Chapter 1 — When Coffee Meets Catastrophe
Elara Quinn had exactly three goals that Monday morning:
Get to work on time.
Not spill coffee on her white shirt again.
Avoid Mason Drake at all costs.
She failed all three within twelve minutes.
The first failure happened when she sprinted across the plaza, tripped on absolutely nothing, and almost tackled a street musician playing the accordion. The second failure occurred the moment she tried to apologize while still running, sloshing scalding cappuccino straight onto her clothes.
And the third?
Well, that one came with a six-foot-two shadow and a voice smoother than her ruined coffee.
“Elara?” Mason said behind her. “Why are you running like a medieval peasant fleeing a dragon?”
She froze.
Of course.
Of course he would show up at the worst possible time, immaculate as ever in a crisp navy suit that looked like it cost more than her monthly rent.
Elara slowly turned around, clutching the damp front of her shirt.
“Mason,” she groaned. “Hi. Hello. Goodbye.”
She attempted to walk past him.
He followed her.
“Did you spill coffee again?” he asked, eyes twinkling.
“No,” she snapped. “This is… modern art. It symbolizes the existential collapse of Monday mornings.”
“Very abstract,” he nodded. “And very caffeinated.”
She glared. “Don’t you have a job?”
“Yes. And it’s unfortunately the same building as yours.”
“Tragic,” she muttered.
They stepped into the elevator. Elara jabbed the button for the 14th floor like it owed her money.
Mason leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, annoyingly relaxed.
“So,” he said, “have you thought about my offer?”
Elara’s soul shriveled.
There it was.
The disaster.
The reason she’d been avoiding him since Friday.
“NO,” she said instantly.
“You didn’t even let me finish the question.”
“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.”
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
“Because it’s a terrible idea.”
“You don’t even know what the idea is.”
She threw her hands up. “Fine! Ask again. I’ll say no more politely this time.”
Mason straightened and looked her dead in the eye.
“Elara Quinn,” he said, very serious, “will you enter a temporary fake relationship contract with me?”
The elevator doors opened.
Three people waiting outside gasped and shuffled out of the way as she walked out whisper-shouting, “ARE YOU INSANE?”
Mason kept pace. “It’s only for three weeks.”
“No.”
“You get paid.”
“NO.”
“My boss thinks I’m engaged.”
“That sounds like a YOU problem.”
“He wants to meet my ‘fiancée’ at the charity gala.”
“I hope you two are very happy together.”
“Elara, please.”
She stopped walking.
The word please.
From Mason Drake.
Her workplace rival.
Her number-one bringer of headaches.
Her most annoying almost-friend.
“What do you mean ‘please’?” she said, suspicious.
He rubbed the back of his neck. A very un-Mason-like gesture.
“I… might get fired if he finds out I lied.”
Elara blinked.
“Oh God,” she muttered. “You are insane.”
“Correct,” he said. “But desperate.”
They stared at each other.
She knew Mason wasn’t a bad guy. Just… too confident for his own good. Too charming. Too smirky. Too everything.
And also, unfortunately, too handsome for this conversation.
She looked away before she could admit that part to herself.
“Mason,” she sighed, “why me?”
He hesitated.
Because he trusted her?
Because she knew how to banter with him?
Because she didn’t fall for his flirting like everyone else?
Because she was the only one who could keep him in check?
He cleared his throat. “Because you’re the only person I know who would tell my boss to his face that I’m a disaster.”
“That… sounds true.”
“And because he’ll believe it.”
“That sounds very true.”
“And because you won’t pretend you love me.”
She snorted. “God, no.”
“See? Perfect.”
She rubbed her temples.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“This is stupid.”
“Very.”
“This is going to ruin my life.”
“Probably.”
She groaned and covered her face.
“And… how much are we talking?”
Mason grinned. “Enough for you to buy a new coffee maker and a week of not-instant ramen.”
Her eye twitched.
Damn him.
She inhaled deeply.
Then she extended her hand.
“Three weeks,” she said. “Strict rules. No actual romance. No touching unless required. No weird flirting. No—”
Mason took her hand.
“Deal.”
She yanked her hand back.
“HEY! I wasn’t done!”
He smirked. “You said deal. It’s legally binding now.”
“That’s not how anything works, Mason!”
“Too late. You shook. You’re my fiancée.”
Elara turned around and began walking away so she wouldn’t strangle him.
Then Mason called after her:
“Don’t forget—we need engagement photos by Friday!”
She froze mid-step.
“FRIDAY!?” she echoed.
He waved cheerfully. “I’ll bring matching outfits!”
“MASON DRAKE—!!!”
Everyone on the floor stared as she chased him down the hallway, yelling threats that technically counted as workplace harassment.
And somewhere deep inside, despite her fury…
She was smiling.
Just a little.
