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Five

"And you're my fiancé." I state it evenly; we need to establish this right from the start. It should roll off the tongue and feel natural.

Shouldn't it appear more challenging? The persistent voice in my head comments.

"I'd like to see what I'm buying, Mel. If you don't mind."

She scoffs, but then the door opens fully. Mel steps out just enough for me to have a look. I nearly swallow my tongue. It's a one-piece, which wasn't what I initially intended. After all, Mel has a fantastic figure and should showcase it. My fiancée would flaunt it.

But this bathing suit... it daringly cuts across her hips in a dark red color, like wine or blood, making her skin look even tanner somehow, and her eyes appear darker. The cutouts on the sides are subtle but enough to lead to a high cut just under her breasts naturally. I can see the swell of the underside of them, the soft skin, and shadows.

My mouth waters.

It's strapless, displaying her beautiful neck and shoulders. I feel my interest stir and struggle to keep my face expressionless.

"This one seems appropriate."

Inappropriate, actually, but I'm already thinking about the sight of her emerging from a pool or hot tub, water streaming down her body.

"Is there another one you like? The retreat has endless options for swimming or lounging if that's something you're interested in."

She looks at me shyly and suspiciously, arms crossed under her breasts, causing them to rise in an enticing manner.

"Maybe. Let me..."

Mel disappears back into the room, this time with more enthusiastic shuffling. With a sigh, I recline in the chair, cross my legs, and hope that whatever she emerges in next doesn't give me a heart attack before this whole plan even begins.

On the drive out of Boston, Mel's stomach growls.

"Hungry?" I ask with a smile curling my lips. "We can go out for dinner."

She shakes her head. "No. Not yet, I mean. I... I know we need to be seen and everything, but I'd like to keep this quiet until it sinks in."

I nod, respecting her request. As much as this is a two-way street, it must be jarring for her. Just a day into starting a new job, in a new place, and now she needs to convincingly fake a relationship that will make my boss believe we're deeply in love and planning to settle down.

The thought makes my stomach ache. Settling down. The last time I considered settling down was with Mel, ironically. Back when I was a kid, daydreaming after a long phone call, wondering if it was crazy to think about it at such a young age. I considered asking her to marry me when we graduated from high school, of following her wherever she wanted to go. Except she didn't give me the chance.

At the apartment, I take her hand to help her out of the car and ask, "Can I come inside? There are some rules we need to establish, and some things that need to be signed."

Mel eyes me warily but agrees. I follow her into a small, stuffy foyer and up a narrow flight of stairs. She unlocks the door and steps aside so I can enter the apartment. It's tiny, even smaller than I expected. It's almost like a studio, but I can see a bedroom behind two interior French doors and a small bathroom to the side. At least there's good light.

But most importantly, I can see fragments of her everywhere. Books stacked on the side table, a dent in the loveseat where she sits, a few sketchbooks open on a drafting table, which is almost the most substantial piece of furniture in the room.

She blushes and goes to stand in front of her drawings, some of which are pinned to the wall. A part of me longs to inspect them, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable. And that's not why I'm here.

Wordlessly, I hand her a folder.

"An NDA." "An NDA?" "Yes. This is business, after all. While the relationship will end a few months after I secure the company, I need to ensure this will never become public knowledge—what we're doing." She looks up at me with a furrowed brow, her eyes calculating. "You're very committed to this." "I am." "Why?" With a sigh, I sit on the edge of the loveseat. I don't want to reveal everything, but I need her to comprehend. "I've been with Dupont Analytics since the beginning. There's no one more suitable to run it than me. If I can't prove to Roy that I can commit to something long-term, he'll hand it over to his stepson." Zach. The thought of him infuriated me, but I hold it in, not wanting Mel to see. "It's your brainchild," Mel murmurs as she sinks into the chair across from me. My jaw clenches. It's all I've got. But I won't say that to her either. I need to maintain a barrier. I can't let her get too close, not again. "It's a lucrative company that I've spent the last decade building from the ground up. I want to see it grow further." Calmly, I take out a checkbook from my blazer's inner pocket. "I assume that's enough to ensure your participation and your discretion?" There's a brief pause, but then Mel nods. Her eyes are locked onto the check—half of the total amount—and there's sadness in them once again. It's veiled, but I can perceive it. I know her well enough to recognize she's concealing something. For a moment, I'm tempted to ask if everything is okay. Then that night rushes back— the hurried voicemail. It's not going to work out. Sorry, Jason. Just like that, she was gone. No explanation. My heart aches all over again, but it hardens me. "And do you think you and I... make a convincing couple?" Another shrug. Clearly, Mel doesn't think much of me, or authority in general. She's made that clear. So why did she accept the job at one of the largest corporate offices in the county? "We have a history. It'll be easier to fake." Another unspoken thought: We were convincing once; we were in love once. We can fake it all over again. She looks away, a blush coloring her cheeks as her eyes scan the NDA. "So there are certain conditions here about intimacy, I'm guessing? PDA?" "Yes. And, of course, we need to have our story straight. Everyone will be curious about why Dupont Analytics suddenly hired my fiancée." "About that..." she asks with curiosity. "I emailed the head of HR this morning. We'll sign a disclosure on Monday, just before we leave for the retreat." "How long will we have to fake this? The retreat is almost two weeks long, and I doubt Mr. Dupont will be convinced by a few days spent together." Smart girl. Now my smirk appears. "A month. Two, at most. He'll have retired by then, and I'm sure this is the final push he needs to pass it on to me. Like I said, I've been here since day one; no one knows the company better than I do." The questions in her eyes soften. What I've told her has appeased her, and she sighs, shuffling the shopping bags aimlessly. "Alright. Two months at most. Let me go through this tonight, and I can have it signed for you by Monday, if I agree with everything." You will, I want to say.

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