Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Boone nods once. “I’ll take her to my cabin nearby. It’s remote, secure.”
Dean turns to me, a crimson folder in hand. Color means high-profile asset. “Asher, yours is… different.”
My pulse bumps, but I keep posture neutral. Another test, maybe.
He slides the file; the name on the tab reads CHARLOTTE LANE. “Her father hired us. You’ll pose as her fiancé during a week-long family retreat.”
I flip the cover. First photo: Charlotte in a designer cocktail dress, eyes downcast, sadness baked into the pixels. Something twists beneath my sternum.
Dean outlines the intel—arranged-marriage pressure from a business partner’s son, potential hostile takeover if the union happens. “Your cover relationship stops that before contracts hit ink.”
I nod, absorbing logistics: location, guest list, emergency exfil points.
Dean finishes the briefing with a sweep of his gaze. “I want everyone to know I’m here if you need anything..”
Chairs scrape. Ranger and Boone file out. I start to follow when Dean says, “Asher, hold up.”
I drop back into my seat. Door clicks shut behind the last man.
Dean folds his arms, expression softening a notch. “I chose you because you’re closest to Charlotte’s age. Optics matter. Don’t read hesitation into that.”
“I don’t.” And I don’t. Dean’s never handed me a job he thought I’d botch. “I’m in.”
“Good. Mr. Lane’s company can’t survive that merger. Keep her convinced, keep the family convinced, and keep anyone else from forcing her hand.”
“Understood.” We shake hands and step into the hallway.
Chaos meets us. Lincoln has Isabel pinned gently—but firmly—against the wall, murmuring something I can’t catch. Isabel looks one twitch from drawing blood.
Her gaze darts past Lincoln, locks on Dean. “And you—” she snaps, finger stabbing the air like a knife.
Not my arena. I sidestep, heading for the elevator before the family fireworks detonate.
With the file under my arm, my mission’s crystal-clear:
Infiltrate Lane retreat.
Sell the fiancé cover.
Make sure no one signs Charlotte’s life, or her father’s company, away.
Next stop: damsel in distress, pseudo-ring on her finger, and one big corporate shark tank. Exactly where I belong.
2
Charlotte
“Can’t you just tell Grandma that she’s old and her values are stuck in the 1950’s?” I stare at the open suitcase on my bed, a pile of dresses and perfectly coordinated outfits mocking me with their cheerful patterns. My mother’s voice drones on in the background, listing all the reasons why I must go along with this ridiculous charade.
“You know how much your Grandmother values marriage and family.”
I inwardly roll my eyes. “And her heart is set on Wade Sinclair? You should tell Grandma what a real piece of shit he is.”
My mother opens her mouth to scold me about my language, but instead she pinches the bridge of her nose as she sucks in a deep breath. “Charlotte, darling, you know how important this retreat is. Your father’s company—”
“Is hanging by a thread,” I finish for her, zipping up one of the many garment bags I’m supposed to bring along to this week-long family disaster. “I’ve heard it all before, Mother.”
She sighs dramatically, as if I’m the unreasonable one here. "Darling, the Sinclair family is going to be there, and if you don’t have a real fiancé by your side, well... they’ll expect the engagement to Wade to be finalized." She stares straight at me. “We’re doing this to protect you. I know you don’t want to marry Wade. This is the only way.”
“To hire a fake fiance? To pretend I’m marrying some random stranger?”
My mother places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s either pretend to be engaged to the security detail, or really get engaged to Wade.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I’m pretty sure they’re going to get stuck. Wade Sinclair, the walking, talking heir to the Sinclair fortune. The crowned prince. Too bad he’s about as charming as a wet mop and twice as self-centered. “Fine,” I huff out, upset that my grandmother is pushing this idea of marrying Wade so hard.
“We can’t let your father’s company take the hit. If your grandmother doesn’t believe you’re fully happy with this,” she looks down at her phone for a split second before returning to look at me, “Asher, then your grandmother will pull her investment. She’ll destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for. Can you please do this for the company?”
“For the company,” I mutter under my breath, folding a silk dress with more force than necessary. “Not for me.”
“Exactly. So, just for the week, you’ll pretend to be engaged to this… ex-military man.”
“Fine.”
My mother gives a satisfied nod, as if this entire plan isn’t completely absurd. “Right. Your father hired him for security, but he’ll do nicely as a fiancé stand-in. Tall, handsome, a bit rough around the edges—just the type to make Wade jealous.”
I shove another pair of shoes into my suitcase, my irritation growing with each passing second. “Why can’t we just uninvite the Sinclairs. Tell Grandma they couldn’t make it?”