Selfish Romance

Agnes Hart stood frozen at the edge of the upscale restaurant's marble-floored entrance, her grip tightening on the gift-wrapped box she'd spent hours fussing over. From where she stood, she had a perfect view of her ex-fiancé-Matthew Brooks-down on one knee in front of another woman.

The woman was gasping. Crying. Laughing. She was everything Agnes used to be, or at least pretended to be, before Matthew decided she was "too ambitious" for his vision of a stay-at-home wife.

The sparkling diamond ring that now adorned the other woman's finger was unmistakably the one Agnes had once picked out with Matthew during a "just-in-case" window shopping trip two years ago.

She felt her heart rip-not shatter, but rip. Quiet. Dull. And clean.

A waiter bumped into her lightly with a tray of champagne flutes, drawing her back to reality. Agnes blinked. The world moved again. Conversations buzzed, cutlery clinked, and the sound of the woman squealing "Yes!" was met with applause.

Agnes turned and walked out.

No drama. No tears. Just a slow, quiet retreat into the night.

Back in her apartment-still in heels, makeup flawless, back aching-Agnes poured herself a glass of wine and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

"How does it feel to be completely replaceable?" she asked no one in particular.

The silence answered her.

Three Weeks Later

"Agnes," came the sharp voice of Marla, the floor manager, snapping her out of her daze. "Mr. Reed is expecting you in his office. Now."

Agnes blinked at her monitor. The spreadsheet she was supposed to be formatting hadn't changed in the past ten minutes. Sighing, she rose, smoothed her gray pencil skirt, and straightened her blouse. She didn't bother refreshing her lipstick.

James Reed, her boss-CEO of Reed Innovations and emotionally unavailable heartbreaker of the highest order-was a man who intimidated board members and seduced headlines. Tall, impeccably dressed, and maddeningly unreadable.

As she made her way toward his office, Agnes wondered which version of James she'd be meeting today: the cold strategist, the sardonic charmer, or the unbothered monarch of corporate warfare?

His door was already open. Never a good sign.

"You called?" she said evenly as she stepped in.

He glanced up from his phone and gestured for her to close the door. "Sit."

She did.

James set the phone down and leaned back, his fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin. "I need a date for a fundraiser this Friday."

Agnes blinked. "I'm sure the women on speed dial would be thrilled."

"I'm not looking for arm candy. I need someone who won't say the wrong thing to donors or try to livestream the event from the wine table."

Her brow lifted. "And I'm your safest option?"

"You're the only one I trust not to embarrass me."

She crossed her arms. "Flattery won't work."

"I'm not flattering you."

Of course not.

Agnes narrowed her eyes. "Why me, really?"

James hesitated-just for a second-and then said, "Because my ex will be there. And I'd like her to think I've moved on."

There it was.

Ah. The heartless, emotionally detached CEO had a soft spot after all. A small one. Barely visible. But it existed.

Agnes, for all her post-breakup bitterness, suddenly understood.

"And you want me to pretend we're...?" she asked, her voice trailing off.

He didn't miss a beat. "Together. Yes."

She laughed. Out loud. "Let me get this straight. You, James Reed, the man who has a new date every week and thinks commitment is a myth, want to fake a relationship... with your assistant?"

"Executive secretary," he corrected. "And yes. Just for the night."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous."

He folded his arms. "Name your price."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "You're good at what you do, Agnes. Detail-oriented, composed, and brutal when necessary. I need someone who can pull this off. You're in a position to negotiate."

"You think I can be bought?"

"I think everyone can be... persuaded."

Agnes tilted her head, thoughtful now. "What if I said I'd do it-if you do something for me?"

His interest visibly sharpened. "I'm listening."

"My ex is getting married. This Saturday. And I'm invited." She smiled bitterly. "I want to walk in on the arm of someone who screams 'upgrade.' Someone who makes people whisper."

James's eyes flickered. "You want to make him jealous."

She raised a brow. "Just like you."

Their eyes locked, both sizing the other up, the silence between them humming with unspoken understandings.

After a beat, James extended his hand. "Two nights. One for you, one for me. We fake it, we win, and we walk away."

Agnes stared at his hand, then took it.

"Deal."

The Rules

They set the ground rules later that night over takeout in James's penthouse.

"No touching unless necessary," Agnes stated.

James nodded. "We need to sell it, though. Hand on the waist. Maybe a kiss on the cheek."

"No lips."

He smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"No pet names. No real details about our personal lives."

"And definitely no catching feelings."

They both agreed too quickly, and neither noticed the way their hands brushed when reaching for the soy sauce.

Friday Night – Fundraiser

Agnes looked stunning in a midnight blue gown with a slit that flirted with every step she took. Her hair was pinned up, neck bare, lips red.

James looked at her like he was seeing someone entirely new.

"You clean up well," he murmured as he offered his arm.

"You clean up the same," she replied coolly.

They entered the ballroom as flashes went off. James leaned down and whispered, "Smile, darling. You're supposed to be madly in love with me."

She smiled sweetly. "You wish."

The night was a blur of champagne, forced laughter, and dancing. James played the part of doting boyfriend too well-brushing her lower back, whispering in her ear, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Agnes hated how easy it was to lean into it. To laugh like she wasn't still furious with the world.

Then came the moment James's ex approached.

Tall. Blonde. Everything predictable.

"James," she purred, eyes flicking to Agnes. "This must be... new."

James smiled, drawing Agnes closer. "This is Agnes. She's not new. Just mine."

Agnes blinked. That hadn't been part of the script.

But the way his hand settled on her hip felt too deliberate to question. And when she met the ex's smug eyes, she smiled with genuine venom.

"Pleasure," she said.

Later, in the car, Agnes pulled her heels off and sighed. "That was exhausting."

"You were brilliant," James said, loosening his tie.

"You, too," she replied, voice softer.

Their eyes met briefly before James looked away.

"One down," he murmured.

"One to go," she whispered.

Agnes didn't know then that their performance had just crossed a line.

Not in the ballroom. Not with the kiss on her cheek.

But in the silence that followed, in the way he looked at her like she wasn't just part of a plan anymore.

And deep down, something shifted.

Not enough to name.

But enough to never go back.