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“Jeremy is wonderful!” she said, voice breaking over the phone. “What is it about him that has you so upset? Did he do something?”

And I couldn’t give her a concrete answer. Just that Jeremy didn’t make me feel alive. He didn’t make me feel like I was on fire.

“Well, I’m not sure you want to feel like you’re on fire,” Mom said, and I could picture her flipping her hand at me. “We had to treat some third-degree burns just yesterday, and they were not…”

Now, I reach Mr. Dunne’s door, and all my comforting thoughts of home and my parents fly off as I make eye contact with my boss.

Patrick Dunne. Founder and CEO of Dunne Tech. Holder of several other companies, all of which are climbing the ranks of the Fortune 500. We have journalists in and out of the office all the time to interview him. When I first started working here, nearly ten years ago, he had just made it onto the 30 Under 30 list. Molly is certain he still has time for 40 Under 40, too.

Not only is he successful, but he’s intimidatingly handsome, too. Shaggy dark hair that’s always styled professionally, sparse but well-groomed facial hair, the kind of physique that points to a workout routine but nothing extreme. My mind flickers to the image of him on a treadmill, strong legs in a pair of shorts, and I quickly push the thought away.

“Mr. Dunne, you wanted to see me?”

“Please,” he says, smiling at me in a way I’m sure he’s never smiled at anyone in this office before. “Come in and close the door. And you can call me Patrick.”

I turn to close the door, like he asked, and he must see my eyes widen because the next thing out of his mouth is, “I’d like to offer you a promotion, Cami.”

Did he see my resignation letter and decide the best course of action would be a promotion? But it’s not enough to keep me here—a promotion would just mean more work. More time here at the office.

“That’s very generous, but⁠—”

“It’s a new position. Christmas consultant.”

I blink at him, then at the door. Maybe he’s having a medical emergency. Can people say ridiculous things in the middle of a stroke?

Mr. Dunne—Patrick—is good at reading people, so he picks up on my unease and sighs, lacing his fingers together and squaring a decided look on his face.

“Look, Cami, I’m just going to cut to the chase, okay?”

“Okay…”

“You know I’ve been in the running to acquire Moreno Toys?”

I stifle a laugh, then nod. Everyone knows that, and most of us here don’t understand it at all. What would a guy like Mr. Dunne want with a toy company? He doesn’t seem to really like kids, and certainly would not like toys. He can hardly tolerate the fake Christmas gifts I wrap up and stick under the tree each year.

“Well,” he goes on, lacing his fingers together. “Mr. Moreno is a family man. I think it’s imperative that I show him I have family values, too. I’m hoping to bring a holiday enthusiast with me on a business trip to Finland to meet Mr. Moreno’s family.”

My brow furrows. “But how would that show him your family values?”

Patrick shifts slightly, the first sign of discomfort flitting over his face. “Well, because that person would pretend to be my fiancée. Fake fiancée, that is.”

Maybe I’m having a medical emergency. Did I pass out after printing my resignation letter?

“You want me to come to Finland with you?”

“Yes.”

“And you want us to pretend that we’re engaged?”

“Precisely. And I’m willing to offer you a bonus. For the trouble. It will be more than worth it to complete the acquisition.”

He slides a piece of paper—no, a check—over to me across the desk. I stare at it, blinking at the number scrawled there.

“This is…” I swallow, hearing my mom’s advice in the back of my head. Think it over. Consider the offer.

But I just can’t.

“This is very generous, Mr. Dunne,” I say, standing and nearly tripping backward over the chair. “But I’ll have to decline.”