“Tessa will.”
The final rule looked absurdly formal. It also looked like the only one neither of us could enforce. Amy set the pen down.
“So.”
“So?”
“If you answer the marathon question, Miguel signs the transfer, Blake documents the former-client conflict, and we agree on the relationship history, I will enter.”
I should have felt only relief. The certification stopped looking like an emergency-funded gamble. The prize became possible. Instead, I felt the last rule sitting between us. No genuine feelings. I had suggested it because it sounded impossible in a funny way. Now it felt like a warning.
“Okay,” I said.
Amy held out her hand.
“A temporary competition partnership.”
I took it. Her hand was cool and smaller than mine.
“A fake relationship,” I corrected.
“For practical purposes.”
“Obviously.”
We shook. Neither of us let go immediately. Amy looked down at our joined hands. Then back at me. The room became too quiet. I released her first.
“Relationship history,” I said.
“Yes.”
“We met at the gym.”
“True.”
I leaned across the table, warming to the assignment. “You tried to steal my treadmill.”
“You were using my reservation.”
“Less romantic.”
“It should be plausible.” Amy poised her pen above the page, refusing to reward me with a smile.
“You dropped a dumbbell near my foot.”
“No.”
“It was love at first injury.”
“No.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
“You nearly caused my death by distracting me on a treadmill.”
That one almost made her laugh. Keeping her mouth straight required visible effort.
“That has chemistry,” I said.
