Chapter 2 A Deal With A Stranger

~Angela Pov~

The door shut behind Fiona, and I was left to my silence of thoughts. Morning chaos weighed upon me; my stomach churned as if with a vice. The paparazzi, scandals, my father. Just the mere thought of him finding out sent my panic into overdrive.

"Angela, we need to talk," Fiona's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

I turned to her; she paced across the room, her fingers twitching nervously. She stopped abruptly, her sharp blue eyes locking onto mine. "This is bad. Your father will lose his mind when he hears about this."

I swallowed the truth in her words a fist of impact. My father was the kind of man who sustained himself on order and control, for whom I wasn't his daughter but a face on the Castle family imagery of perfection he paraded to the world. What happened this morning would surely mar the image.

"What am I to do?" Finally, words found their way out of a thread above a whisper.

Fiona stopped pacing. Her face was a mask of concern and determination. "We have to move, damage control. We have to give the press another story, something that'll make this ..." Her hand waved at the general dishevelment around us. "...look planned."

I frowned. "Planned? Fiona, nothing about this looks planned."

"Then we shall make it appear so," she concluded. "Angela, you'll have to call your father and tell him that this man who came this morning is your fiancé. If the press believes this was one of those love misunderstandings, it will lap up that story, and for certain your father won't take your position away from you."

I felt like she'd just slapped me. "Fiancé? Are you nuts?"

"Have you got a better alternative to this?" snapped Fiona. The pitch of her voice continued to rise. "Otherwise, your father will use it to throw you out of Turner PLC, and you know his temper!"

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. She was right. My father would show no hesitation in removing me as CEO. Still, the thought of lying about a fake fiancé, about making this whole mess an even greater farce-just seemed so wrong.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand before I could reply. That sound sent a chill of fear down my spine. My shaking hands reached for the phone and gripped hard as I stared at the screen. My father's name glared at me there, a warning.

"It's him," I whispered, my throat dry.

Fiona's face hardened. "Answer it."

I hesitated, every nerve screaming at me to run. But there was no escaping him. Not this time.

I swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Angela." His voice was sharp, cold. "Explain to me what I just saw on the news."

I could feel the blood drain from my face. "I...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me!" he snarled. "There are photos of you in some hotel room with a man. Half-naked! Do you have any idea what this is doing to our family's name?"

My chest seemed to shrink, weighted down by the force of his anger. "I'm sorry. It's not what it looks like-

"Not what it seems?" he interrupted. "You think the board is concerned with that? Do you think our investors are interested? Your blatant irresponsibility is costing everything I found!"

"I didn't mean-"

"I'm removing you as CEO."

The words tumbled from his mouth like a sledgehammer, to fall upon me. "What? No! You can't do that!"

"I can and I will," he replied icily. "You've proved you're incapable of handling the responsibility."

I felt desperation start to claw at me. "Wait! Please, just listen. The man in the photos-he's my...my fiancé."

They tasted like some alien, bitter concoction in my mouth. Fiona stared at me, wide-eyed, begging for the continuation in silence.

"We are engaged," I said breathlessly. There was quiet for a long while as we both breath into the speakers of the phone.

"Fiancé? Engaged?" My dad sounded like he was strangling his incredulity. "Since when?"

"Recently," I stammered. "We've kept it all private so far, but I suppose the media found out before we did anything to make any kind of announcement."

There was a dead silence on the other end for a few seconds, and I held my breath while praying he'd believe me.

"This isn't over," he finally said. "You and your fiancé are coming to the house tomorrow. I want to meet him."

The line died.

I dropped the phone and began trembling. Fiona immediately ran to my side. "What happened?"

"He wants to meet my fiancé," I said in a deadpan tone.

Fiona exhaled hard and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, that seals it. We have to find that guy this morning."

She turned toward the bathroom. "Get dressed. We've got work to do."

It didn't help to soothe my nerves one bit. I tried to make some sense out of everything under the steam of the water. My life was always so precisely controlled, every decision carefully thought out just so. And in one short morning, it was falling apart.

And who was I? Angela Castle, heiress of the Castle fortune? CEO of Turner PLC? Or just some sort of scared woman who found herself caught in a storm she couldn't outrun?

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. Fiona was standing in the bedroom, clutching a sleek black dress.

"Wear this," she said. "You have to look confident like this is all within your power.

I nodded, wriggling my body into the dress that hugged my curves just right. Fiona handed me a pair of heels, and shaking from head to toe, I slipped them on.

"Alright, let's go, " she said.

It wasn't as dire to find him as I may have thought it could be: Fiona knew most of the ways in town to trace people. Of course, in about an hour, we stood facing the door to his hotel room.

I knocked on the door. My heart bobbed in my chest.

He looked just as surprised as I felt when he opened the door. His eyes, a deep brown, widened, and he ran a hand through his mess of hair. "You again? How did you find me?"

"Can we talk?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He hesitated, peering back into the room, then stepped aside. "Come in."

The room was as messy as I felt. Clothes were strewn over the floor, and an empty coffee cup sat on the nightstand. He motioned for us to take a seat, but I remained standing, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he said with much nervousness.

"No," I said icily, "Just sit."

He sank into the chair opposite me, and his posture straightened. I studied him for a moment, just taking in his appearance of hair that was rather unruly, sharp jawline covered in light stubble, attractive in an almost careless kind of rugged way.

"I need you to do something for me," I said finally.

He frowned. "What?"

I swallowed in; the words hung heavy on my tongue. "I want you to be my fake fiancé."