I find you in the editing room again—your laptop open, headphones in, completely zoned into whatever set of photos you’re working on. Probably Liam mid-jump or Zayn looking like he belongs on the cover of a magazine. You don’t even hear me come in. Typical.

I knock twice on the doorframe.

You look up, annoyed. “What?”

Charming as ever.

“I need a favor,” I say, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me. “Don’t roll your eyes yet.”

You blink. “That depends entirely on what comes out of your mouth next.”

I scratch the back of my neck, trying to find a way to not sound completely ridiculous. “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

You laugh. Out loud. “That’s hilarious. No, seriously, what do you want?”

“I’m being serious.”

You stare. “Why?”

I sigh and lean against the wall. “Niall’s throwing a party tonight. His cousin from Dublin’s in town—Elena. We went out once, years ago. She’s… obsessed. Still thinks there’s something between us.”

“Then tell her you’re not interested?”

“I have. Repeatedly. She doesn’t care.” I fold my arms. “Last time she showed up at a party, she followed me into the bathroom and tried to crawl into the tub while I was taking a piss.”

You try not to laugh, but fail miserably.

“She’s mental,” I mutter. “And I told Niall I’d be bringing someone tonight. Someone I’m ‘serious’ about.”

You raise a brow. “So your grand plan is to fake-date the one person you barely tolerate?”

I grin. “Well, I may hate you but I recon you could be a good actress.”

You study me for a moment. “What’s in it for me?”

I step closer, dropping my voice. “Unlimited access to the VIP drink table. And I’ll owe you.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “But if she try’s starting on me I wont hesitate to punch her.”

I smirk. “Deal.”