Page 39 of Pretend To Be Mine

Thoughts of getting to work at the company flitted through my mind. A little white lie wasn’t so bad, was it? It wasn’t hurting anyone, and it would get me my dream job.

A knock at the door made me jump, nearly dropping the laptop.

I set it aside carefully and went to the door, looking through the peephole. My breath caught.

Adrian Blackwell was standing in my dingy apartment building hallway, looking completely out of place in his expensive clothes surrounded by peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights.

What was he doing here?

I looked down at myself—ratty sweatpants, an old band T-shirt with a hole in the collar. My hair was in a messy bun. I looked like I’d given up on life. It was Sunday after all. Did anyone look their best on a lazy Sunday.

Yes, yes they did. Adrian did.

Another knock. “Elizabeth? I know you’re home. I can hear you overthinking things in there.”

Damn it.

I unlocked the door and opened it, trying to look normal. “Adrian. Hi. What are you doing here?”

He held up a large fancy bag. “Can I come in? I brought supplies.”

“Supplies for what?”

“For getting to know each other.” He gave me a small smile, and something about it seemed almost nervous. It wasn’t the smile he used in front of the cameras. “May I?”

I stepped back, letting him in, acutely aware of how tiny and shabby my apartment was. I watched his eyes take in the bed, the pile of dishes, the fabric chaos and the general disaster zone that was my living space.

“Sorry about the mess,” I said automatically. “It’s the maid’s week off.”

He smiled and set the bag on my coffee table, right next to my laptop, which was still displaying the unsent email. I quickly closed it before he could see my resignation letter.

“So, uh, what are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?”

“It’s on the contract you signed. And I’m here because…” He pulled items out of the bag as he spoke. “I brought wine. Good wine, not the cheap stuff. A charcuterie board from this amazing place in SoHo. And this.”

He held up a leather-bound photo album, worn at the edges.

“What is that?”

“Photos of me as a kid. My mom keeps albums of all of us, and I borrowed one.” He looked at me with what almost looked like a vulnerable expression. But that couldn’t be right because why would Adrian ever be vulnerable?

“Sebastian mentioned you get starstruck around me. He said I make you nervous just by existing.”

My face flamed. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t. He was right to tell me.” Adrian set the album down next to the wine. “Elizabeth, I’ve been approaching this all wrong. I’ve been treating you like an employee. Like someone who needs to perform up to a certain standard. But that’s not fair to you. And it’s not working.”

I sighed. “No, it’s really not.”

“So I thought maybe we should start over. Not as CEO and employee, not as fake fiancé and fake fiancée. Just two people getting to know each other.” He pulled out the wine bottle and held it up. “I figured you’d be less uncomfortable around me if you see me as a person instead of Adrian Blackwell, Fashion Icon. What do you say? Can I pour you a drink?”

I looked at him and tried to remember if I had gone to bed. Maybe it was all a really detailed dream. I casually pinched my arm, and yep, I felt it.

He looked like he wasn’t quite sure he’d be welcome. This wasn’t the commanding CEO. This was just Adrian. A man who’d shown up at my door with wine and a piece of his childhood.

My laptop was right there, email unsent, escape route still available. But looking at Adrian, standing in my tiny apartment with a photo album and a hopeful expression, I couldn’t make myself take the easy way out.

“Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. And yes, please pour me some of that wine. A lot of wine.”