Pretend to Be Mine

I rubbed my temples and stared at the glowing spreadsheets on my laptop screen. The numbers swam in front of my eyes, columns blurring together like waves. The office around me was nearly silent now-just the low hum of computers and the shuffle of the night security guard making his rounds. Most interns had left hours ago, but I was still here, clinging to perfection like it was oxygen. My boss hadn't demanded I stay late. No one was watching me except the shadows stretching long across the glass walls. But mediocrity wasn't an option.

Not here, not at Harrington Enterprises, where excellence was the air everyone breathed-or suffocated without.

My phone buzzed against the desk, vibrating insistently until I reached for it. Maya.

"Don't tell me you're still at that office," she said, laughter spilling through the line. "Elena, it's Friday night."

"I'll leave soon," I promised, leaning back in my chair and pressing the bridge of my nose. "I just want this model finished before Monday."

"You're not a machine," she teased. "Normal people go out, eat ice cream, maybe even kiss someone. You? You date Excel."

"Not everyone has the luxury of being seventeen with no rent to pay." Despite my exhaustion, a smile tugged at my mouth. "Besides, if I do well here, maybe everything changes for us."

Her laughter softened. "I know. You're working so hard, and I love you for it. But don't forget to breathe, okay? You deserve more than stress and takeout dinners."

The words lodged in my chest. I hated when Maya went sentimental; it reminded me of our parents' absence, of how I was more than a sister-I was guardian, provider, protector. Every late night was for both of us.

"I'll be fine," I said quietly.

"You better be. Because if you collapse, I'm too delicate to drag you to the hospital."

I chuckled and hung up, the heaviness in my chest easing just a fraction. Maya always had that effect. I shut my laptop, stuffed it into my bag, and left the office. Maybe fresh air would rinse away the fatigue.

The city streets were quieter than usual. A chill nipped at me as I crossed toward the subway, my heels clicking on the pavement. You deserve more. Maya's words replayed in my head, and for one dangerous second, I let myself believe them.

That thought stuck with me-distracting enough that I didn't notice the sleek black car until the horn blared. The screech of tires cut through the night like a whip. My stomach dropped as brilliant headlights seared my vision. I stumbled back, my laptop bag tumbling to the pavement with a sharp thud.

The world seemed to slow: cold wind whipping past my face, the smell of burning rubber, the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

The tinted window rolled down, and a smooth, irritated voice cut through the night.

"Do you have a death wish?"

My eyes met piercing blue ones, and for a split second, I could only gape.

My stomach plummeted.

Adrian Harrington. The CEO. Billionaire. My boss's boss's boss. The man whose signature could shift markets and whose headlines filled gossip columns.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, my face flushing hot. "I wasn't paying attention."

His blue eyes flicked over me, assessing, cold. "Clearly."

Exhaustion and humiliation burned together, sparking something reckless. "Well, I survived, didn't I?" I muttered before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was electric. Then, to my shock, Adrian's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"You've got some fire," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "Most people just grovel."

I blinked, unsure how to respond. I wasn't most people, but I wasn't about to admit that.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Nearly hitting someone was infuriating-but something about me must have made him pause. I hadn't cowered or whimpered. There was fire in my gaze, reckless but unyielding.

"Just... watch where you're going," he said finally, before the window slid shut and the car pulled away.

I stood frozen, heart thundering. Of all the people in New York to nearly kill me, it had to be Adrian Harrington. Shaking my head, I hurried into the subway. Maya was never going to believe this.

Later that night, I padded across the apartment floor, the tiles cold under my feet, the hum of the fridge filling the quiet room. The couch felt like a small sanctuary after the chaos outside. Even as I sank into it, I could still feel my pulse hammering, a reminder of how close I'd come to danger-and how alive the city felt in moments like this.

Maya was sprawled on the other end, scrolling her phone. "You look like you saw a ghost," she said.

"You're never going to believe who almost hit me with his car tonight," I blurted.

"Please don't say a taxi again."

"Adrian Harrington."

Maya sat up so fast her phone nearly flew. "Wait. Billionaire Adrian Harrington? Your Adrian Harrington?"

"He's not my anything." I groaned. "And yes. Him."

She burst into laughter. "Oh my God. Only you. Only you could turn a billionaire meet cute into a near-death experience."

"It wasn't a meet-cute!" I buried my face in a pillow.

"Sure," she teased. "Tell me again when he shows up with flowers."

I shot her a look, but she only grinned wider. "Careful, sis. You might've just stumbled into your own story."

I rolled my eyes, but a flicker of something dangerous lodged in my chest. The way Adrian had looked at me-sharp, calculating, as if I wasn't invisible after all.

And I hated myself for wondering, even for a second, if Maya was right.

Adrian Harrington had faced ruthless board members, billion-dollar acquisitions, and scandals that could have broken anyone weaker. But none of that unsettled him the way one reckless intern had.

He should have forgotten me the moment his car drove away. I was nobody. An inconvenience at best.

But instead, I lingered in his mind like a splinter he couldn't ignore.

By morning, Adrian Harrington sat in his favorite corner of the private club-a sanctuary so immaculate it whispered power in every gleaming detail. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a skyline of glass and steel, sunlight flashing off distant towers. He stirred his black coffee with practiced indifference, but his thoughts refused to settle.

Across from him lounged Marcus Hale-oldest friend, occasional tormentor, and the only man alive who still treated him like the reckless prep-school rebel he once was.

Adrian traced the rim of his cup, the ceramic warm beneath his fingertips. The city shimmered outside the glass, but he barely noticed.

"You're brooding," Marcus said, dropping sugar into his espresso. "Which means either the markets tanked overnight or you met a woman."

Adrian's brow lifted in dry amusement. "Not everything revolves around women."

"With you, it usually does." Marcus smirked. "Spill it."

Adrian considered brushing him off, but Marcus had always been annoyingly good at prying past his defenses.

"Last night, an intern nearly stepped in front of my car."

Marcus's eyebrows rose, unimpressed. "And you're sulking over...traffic safety?"

"She wasn't just anyone. Elena Ramirez." Adrian's jaw tightened at the memory-the spark in her eyes when she'd snapped back at him instead of groveling. "She wasn't afraid of me. That's rare."

Marcus's grin widened. "So she's got a spine. I like her already. You, however-" he leaned forward "-you need her."

Adrian's gaze narrowed. "Explain."

"The board's restless," Marcus said, his voice sharpening. "Your reputation-playboy, scandals, models like revolving doors-it's hurting you. They want stability. Commitment. Proof you're more than a headline."

"I'm not getting married to appease a board." Adrian's voice was clipped steel.

"No one said marriage." Marcus took a slow sip. "But imagine showing up to events with a steady partner. Someone who doesn't scream 'publicity stunt.' Someone real enough to shut the rumors down."

Adrian arched a brow. "Hire someone, you mean?"

"Not exactly." Marcus's smile turned sly. "You've already found her. That intern-Elena. Ordinary enough to look believable, sharp enough to hold her own. And best of all, she clearly doesn't worship the ground you walk on."

Adrian bristled. "She would never agree."

"Then convince her. You've closed tougher deals."

The idea lodged in Adrian's mind like a thorn. He hated needing anyone, hated that the thought of a single intern solving a problem his board had whispered about for months actually made sense. But logic was logic. Survival, power, legacy-sentiment couldn't interfere. If he wanted Harrington Enterprises untouchable, he had to play the game.

And maybe Elena Ramirez was the perfect piece.

Elena nearly dropped her coffee when she saw him waiting in the lobby. Adrian Harrington did not wait-not for interns, not for anyone. Heads turned as though gravity itself bent toward him.

"Elena Ramirez," he said smoothly, gaze locking on hers. "In my office. Now."

Every nerve buzzed as she followed him into the elevator. By the time they reached the top floor, her palms were damp.

Inside his office-a glass fortress above the city-Adrian gestured to a chair. "I owe you an apology for last night."

Elena blinked. "You tracked me down just to say sorry?"

"Not exactly." His voice lowered, all calculation. "I have a proposal."

Her stomach dipped. "Proposal?"

"A mutually beneficial arrangement," he said. "You pretend to be my girlfriend for a few months. In return, I'll make sure your career takes off-connections, recommendations, funding. Whatever you need. You'd be set."

For a beat she could only stare. Then laughter-sharp and incredulous-burst out of her. "You nearly ran me over, and now you want me to fake-date you? Are you serious?"

"I never joke," Adrian replied, unflinching. "The board needs stability. You need opportunity. We help each other."

"This is insane."

"Insane," he agreed softly, "but effective."

She folded her arms, glaring. "Why me? You could hire a model. Or call one of the women you've already-"

"That's the point." His interruption was cool, deliberate. "No one would believe it. You don't want this. Which makes you perfect."

Her knees felt weak, a nervous laugh escaping before she could stop it. Am I really considering this? Elena's pulse thudded. She thought of Maya, of tuition, of rent. Of how heavy responsibility felt when you carried it alone. Maybe this was the chance she'd been chasing without even realizing it.

His gaze pinned her, sharp as glass. "You've been pretending your whole life, Elena. Smiling when you want to scream. Pushing forward when you want to break. This is no different-except this time, you get something back."

The truth in his words cut too close. She hated that part of her considered it.

"If I say yes," she whispered, "this stays pretend. No lines crossed."

Something flickered in his eyes-gone too fast to name. "Strictly pretend."

The air shifted, heavy with finality. Elena's chest tightened. Somehow, agreeing felt less like opportunity and more like stepping into a performance with no script. She swallowed hard. This has to stay pretend. And yet the weight of his gaze, the ruthless certainty in his eyes, made her wonder if pretending would ever be enough.

She thought of Maya's laughter, their cramped apartment, the weight of rent envelopes. Then she thought of Adrian, watching her with that unsettling calm.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the door opened. Marcus strolled in, casual confidence radiating as if he owned the room.

He leaned lazily against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah," he said, voice dripping amusement. "So this is the girl. Tell me, Ramirez-do you have any idea what you're about to sign up for?"

Adrian's jaw tightened, but Marcus only grinned wider at the tension.

Elena froze. Marcus chuckled, looking between them with dangerous delight.

"Well," he said, "this just got interesting."

I clutched my phone with both hands like it might slip away if I loosened my grip. What had I just agreed to? The words still felt unreal in my mouth: a fake relationship with Adrian Harrington. I'd left his office an hour ago, my mind reeling, and now I paced our tiny living room, wearing a path into the threadbare rug.

My footsteps echoed faintly against the apartment walls. Each pace made my stomach flutter like a trapped bird. My chest tightened, a cocktail of fear, thrill, and something I didn't want to name.

There was only one person I trusted with something this ridiculous.

"Maya!" I called, my voice high and urgent. "Come here. Now."

A muffled giggle floated from behind Maya's bedroom door. "Emergency, or did you finally decide to organize your closet?"

"This is serious!" I snapped, pacing faster.

Seconds later, Maya appeared in the doorway, T-shirt slipping off one shoulder, braid messy, a pen still tucked behind her ear. She looked like chaos in human form-and entirely too amused.

"You look like you swallowed a thunderstorm. Spill." She plopped onto the couch, eyes gleaming. "If you dragged me here because of a spider, I swear-"

"This is worse than a spider." I sat across from her, voice hushed, guilty. "I agreed to something stupid."

Maya leaned forward, eyes widening. "Stupid like you bought a juicer? Or stupid like you sold your soul to the internet?"

"Adrian Harrington," I blurted, then clapped a hand over my mouth.

Maya froze. "Wait. THE Adrian Harrington? Billionaire, broody, terrifying cheekbones?"

I nodded miserably. "He asked me to... pretend to be his girlfriend. And I said yes."

The silence lasted a single stunned heartbeat. Then Maya exploded-half laugh, half squeal. "You WHAT?"

"I know, I know-"

"You WHAT?" She threw her arms in the air. "You said YES? To the human embodiment of a stock market crash?"

I buried my face in my hands. "I didn't plan it. He offered-connections, opportunities, security. For us. And I thought of rent, tuition, groceries, all of it, and-"

Maya slapped her knee dramatically. "This is literally fanfiction. Fake dating the billionaire boss? I've read this trope a hundred times!"

"This isn't a trope, it's my life!"

She snorted. "Same thing." But then her humor faded, her expression turning sharp.

"Okay, real question. Are you safe with him? He's not going to... I don't know, lock you in a glass tower?"

I rolled my eyes, though the knot in my stomach tightened. "He's not dangerous, Maya. Just-intense. Calculated."

"Mm-hm." She tapped her chin, eyes narrowing. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Text me every single time he so much as touches your sleeve. If I see one dramatic photo online of his hand near yours, I'll march to Harrington Enterprises myself and serve him a cease-and-desist for emotional distress."

Despite myself, I laughed. "Deal."

Maya smiled, satisfied, and squeezed my hand. "You can do this. Remember when you tried to 'cook' spaghetti and almost burned the kitchen down?"

I groaned. "Please don't remind me."

"Consider this the same-except now the kitchen is a skyscraper and the spaghetti is a billionaire. And hey-if this comes with free designer dresses, you'd better bring at least one home for me."

I chuckled weakly, but inside my nerves were a storm. I'd made a decision that couldn't be undone, and Maya's joking faith was the only thing keeping me steady.

Across town, Adrian stood by the glass wall of his office, the city lights glinting against his reflection. Marcus lounged at the conference table, arms crossed, grin infuriatingly smug.

"You actually convinced her?" Marcus asked, laughter bubbling.

Adrian adjusted his cufflinks. "Convinced is a strong word."

Marcus barked a laugh. "Please. What did you do-promise her your private island? Or unleash the legendary Harrington charm? Oh wait-you don't have any."

Adrian's glare was sharp enough to cut glass. "It's a mutually beneficial agreement."

"Sure," Marcus drawled. "Totally business. Not personal at all." He raised his glass in mock salute. "To fake love stories."

Adrian didn't rise to the bait. But Marcus's next words landed harder.

"Don't break her."

Adrian's hand tightened around his glass, a silent admission he wouldn't say aloud.

Back at the apartment, Maya had already taken over "training" me. She queued influencer videos on "How to Survive Rich People Spaces" and scribbled a checklist in neon marker:

• Smile like you own it.

• Don't faint near chandeliers.

• Rehearse rich-people small talk.

• Emergency exits: always locate.

I groaned. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're about to step into billionaire territory," she retorted. "This is survival."

Despite the sarcasm, I felt lighter. My sister's absurd loyalty steadied me more than any contract clause.

That night, though, lying in bed, I couldn't silence the unease. I thought of Adrian's smirk, of the way he'd looked at me like he was already sure I'd fold. I thought of Maya's fierce humor, her insistence on being my anchor.

And beneath all of it, a thrill pulsed-dangerous, unwanted, but undeniable. For once, my carefully built world was shifting. And for someone who had spent years trying to hold everything together, that shift felt terrifying and almost... promising.

I grabbed my phone and typed a quick message to Maya: Promise I'll text if he ever touches my sleeve.

Her reply was instant: I'll come swinging. Baseball bat ready.

I laughed softly in the dark. Tomorrow, the performance would begin. But tonight, I had Maya's ridiculous, fearless faith-and that was enough.

Meanwhile, in Harrington Tower, Marcus lingered as Adrian prepared to leave.

"You really think this will work?" Marcus asked lightly.

Adrian didn't look up. "It has to."

Marcus's smirk faded into something sharper. "Careful, my friend. Performances have a way of turning into truths."

Adrian's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.

The city outside both apartments glittered-half promise, half warning. And as I drifted into uneasy sleep, neither Adrian nor I knew just how quickly the line between pretending and reality was about to blur.