Page 21 of Pretend To Be Mine

“Because you would have said no.” Dash opened his minifridge and pulled out two cans of Dr. Pepper. He handed one to me. I stared at it. “Drink. You need sugar before you completely spin out.”

I snatched it out of his hand, realizing he was right. My blood sugar felt like it had plummeted. “This fixes nothing,” I muttered before cracking open the can and taking a drink.

Dash sipped on his and sat on the edge of his desk. “The New York kickoff is in a week and a half. If we want this engagement to have any impact, we need to announce it now. Give it time to percolate, let people get invested in the story.”

“A week and a half is plenty of time.”

“It’s not.” Dash cut me off, his usual easy-going demeanor hardening. “We need the narrative to shift before opening night, not during it. That means we need the announcement today, press coverage tomorrow, a few strategic appearances over the next week to get the momentum going. This is basic PR timeline stuff, Adrian. You know this.”

I did know it. I just hated that he was right.

“You still should have told me,” I said, hearing how petulant it sounded even as the words left my mouth.

“I’m telling you now.” Dash cocked his head to the side and looked at me. “What’s the real problem here? Because from where I’m sitting, this is perfect timing. You found someone, she signed the paperwork, now we roll it out. Clean and simple.”

“The problem is she has no idea what she’s walking into. I met her less than an hour ago. She can barely string two sentences together when I’m in the room, and you want to put her in front of cameras?”

Briggs closed his laptop. “Is she really that bad?”

“She’s terrified. Of me, of this whole situation.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the headache pounding at my temples. “I should have taken more time. Done a rehearsal or something. She needed time to process this. Maybe I do, too.”

“There’s no time for rehearsals,” Dash said flatly. “We have a press conference in,” he checked his watch, “twenty-three minutes. So unless you want to cancel it and deal with the fallout of looking completely disorganized, she’s going to have to figure it out.”

“Dash, you know this is poor planning.”

“Look, I get it. You’re trying to be considerate. That’s very noble of you. But we’re past the point of handholding. Either she can do this or she can’t, and we’re about to find out which one it is.”

The casual dismissiveness in his tone made my hands curl into fists. “She’s not a prop. She’s a person who’s doing us a massive favor.”

“And getting paid fifty grand for it,” Dash countered. “Plus a job. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be grateful, but let’s not pretend this is charity work. She’s getting something out of this too.”

He wasn’t wrong, but the way he said it made my teeth grind.

“We can’t cancel now,” Briggs said quietly, ever the voice of reason. “Dash is right about that much. The invitations went out. Canceling would raise questions we can’t answer. It would look like chaos in the ranks, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

I looked between my brothers and couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Fine,” I said finally. “But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming both of you.”

“Get in line,” Dash said cheerfully. “Sebastian’s already called dibs on blaming me for everything.”

“Where is Sebastian, anyway?”

“Probably making poor life choices.” Dash said. “Want me to round him up for the press conference? Might be good to have the whole family there.”

“No. This is about Elizabeth and me. Keep it simple.” I headed for the door, then paused. “And Dash? Next time you want to schedule something involving my fake fiancée, run it by me first.”

“Will do, boss.” The sarcasm was thick enough to cut.

I left before I punched him. Working with a family was both a blessing and a curse. I would get over his impulsive press conference. It was better to cool off before I made this a bigger problem than it needed to be.

There was no going back. I couldn’t show up with Elizabeth, say she was my fiancée, and then have shit fall apart. I couldn’t very well buy the services of another woman and present her as my real fiancée. The press would catch on, and it would blow up in our faces.

Elizabeth had to work.

I headed back downstairs and found her exactly where I expected. She was in hair and makeup, sitting in a chair in front of a mirror surrounded by lights. Mary Jo stood in front of her with a makeup brush, working on Elizabeth’s eyes. Annika hovered nearby, holding what looked like a jewelry box.

Elizabeth was wearing a cream-colored dress, but I couldn’t see much of it. There was a black cape over it while Mary Jo finished her makeup.