On the forty-second floor, the air in the office was thick with the smell of old coffee and floor wax.

Claire Reynolds stood in the middle of the hallway and pulled at the collar of her cream shirt.

The fabric felt tight against her neck. It was hot outside, and the air conditioning in the building was not working very well today. Her neck felt warm and itchy, but she did not loosen her button. She just held her red leather folder tighter under her arm and waited.

​ "He hates waiting," the assistant said.

​The woman behind the desk did not look up. She had bright pink nails that were slightly chipped on her left thumb. They made a fast, noisy clack-clack-clack sound on her gray computer keyboard.

​ "I know," Claire said.

​She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her black shoes were three years old. The thin leather on the bottom was worn down, so every time she took a step, her heel made a hard thunk on the wooden floor. She hated those shoes, but she could not afford a new pair right now.

​ "It is not a small mistake, by the way," Claire added, trying to make her voice sound steady. "I just want to be clear before I go in there. Your team missed something huge."

​ "A five-hundred-million-dollar mistake," the assistant said in a flat tone. She pressed a silver button on her desk phone. "Mr. Vance? The auditor is here."

​ A deep voice came through the speaker. It sounded rough, like the voice of a man who had been talking on the phone for hours without drinking any water.

"Send her in."

​Claire took a deep breath. She pushed open the big glass door and stepped inside.

​The room was giant. The gray clouds were hanging over the window, making the whole office look dark and cold. Rain was hitting the glass softly, making a dull tapping sound.

​ Julian Vance was standing near the far wall with his hands pushed deep into his pants pockets. He had taken off his dark suit jacket and thrown it over the arm of a leather chair. The jacket sleeve was turned inside out. His white button-down shirt was messy across his back, and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. He wore a heavy black watch that looked old and scratched.

​ He did not turn around right away when she walked in.

​"My team says you are just trying to look smart," Julian said. His voice was loud and deep in the quiet room. "They think you found a tiny math error and freaked out."

​ Claire stopped walking. "Your team is old and lazy. They have not read a real tax paper in ten years."

​That made him move.

​Julian turned around slowly. He was thirty-two years old, but he looked tired. He had dark hair that was messy on top, heavy eyebrows, and a sharp chin covered in dark stubble. But his eyes were very bright and gray, like the rain clouds outside the window. When he looked at Claire, she felt a strange flutter in her chest.

​ "That is a big thing to say about people who make millions of dollars a year," Julian said. He walked toward his desk. He did not walk like a quiet business man. He moved fast, like a guy who hated sitting still.

​ "Making money does not mean you are right," Claire said. She walked over to the desk, pulled out a heavy chair, and sat down. She did not ask for permission. She just laid her red folder flat on the dark wood. "Look at page fourteen."

​Julian did not sit down. He walked around his desk and leaned his hip against the wood, just a foot away from where Claire was sitting. He was very tall. Claire could smell his peppermint gum and the faint scent of rain on his shirt.

​ "Show me," he said, leaning down.

​Claire opened the folder. Her hands were a little cold, but she tried not to let them shake. "This company you want to buy is called Sterling Global. They told your team that they own three small offices in Europe that do not do anything. Your team believed them."

​ "And?" Julian asked. He watched her face closely.

​"And they lied," Claire said. She pointed her index finger at a line of numbers she had marked with a yellow pen. "I read their real papers from Europe. Those three offices owe two hundred million dollars in debt. They also owe three hundred million dollars in fines to the French government."

​ Julian stayed very still. He rested both of his hands on the desk, framing her folder. Claire could see a tiny red scar on the side of his right thumb.

​He leaned closer to read the page. The only sound in the room was the rain against the big glass wall and the quiet hum of the lights above them.

​ "Where did you get this paper?" he asked quietly.

​"From the public record website," Claire said. "It was all written in French."

​Julian looked up from the paper and stared right into her eyes. "You read French?"

​ "My mother was born in France," Claire said. Her tone was very plain. "She taught me when I was little. And I do not like to go to sleep when numbers do not add up. I stayed up until three in the morning pulling these files."

​Julian picked up the paper and held it up to the gray light from the window. "They were trying to hide it," he muttered to himself. "They wanted me to buy their company, take their cash, and then leave me with all their old debts."

​ "If you buy them, your stock price will drop," Claire said. "You will lose a lot of money the moment people find out."

​Julian let out a short, mean laugh. It was not a happy sound. He threw the paper back on the desk and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Arthur would love that."

​ "Arthur Pendelton?" Claire asked.

​"He sits on my board," Julian said, his eyes turning cold. "He wants to take my company away from me."

​Before Claire could ask anything else, somebody knocked hard on the office door.

​ The door opened right away. A tall man in an expensive blue suit walked into the room. He had white hair, clean shoes, and a big fake smile on his face.

​"Julian," the man said. "Your secretary was not at her desk, so I just came in."

​"What do you want, Arthur?" Julian asked. He did not move away from his desk. His face went completely blank, like a wall.

​ "We have a big meeting in twenty minutes," Arthur said. He walked closer and looked down at Claire with mean eyes. "I came to see if you were ready. Or are you too busy with the help?"

​Claire felt her cheeks get hot, but she kept her mouth shut and sat up straight.

​"Miss Reynolds is fixing a mistake that your team made," Julian said. His voice was low and dangerous.

​Arthur laughed. "Sure she is. Look, Julian, the board is worried about you. The newspapers are full of pictures of you at parties every weekend. They think you are crazy and wild. They do not want a wild guy running a ten-billion-dollar business. They want a man who is calm. A man who has a normal life and a family."

​ Julian pressed his lips into a thin line. "My life outside this office is none of your business, Arthur."

​"It is our business when the stock price goes down," Arthur said, stepping closer. "If you do not show the board that you are a stable, serious man by the end of this month, we are going to vote to stop your deal. We might even vote to fire you."

​Arthur smiled his fake smile again, looked at Claire one last time, and walked out of the room. He closed the door hard behind him. The room went totally quiet again.

​Julian stood there staring at the door. Claire could see a small muscle twitching near his jaw. He was very angry, but he was holding it in.

​ "He is trying to trick the board," Claire said softly. "He knows he cannot beat you with business ideas, so he is using your life to make you look bad."

​Julian turned around to look at her. The anger in his gray eyes slowly changed into a sharp, dark look. He looked at her simple hair clip, her plain face, and her cheap cream shirt.

​ "He wants me to be settled," Julian said.

​"Yes," Claire said, feeling confused. "That is what he said."

​"How much money do you make at your job, Claire?" Julian asked suddenly.

​Claire frowned. She did not like people asking about her money. "That has nothing to do with this." "Tell me," he said.

​ "Ninety thousand dollars a year," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why?"

​"And your father?" Julian said, stepping closer to her chair. "I look up everyone who touches my money. I know your father had a bad stroke two years ago. I know he is in a special home, and I know the care costs a lot of money."

​ Claire stood up so fast her chair made a sharp scrape against the floor. Her hands turned into tight fists. "Do not talk about my dad."

​"I am not trying to be mean," Julian said quickly. He stayed where he was so he would not scare her. "I am being honest. You work eighty hours a week. You look tired, but you are very smart. You found a mistake today because you care about doing things the right way. You do not lie."

​ "So?" Claire asked, her heart beating fast in her chest.

​"So I have a problem, and you have a problem," Julian said. "I can fix yours if you fix mine."

​"What are you talking about?"

​ "Six weeks," Julian said, looking straight into her eyes. "That is how long I have before the big vote. I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."

​Claire stared at him. She thought she had misheard him. "What?"

​"My fiancée," Julian repeated in a calm voice. "We tell the news tomorrow. You come to three big dinners with me. You come to my house in Aspen for the board weekend. You act like you love me, and you show Arthur that I am a normal, settled man."

​Claire took a step back. "You are crazy. Go hire a real actress."

​"An actress will talk to the news people to get famous," Julian said, taking a step toward her. "And the rich girls I know just want my money and my name. They want to be in the paper every day. You do not want any of that. You just want to do your work and take care of your dad."

​"This is ridiculous," Claire said, reaching for her leather folder. "I am leaving."

​"Two million dollars," Julian said.

​Claire stopped moving. Her hand stayed frozen on top of the dark wood desk.

​"Two million," Julian said again. His voice was very quiet now, but every word was clear. "I will put the money in a bank account today. You get it the moment the six weeks are over. You can pay off every single doctor bill your dad has. You can pay for his care for the rest of his life. You will never have to work eighty hours a week again."

​ Claire felt cold all over. Two million dollars.

​She thought about her tiny apartment. She thought about the yellow envelopes full of late bills that were sitting on her kitchen table right now. She thought about her dad. He sat in his red wheelchair every day by the window, looking weak and old. Every Sunday when she went to see him, he asked her if she was eating enough because she looked so skinny and tired.

​If she had two million dollars, her dad would be safe forever. She would not have to worry every single night when she went to bed.

​"Is this a joke?" Claire whispered. Her throat felt very dry.

​"No," Julian said. "It is a business deal. We will write down the rules on paper. No real touching unless we are in front of cameras. No real romance. We just act for six weeks, and then we say we broke up quietly."

​ Claire looked at his face. He did not look like a crazy playboy right now. He just looked like a man who was fighting to keep his life's work.

​"Why me?" she asked again. "You could ask anyone."

​"Because when you walked in here today, you were not afraid of me," Julian said simply. "You told me I made a mistake, and you looked me right in the eye. That makes you real. The board will believe you."

​He held out his right hand.

​Claire looked down at his long fingers. She knew this was dangerous. She knew that stepping into his world was a big risk. If people found out it was fake, her job would be gone forever. But two million dollars meant her dad would be safe.

​ She took a slow, deep breath. She reached out her hand and put her fingers into his palm.

​His hand was big, warm, and very firm. The moment their skin touched, a strange wave of heat went all the way up her arm and settled in her chest.

​ "Strictly business," Claire said, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

​"Strictly business," Julian agreed. A tiny, quiet smile appeared on his lips. "It is good to work with you, Claire.”