Page 14 of Oliver
“Call me for anything you need.” I hugged Maya goodbye, and she waved at Oliver with a friendly smile before walking away.
Oliver maintained the friendly demeanor just long enough for her to be out of earshot before straightening his posture and returning to his professional self, the transformation so immediate it was as if he’d flipped a switch.
"That went well," he said, checking his watch. "Now for our social media debut."
I nodded, pulling out my phone to scroll through the photos I’d taken earlier. After deliberation, we settled for a casualphoto, one that would hint at our reconnection without being too obvious.
"Caption?" I asked, finger hovering over the keyboard.
"Something light. Reference me, but don't make it about me."
I typed:"Catching up with this nerd over a cup of hot java"and showed him for approval.
Oliver nodded, scanning the post with a critical eye. "Good. It hits the right tone—obvious enough for people to notice but subtle enough to seem genuine."
"When do we post the next one?" I asked, feeling strangely like a teenager asking permission for social media access.
"We need two weeks of friendship posts before any hint of romance.” He pulled up a detailed timeline on his phone. “That includes three casual interactions and two activities that show shared interests, followed by one group setting where we're noticeably gravitating toward each other." He looked up at me, sharp and focused. “Six posts in fourteen days with progressive intensity, so the next post should go up in two, maybe three days.”
I stared at him, slightly alarmed by the precision of his planning. This wasn't just a job to him, it was a science, the act of emotional entanglement broken down into formulaic steps and predictable outcomes.
"How many times have you done this?" I asked before I could stop myself.
When I realized the depths of his experience in this sort of scheme, I almost backed out of signing. He was an expert manipulator with a perfect record. I was the gullible, weak girl who was easily swayed, always trusting the wrong people, letting them erase me and make me small.
The power imbalance was terrifying. But, at this point, I had no other choice. No one except for my parents knew the depth ofRyan’s cruelty, and I was determined to keep it that way. I had to trust that Oliver wouldn’t exploit me.
"Orchestrated a fake relationship? Quite a few times.” His eyes met mine, cool and professional. “Though nothing as long-term and elaborate as what we’re doing. It's a common request for clients facing family events or professional situations where being single might be disadvantageous."
"And how many stayed...professional?" The question slipped out, unbidden.
Oliver's expression hardened slightly. "All of them. I don't blur those lines, Miss Nazarian."
The formality both stung and gave me a sense of relief. It was a reminder of the transactional nature of our arrangement, ofeveryarrangement he’d ever been involved in. I busied myself with my phone, posting the photo and watching as the first likes began to trickle in.
"People need to see us rebuilding trust before we escalate," Oliver continued, tapping away at his phone, adjusting our shared timeline and adding notes.
Rebuilding trust.The words landed like stones in my stomach.
I was never good at knowing who to trust. If it weren't for my parents' intervention, I'd probably still be trusting the wrong people. Just like I was the wrong person for Oliver to trust, and now we had to act out something that used to be as natural as breathing for us.
He sat across from me, cold and calculated, barely acknowledging me as he mapped out our relationship like a business plan. As if the only way he could bear being in my presence was with the constant shield of a contract protecting him from making the mistake of trusting me again.
Which begged the question—was I making a mistake trusting him? His professional shield might protect me from Ryan, or it might become a weapon Oliver could wield against me.
Too much was riding on the success of this plan for it to fall apart. My credibility, my dreams, and my future all teetered on this fragile balance of trust.
I couldn’t help but wonder—which of us was really in control of this situation? And what would happen when one of us inevitably went off-script?
Five
OLIVER
"We have exactlyforty-seven minutes to get these shots," I said, checking my watch as we strolled along the park pathway. "I have an appointment at four."
Behind us, at a careful distance, Elena, the photographer Zahra hired, followed discreetly, her camera occasionally clicking as she captured candid moments. Using a professional was my suggestion. It allowed us to appear more natural in our interactions while ensuring we got the high-quality images we needed.
"Is the schedule really that strict?" Zahra asked, adjusting her Ralph Lauren sunglasses. "I thought the idea was to make this look natural."
