Page 12 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

Emma smirks. “You could start by putting my photo on your desk. After all, I’m going to be your wife.”

I stare at her, mock astonishment in my tone. “Since when do you have psychic abilities? How did you know I wanted to inject a little warmth into this cold space?”

Emma shrugs, her eyes sparkling. “Call it a lucky guess. You need a change—something to remind you that life isn’t all board meetings and budgets.”

“I don’t need any warmth,” I grumble, but my tone is laced with playful resignation.

“You’re such a grouch,” Emma teases. “You need to lighten up, especially once we’re married. And by the way, when is this wedding supposed to happen?”

“Next week,” I reply matter-of-factly. “That gives you one week to prepare.”

Emma’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe a few brain cells have escaped me,” I retort. “We haven’t even set a venue, but my home—with its beautiful garden—might do.”

Emma scrutinizes me like she’s trying to make sense of my words. “You can’t plan a wedding on such short notice! I need at least a month to prepare.”

I let out a long sigh. “Remember, this is a fake wedding, Emma. You don’t need a month, and we must act quickly to save my position at the company. That’s the real reason behind all this, not some sudden epiphany of love.”

Emma folds her arms and huffs. “If we’re to convince everyone this is real, it has to look authentic. But fine—I’ll settle for two weeks.”

“One week.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Two,” she challenges stubbornly.

Finally, I sigh in defeat. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have the luxury of time. We must make one week work and throw the most extravagant fake wedding ever.”

After a pause, Emma’s expression softens into reluctant acceptance. “Alright. I suppose I can manage one week. So is there a contract, or do we just wing it?”

“No contract,” I state firmly. “I trust you to keep this between us.”

She gives a small, ironic smile. “It’s absurd to trust someone you consider an enemy, but I won’t betray you. Not like this.”

“After the wedding,” I continue, “I was thinking we could live together for a month after our honeymoon. That should be long enough to convince everyone we’re truly married, and then we can figure out our next steps.”

Emma’s eyes glisten with a mix of resignation and determination. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I never imagined I’d marry the worst man in existence—the one I swore I’d never even look at twice.”

I force a smile that doesn’t quite mask the vulnerability underneath. “The universe has a wicked sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

Chapter 7

Emma

Istareatthecomputerscreen, willing my brain to produce something—anything—worthy of Agnes’s time.

“Come on,” I mutter at the computer. “Bring the words together, make it come to life. You can do this!”

Nothing. I’ve written three chapters, but my fingers itch to delete every word and start over. I’ve been stuck in this cycle all day, and honestly? I don’t have the energy to rewrite it for the thousandth time.

“It’s terrible,” I groan, banging my head against the table. “I might as well kissThe New York Timesbest-seller list goodbye, because I won’t be getting anywhere near it with this piece of garbage.”

“Not with that attitude, you won’t.” I hear someone chuckle behind me. I’m not surprised to find Jonathan in our home. Being our neighbor means seeing him every day, and he always shows up with the silliest excuse. Just this morning, he came over for a cup of sugar, and I notice he’s holding the very same cup he had this morning.

“Did you run out of sugar again? Are you baking for the entire town?” I ask, making him laugh. What is with him and laughing these days?

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