You weren’t sure how you’d ended up in this situation—sitting beside Nate Archibald at a candlelit table in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurants, pretending to be his girlfriend. All you’d done was bump into him at a fundraiser last week. He’d looked a little cornered, his infamous ex circling like a shark.

Then came his offer, whispered like a conspiracy: “Be my girlfriend. Just for a little while. Please?”

At first, you laughed, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes silenced you. He explained his ex had been showing up everywhere, determined to rekindle what they had. The only thing that seemed to make her back off was seeing him “move on.”

So here you were, fingers laced with Nate’s under the table as the ex glared from across the room. Nate leaned closer, his cologne warm and expensive. “You’re a natural at this,” he murmured against your ear, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

The thing was… it didn’t feel fake. The way his thumb traced circles over your knuckles. The way his laugh wrapped around you like summer. The way his gaze lingered, not like a man performing for an audience, but like one seeing you for the first time.

And when the ex finally stormed out, muttering under her breath, Nate didn’t let go. Instead, he tilted his head, boyish grin softening into something real. “You know,” he said, “we don’t have to keep pretending.”