Page 15 of Boss's Red Glare

“Just kind of?” His tone is playful, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Maybe more than kind of,” I admit quietly, biting my lip nervously.

His smile softens noticeably, eyes warm. “I’ve enjoyed it too.”

My heart flips erratically, butterflies multiplying wildly in my stomach. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he says gently, his gaze steady and sincere. “You’re easy to like, Maisie.”

“So are you,” I whisper, pulse racing at the honesty in his voice.

A moment passes, charged with possibility. The world around us fades away for a second, and it’s just us—two people, eyes locked, caught in something beautifully uncertain.

Then Darren’s cheerful voice breaks through the quiet moment, calling Connor’s name from nearby. We both startle slightly, snapping back to reality.

Connor sighs softly, clearly reluctant. “Duty calls.”

I smile gently, understanding. “Of course.”

He hesitates briefly, looking torn, then reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. “I’ll be back soon. Save me a dance later?”

My heart leaps at his request. “Definitely.”

He smiles warmly, eyes lingering one second longer before standing and walking toward Darren.

I watch him go, heart fluttering wildly. Fake-dating Connor Bradford suddenly feels dangerously real—and far too appealing. Charlene’s voice echoes in my head, teasing: "Boundaries never last."

I take a deep, steadying breath, glancing around the busy barbecue. Families laugh together, children run freely, the entire town gathered in celebration. The investors look happy, impressed. We’ve done it—our ruse is working.

But as I sit alone beneath the shady tree, I can’t deny that it’s no longer just about investors or business. It’s about Connor. It’s about how easily my heart responds to him, how effortlessly he’s slipped past all my careful defenses.

Fake or not, being Connor’s girlfriend is quickly becoming the best part of my Fourth of July. And I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same way.

Chapter Eight

8

Connor

As the afternoon sun begins to dip lower in the sky, bathing Seabreeze Park in warm golden hues, I realize something startling: I’m having more fun today than I have in years—possibly ever. The Fourth of July barbecue has always been an important day for the company, a necessary exercise in strategic mingling and investor charm. But today feels different.

Today, it’s actually enjoyable.

The park hums with laughter, the sweet scent of funnel cakes and grilled burgers mingling in the air. But it’s not the food or the sunshine or even the success of the event that’s made this day so memorable. It’s her.

Maisie.

My fake girlfriend, who is currently throwing beanbags in an intense cornhole match against two of our top investors, laughing so freely and genuinely that I can’t tear my eyes away. She’s a bright burst of sunshine in her bright red sundress, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. She’s effortlessly charming,disarming even the sternest of investors with her warmth and enthusiasm.

Watching her feels natural and right, like I’ve been waiting to find this moment for years.

She tosses another beanbag, pumping her fist triumphantly as it lands squarely in the hole. She turns, catches my gaze, and gives me a dazzling smile that hits me straight in the chest. I smile back—helplessly, ridiculously—and wave. She laughs, shaking her head affectionately before returning to the game.

“Wow,” Darren’s voice suddenly jolts me from my thoughts, amusement thick in his tone. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before.”

I clear my throat awkwardly, forcing my gaze away from Maisie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Darren drawls knowingly, crossing his arms as he stands beside me. “You’ve spent the last hour staring at Maisie like a lovesick teenager, but sure. You have no idea what I mean.”

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