“First, I want you to redesign parts of the distillery—our shop, visitor areas. You have an eye for preserving heritage while making it accessible. We need that.”
I blink.
“You want me to work for you?”
“I want your expertise,” he corrects.
…Okay. That’s unexpectedly flattering.
“Fine. But I have conditions too.”
“I assumed as much.”
“You help me convince the heritage council to support my cultural center.”
He considers.
“Possible. But not on the southern parcel.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“You thought it loud enough,” he cuts in.
I narrow my eyes. “We’ll see.”
“Second?”
“These ‘engagements’ last three months. Not a day longer.”
“That works. Then a clean, mutual breakup. No drama.”
“Exactly.”
“Third condition,” he adds. “Your sheep is permanently banned from my distillery.”
I smile.
“Trust me, that was already the plan. And my final condition—you never mention turning the washhouse into a jacuzzi in front of my grandmother again.”
“Deal.”
He leans back slightly. “What about the… practical side?”
I frown. “Practical?”
“Public affection,” he says. “People will expect it.”
My heart stutters.
“I… minimal, but convincing,” I say. “Holding hands. Maybe an arm around me. Nothing excessive.”
“Of course.”
Silence falls.
And suddenly it hits me—I just agreed to pretend to be in love with my biggest rival.
What could possibly go wrong?
