface elements," Ethan added. "Her outside perspective has been invaluable."
I shot him a quick glance, surprised by this embellishment. We had never discussed his company's software.
"Fresh eyes often see what specialists miss," Montgomery said, nodding. "What aspects of the interface caught your attention?"
For a heartbeat, panic fluttered in my chest. I was being tested, and Ethan had thrown me into deep water without warning. But then professional instincts kicked in, and I found myself drawing on my experience with similar projects.
"The balance between comprehensive data presentation and clarity," I said, falling into the comfortable rhythm of discussing design principles. "Medical professionals need all relevant information, but information overload can slow decision-making in critical moments. The challenge is creating a hierarchical display that prioritizes the most urgent data while keeping secondary information accessible but not distracting."
Montgomery's eyes sharpened with interest. "A perennial challenge in medical software design. And how would you address it?"
As dessert was served—an elaborate chocolate creation that looked too beautiful to eat—I found myself engaged in a detailed discussion of user interface psychology with one of the most powerful men in the medical technology industry. Ethan occasionally interjected with technical specifications or medical protocol details, but largely allowed me to lead the conversation.
By the time coffee arrived, Montgomery was leaning forward in his chair, engaged and impressed. "You've given me much to think about, Maya. I must say, when I heard Ethan Blackwood was suddenly engaged, I was skeptical. But now I understand the attraction." He turned to Ethan with an approving nod. "She's not just beautiful, but brilliant. You've chosen well."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks at the compliment, uncomfortable with both the praise and the objectification. Ethan's hand found mine under the table, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze.
"I'm the fortunate one," Ethan said, looking at me with an expression so convincingly adoring that for a moment I almost believed it myself. "Maya challenges me to think beyond computational efficiency to the human element of our work."
Montgomery checked his watch and sighed. "I should be going. Early flight tomorrow." He rose, extending his hand first to me, then to Ethan. "I'll have my team reach out about next steps. Perhaps dinner at my home next week? My wife would love to meet your fiancée."
"We'd be delighted," Ethan replied smoothly.
After Montgomery left, Ethan remained silent, sipping his coffee with a pensive expression. I waited for his assessment, unexpectedly anxious about my performance.
"Well?" I finally prompted. "How did I do?"
His eyes met mine, something like respect in their blue depths. "Brilliantly. You impressed him more than I could have hoped."
Relief washed through me. "So we achieved your objective?"
"We made significant progress," he confirmed. "Montgomery doesn't make investment decisions quickly, but you've definitely caught his interest."
"Good," I said, suddenly feeling exhausted by the evening's performance. "I'm glad it was worthwhile."
Ethan studied me for a moment. "You're tired. I'll have Harrison take you home."
As he signaled for the check, I found myself absently twisting the engagement ring on my finger. It caught the light, sending small rainbows dancing across the white tablecloth.
"You should keep it on," Ethan said, noticing my action. "Even when we're not together. People talk. Questions get asked if an engagement ring appears and disappears."
I looked down at the ring that probably cost more than my car. "Is it real?"
"Of course it's real," he replied, sounding almost offended. "As is the necklace. Consider them part of your compensation for an excellent performance tonight."
I bristled at his wording, the reminder that this was all transactional. "I don't need expensive jewelry, Ethan. The agreed payment is more than generous."
His expression softened slightly. "It's not about need, Maya. The jewelry helps make our story believable, and you might as well keep what you're going to be wearing regularly for the next three months."
Before I could argue further, the bill arrived. Ethan signed it without even glancing at the total, then stood and offered me his hand.
"There's one more thing," he said as he helped me into my coat. "Montgomery mentioned dinner at his home next week, but there's another event before that. A charity gala this Saturday at the Art Institute. Black tie. Harrison will pick you up at seven."
I turned to face him, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the reality of what I'd agreed to. "This is becoming more involved than I expected."
Ethan's hand came up to adjust the sapphire pendant at my throat, his fingers brushing against my skin with casual intimacy. "You knew what you were signing up for, Maya. Three months of convincing the world we're madly in love." His eyes met mine, unreadable in the dimmed restaurant lighting. "So far, you're exceeding expectations."
His closeness was disorienting, his cologne subtle but intoxicating. I took a deliberate step back, needing distance to clear my head.
"I'll see you Saturday, then," I said, striving for a businesslike tone.
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I'll be counting the hours."
As Harrison drove me home through the quiet city streets, I stared at the diamond ring glittering on my finger. Just days ago, I had been devastated by an invitation to my ex-boyfriend's wedding. Now I was wearing an engagement ring from one of San Francisco's most eligible bachelors and dining at exclusive clubs I'd only read about in society pages.
It was exactly what I had wanted when Ava and I created our fictional Ethan Blackwood—a way to show Daniel and Sophia that I had moved on spectacularly. Yet now that the fantasy had somehow become a strange reality, I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
The fact that I had enjoyed Ethan's company more than I'd expected only complicated matters further. He was supposed to be an arrogant, cold businessman using me for his own purposes. And he was that—but he was also intelligent, driven by genuine passion for his work, and surprisingly attentive when he wanted to be.
I touched the sapphire pendant again, remembering his fingers against my skin. Three months of pretending to be in love with Ethan Blackwood suddenly seemed both too long and not long enough.
As the car pulled up to my apartment building, I made a resolution: I would maintain professional boundaries, fulfill my contractual obligations, and collect my payment at the end. Developing any real feelings for a man like Ethan would be a disaster.
It was just business, after all. Nothing more.