Emma Carter knew she had made a grave mistake the moment she agreed to "negotiate" with Nicholas Blackwood.
Because Nicholas Blackwood did not negotiate.
No, the billionaire CEO played games. Dirty, frustrating, and entirely too effective games.
Which was how she found herself sitting in his penthouse office, staring at a contract that looked like something out of a dystopian nightmare.
Her eyes scanned the document. Her fingers twitched. This cannot be real.
She looked up at Nicholas, who was watching her with that smug, insufferable smirk of his.
"You're joking," she said flatly.
He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who had just proposed the most ridiculous business arrangement in the history of business arrangements.
"I'm completely serious," he said, voice smooth as silk. "And before you start yelling—"
Emma slammed the contract down on his desk. "Yelling? Oh, Nicholas, I'm beyond yelling. I'm about five seconds away from throwing you out of this very expensive window."
Nicholas chuckled. "That would be unfortunate. Very messy."
Emma inhaled deeply and tried not to strangle him.
Because according to the contract in front of her, Nicholas Blackwood wanted her to be his fiancée.
Fake, of course. But still.
"Let me get this straight," she said, rubbing her temples. "You're proposing that I—your mortal enemy—pretend to be engaged to you."
Nicholas nodded. "Yes."
"For six months."
Another nod. "Correct."
"And in return, you'll erase my client's debt and withdraw your takeover bid?"
Nicholas smiled. "Now you're getting it."
Emma stared at him like he had just suggested they sacrifice a goat to the stock market gods.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Nicholas folded his hands, feigning innocence. "Emma, I prefer the term strategic thinker."
"No, I prefer the term psychopath."
Nicholas sighed, rubbing his jaw like he actually had the nerve to be tired of this conversation.
"My grandmother," he said finally, "controls a significant portion of my company's shares. She's been threatening to sell them to my biggest competitor if I don't 'settle down and become respectable.'"
Emma blinked. "And that's my problem why?"
Nicholas smirked. "Because you, Miss Carter, just so happen to be the perfect candidate to fix this issue for me."
Emma let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, really?"
"You're independent. You don't actually want to marry me—"
"Wow, what gave that away?"
Nicholas ignored her. "—and most importantly, you're the only woman I know who won't fall madly in love with me."
Emma stared at him.
Then burst out laughing.
"Oh my God," she wheezed, clutching her stomach. "You—You actually think—" She wiped a tear from her eye. "You think I'm immune to your 'charm' and that makes me perfect for this?"
Nicholas gave her a flat look. "Yes."
Emma shook her head. "Nicholas, I don't even like breathing the same air as you."
"Exactly," he said smoothly. "That's why it'll work. No emotions. No messy attachments. Just business."
Emma stared at him. Then at the contract. Then back at him.
She hated that this was actually… kind of brilliant.
She also hated that he knew she knew that.
"Emma," Nicholas said, leaning forward, his voice dropping into something dangerously persuasive. "You're out of options. If you walk away, your client's company is finished. But if you agree to this… you save them. And all you have to do is play pretend."
Emma's jaw tightened. She hated that he was right.
She could fight him in court. She could drag this out. But it would cost time—time her client didn't have.
Nicholas knew it. He had planned for it.
This was exactly why she hated billionaires.
Emma exhaled sharply. "Six months?"
Nicholas smirked. "Six months."
"No actual wedding?"
"Of course not."
"No… marital obligations?"
Nicholas arched an eyebrow. "Emma, as much as I'd enjoy watching you struggle with your inevitable attraction to me, I assure you, I'll keep my hands to myself."
Emma groaned. This was a mistake.
A big, fat, life-ruining mistake.
But she had no choice.
She was going to be engaged to Nicholas Blackwood.
Fake. Temporary. Tolerable.
Right?
…Right??