Viola 's POV
The contract Garret had drawn up in ten minutes lies open between us on the coffee table,crisp, pristine, and terrifying under the warm glow of the morning.
I sit stiffly on the edge of the velvet couch, legs crossed at the ankle like I'm at a job interview, trying not to let my nerves show.
My fingers toy with the glass of sparkling water he gave me at one point during the drafting.
I take a sip, hoping the bubbles can chase away the dryness clinging to my throat.
"So…" I say, trying to sound casual, even though I feel like a fraud in sneakers. "You really thought this through."
Garrett leans back in the armchair across from me, one leg crossed over the other.
His cuffs are still open, but the crisp white shirt is buttoned all the way up to his throat giving him a more severe look than before.
"I had to," he replies, his voice smooth and even, like he's discussing quarterly earnings.
"If we're doing this, it needs to be airtight. There are people who would pay good money to unravel my image."
I glance at the document again. Legal jargon everywhere, but I've read it enough times to memorize the highlights.
"Important events… some late night appearances, and one public vacation?"
He nods. "Yes. All designed to make the relationship look authentic. But nothing invasive. You'll never have to lie under oath. Or....sleep in my bed."
The way he says that, slow, casual, makes something flicker in my chest.
He shrugs like it's just another line in the contract, but I hear what he's really saying.
This is business. Nothing more. No blurred lines. No risks.
It's what I want too. Right?
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. "Right. Of course. I can do that."
I straighten up, letting my back touch the couch as I steel myself. "I'll do it."
He doesn't say anything for a moment.
Then he stands, reaching his hand across the table. "Then we have a deal."
I look at his hand. His palm is broad and steady, his fingers long and elegant.
Pianist hands.
For a moment, I just stare at it, like if I touch it, something irreversible might happen.
Then I place my hand in his, and we shake.
His skin is warm.
Mine is clammy.
Some part of me, a small, inconvenient, romantic part, whispers that I've just signed up for something that will bite me in the ass.
But I ignore it.
I pull my hand back and let out a slow breath. "Well, that's that. I'd like to go home now."
He nods, reaching into his pocket like he's about to call someone, but before he can say anything, his phone buzzes.
The screen lights up, casting a soft glow across his features.
I watch his face carefully. There's a shift, but just barely.
A slight twitch in his jaw.
A flicker of something in his eyes.
It's gone as quickly as it comes, but I catch it.
Something's wrong.
"I'm sorry," he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "I can't take you home right now."
My shoulders slump before I can stop them, and I immediately want to slap myself.
"Oh," I say, forcing a breezy tone. "No biggie. It's fine."
Garrett gestures toward the side table. "I'll have my driver take you, wherever you need to go. He's waiting in the lobby."
I nod, already standing. "Right. Okay. Whatever." I said awkwardly.
I head toward the elevator, heels echoing on the polished floors.
I tell myself I'm fine. That this is how it's supposed to be, impersonal, detached.
I just shook hands with a man over a fake relationship, for God's sake. I should feel weird. Not… disappointed.
I'm halfway across the room when something ridiculous seizes me. Impulse overrides reason.
I whirl back around and march toward him before my brain can stop my body.
Garrett looks up, caught off guard.
"What?"
"My boyfriend should have my number," I mutter, snatching the phone from his hand with a confidence I absolutely do not possess.
"You know. Just in case. Emergencies. Date planning. Fake PDA coordination."
I don't stop there. My fingers move fast, adding my contact, then flipping the phone into selfie mode.
I hold it up and smile, cheeks flushed, blonde hair a little frizzy from nerves, eyes wide and bright with mischief.
"And," I add cheekily, "this is for your wallpaper."
I snap the photo and lower the phone.
Then I look up and immediately regret everything.
Garrett is just… staring.
One brow arched. Mouth flat.
I blink. "Oh my god. That was weird. I'm sorry, that was rude. And possibly criminal. I'm going now."
I thrust the phone back into his hand like it's a hot potato and spin toward the elevator.
The doors close just in time for me to catch the faintest twitch of his lips.
Was he… amused?
I groan and press my forehead to the cold metal wall. "Why," I whimper to the universe, "Can't I just be cool?"
The lobby is mostly empty, the early morning crowd having trickled out.
A tall man in a black suit stands near the front desk, holding a sleek tablet.
He looks like he stepped off the set of a spy movie.
I clear my throat. "Um… Garrett said his driver would be here?" I ask cautiously, in case I'm grossly over stepping my bounds.
But thankfully, the man just nods politely. "Yes. you must be Ms. Viola? Right this way."
I follow him out into the bright day, toward a sleek black car that probably costs more than my apartment building.
I settle into the back seat, folding my hands in my lap.
"General Hospital, please," I say.
He doesn't question it.
The ride is smooth and silent.
I don't fill it with chatter like I usually would.
My thoughts are too busy replaying the last hour, Garrett 's voice, his unshakable calm, the way his eyes focus, and the exact moment I lost control of my common sense and took a selfie on his phone like a over caffeinated raccoon.
What am I doing?
I groan again and press my heated cheeks against the glass window.