Chapter 2 Terms and Conditions

Monday morning came too soon.

Agnes Hart entered Reed Innovations headquarters with her usual composure-shoulders straight, heels confident, coffee in hand. But beneath her calm facade was a growing disquiet. Her weekend had been spent rehashing every moment from Friday's fundraiser, replaying James's words, his touches, and the possessive tone when he'd introduced her as "just mine."

It was supposed to be a game. But it had felt anything but.

She'd barely stepped into the elevator when her phone pinged. One glance at the message made her stomach twist.

James Reed: My office. Now.

No "good morning." No polite request. Of course not.

By the time the elevator opened to the executive floor, she'd already built her armor back up. She knocked once and entered.

James was pacing behind his desk, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows-looking every bit the billionaire who never stopped working.

"You rang?" she said coolly.

He looked up and gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. We need to talk."

"About the fundraiser?"

"About us."

Agnes tilted her head. "You mean the fake us?"

He didn't flinch. "It worked. Too well."

She narrowed her eyes. "Define too well."

"People are asking questions. The press wants an exclusive. My PR team has already drafted a statement confirming the relationship."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're actually going to confirm it?"

He gave her a pointed look. "You said we'd each get one night. That was mine. Yours is next."

Agnes leaned back. "My ex's wedding is Saturday. That gives us five days to make this... believable."

"Exactly." James grabbed a file from his desk and slid it toward her.

Agnes opened it, expecting some vague outline.

Instead, she found a detailed agreement: expectations, behavior, talking points, timeline.

"You wrote up a contract?" she asked, incredulous.

"I like structure."

"You need therapy."

"I have therapy. Thursdays, 7 p.m."

She stared at him, baffled. "You're serious?"

"This is your revenge too, Hart. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. No scandals. No loose ends. And no emotional complications."

Agnes flipped through the pages, scanning:

Duration: One week

Public appearances: Two minimum

Private communication: Text daily for 'believability'

PDA: Moderate

Emotional involvement: None

She looked up. "'Moderate PDA'? What does that even mean?"

James smirked. "Hand-holding. Maybe a kiss on the forehead. Something tasteful."

"And if the media asks how we met?"

"Stick to something simple. Assistant becomes lover. Forbidden office romance. People eat that up."

Agnes tapped her fingers on the desk. "And what do I get out of this? Besides helping your ego?"

James's expression turned serious. "Your reputation gets a boost. People stop seeing you as the jilted ex. You become the woman who moved on... with me."

She paused. It sounded vain. But he wasn't wrong.

And if she was being brutally honest with herself... she wanted Matthew to see her and think, I made a mistake.

"All right," she said finally. "But I have conditions too."

James arched a brow. "Go on."

"One: I get full control over what I wear. I'm not playing dress-up Barbie for your image."

"Fine."

"Two: You don't get to boss me around outside of work hours. This isn't a 24/7 assistant gig."

"Understood."

"And three..." She leaned forward. "If either of us starts to catch real feelings, we call it off."

A flicker of something-maybe amusement, maybe discomfort-passed through James's eyes.

"Deal," he said.

They shook on it again, and Agnes felt that same electric jolt she'd felt the first time.

This was business. Only business.

Right?

Day One – Practice Makes Perfect

That evening, James invited Agnes to his penthouse again-this time not to talk logistics, but to "rehearse."

Rehearse.

"You want to practice being in a relationship?" she asked skeptically, standing in his minimalist, overly masculine kitchen with a glass of wine.

"People can tell when something's fake," he said, slicing vegetables like it was a board meeting. "If we're going to fool everyone-including your ex-we need to get the chemistry right."

"We already fooled half the board," she pointed out.

He handed her a cutting board. "Chop. And tell me something personal."

"Why?"

"Because couples know things about each other. And I'm not letting anyone corner me with a question I can't answer."

Agnes sighed but obliged.

"I'm allergic to sunflowers. I cry when I watch old Disney movies. I once punched a guy in college who thought 'no' was a suggestion."

James's knife paused mid-slice.

"What?" she said, arching a brow.

"That last one. You punched someone?"

"Hard."

He gave a small, approving nod. "Remind me never to cross you."

"Smart man."

They moved around the kitchen like a strange dance-Agnes chopping, James cooking, both trying to act unaffected by the occasional brush of hands or the loaded silences between questions.

"Your turn," she said, setting down her glass.

James leaned on the counter. "I hate birthday parties. I own three boats I never use. And... I haven't been in a real relationship in over eight years."

That last one hung in the air too long.

Agnes bit her lip. "Eight years is a long time."

"Not when you're used to being alone," he replied.

"Or when you're scared to try again."

James didn't answer that.

After dinner, he walked her to the door.

"So," Agnes said, reaching for her coat, "I guess this is goodnight, boyfriend."

He smirked. "You'll have to say that with more conviction Saturday."

"I'm saving my performance for the main stage."

"Wise."

Agnes opened the door, but before stepping out, she turned to him.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For not making me feel pathetic about wanting to get back at someone."

James met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

"You're not pathetic," he said. "You're human."

It shouldn't have made her heart skip.

But it did.

Day Two – Office Whispers

By the next morning, rumors were already spreading.

The executive floor buzzed with whispered theories and bold glances. People suddenly smiled too politely. Even Marla offered a suspiciously sugary "Good morning" that made Agnes want to throw her coffee.

James, of course, acted unfazed.

At lunch, he casually asked Agnes to his office and left the door open for everyone to see. She rolled her eyes, but followed.

"Damage control," he murmured once the door was closed. "People need to see we're functioning normally."

Agnes crossed her arms. "You mean they need to think we're just unprofessional enough to be believable."

"Exactly."

She stepped closer. "You like games too much."

"I like winning."

"Then don't lose focus."

For a heartbeat, they were too close.

James's gaze dropped to her lips-just for a second.

Then he stepped back.

"I'll see you tonight. Charity dinner at 7."

Agnes didn't answer. She was already too aware of the war going on inside her.

One part of her still hurt from Matthew.

The other part was starting to ache for something entirely new.

And that was far more dangerous.

Later That Night – A New Distraction

The charity dinner was everything Agnes expected-glamorous, noisy, and full of people pretending to be more important than they were.

But when she walked in on James's arm, all chatter stopped.

She looked the part-sleek black dress, bold heels, subtle gold earrings-and James looked like he belonged with her.

As the night wore on, Agnes found herself forgetting to pretend. The smiles became real. The hand on her back comforting. The way James looked at her... too sincere.

And when he leaned in and whispered, "You're stealing the spotlight tonight," she actually blushed.

She was supposed to be fake dating a billionaire to make an ex jealous.

Not falling for a man who didn't believe in love.

Not flirting with a boss who had walls taller than his skyscraper.

Not hoping the kiss on the cheek would travel just a little lower.

But hope, Agnes knew, was a dangerous thing.

Especially when it snuck in wearing a tailored suit and a wounded heart.