"Fake, of course." I caught the faintest trace of a smile as he answered. "And arranged partnerships for mutual benefit happen more often than you think. We're just skipping the dinner dates and going straight to the paperwork."
Then he gestured for me to sit down, pulled out a sleek black notebook, and began listing terms. Like this was a bloody client meeting.
I sat through the whole thing in a fog, nodding along as we discussed timelines, appearances, and what counted as acceptable hand-holding.
At one point, he used the phrase 'public intimacy quotient,' and I had to fight the urge to check if this was all some elaborate prank being livestreamed on t****k.
Even after we shook on it, I still felt like I'd slipped into an alternate reality where men agreed to fake marriages
