Jess paced the hospital hallway, waiting as a doctor gave Alistair his final assessment inside the room. Now that she’d arrived, he could be released. But where would they go from here?

She rubbed at her face, feeling both jet lagged and insane. Well, you’ve gone and done it. You’ve duped your boss into thinking he’s marrying you. Good job.

To her credit, it had been Alastair’s brother Gregor’s idea. She’d called him mid-panic attack on the plane, thinking he was her only confidante for this truly fucked situation. After explaining the circumstances—your brother is fine, just missing his memory and making headlines for being the playboy to ruin the company—Gregor gave her a firm directive: show up as his fiancée. End the search now. With only twelve months left until the deadline, they had to get the ball rolling.

A million excuses came and went under Gregor’s insistent suggestion. He possessed a confidence about the idea that ended up convincing her. And when she asked the million-dollar question: What about when he remembers I’m not his fiancée? Gregor’s only response was a raucous laugh and a, “Trust me, he’ll be thrilled that you turned out to be the one.”

The conversation rang between her ears the entire way to the hospital, prompting a slew of questions and curiosities that Gregor simply couldn’t satisfy. Has my boss been in love with me? The mere idea made her belly erupt with butterflies, made her feel like she’d been reading everything all wrong the past two years. But Gregor is probably just trying to convince you to do this ridiculous, absurd thing that makes no sense to logical people. Her rational mind was quick to reprimand even the faintest hint of romanticism. He could be making it all up.

But what if he wasn’t? Now that she’d initiated herself as Alistair’s girlfriend, part of her was eager to continue this. See how far it could go. For the good of the company, of course.

If you don’t keep things afloat for now, then you won’t be able to get out while the stocks are good. Cashing out your stocks will send you to college. Because that was the most important outcome of her time with B3: she needed to get her degree and become the architect she’d always dreamt of being. This rationalization ran like a marquee through her head. It was the only defense she had against the crippling uncertainty of lying to Alistair. Besides, he would understand. If his memory ever came back. He might even admire her gumption and proactive approach in taking such a nontraditional route.

After all, Alistair was famous—infamous, in her eyes—for his unconventional approach to business, timekeeping, planning, and just about every aspect of life. The man who started meetings at “2 p.m.-ish.” The boss who insisted she follow her intuition, even if it meant she would derail a project that had been in development for over nine months. Maybe he’d applaud her unconventional approach to solving his problem and securing her future.

Maybe.

The ground rules, as she’d laid them out to herself, were simple: lie only about the relationship. Everything else she told him would be true. About work, about his past, about her life. It seemed the only way to salvage her morality in all of this. She jolted to attention when the doctor came out of the room with a smile on his face. “He seems to be doing very well, miss. He may leave whenever he is ready.”

Jess thanked him and then walked inside, finding another nurse removing an IV port from his arm.

“Ah, here she is now,” Alistair was saying as she came inside. “My fiancée! Isn’t she gorgeous?”

The nurse sent her a smile. “Beautiful.”

“I asked this nurse on a date before you got here,” Alistair said, that charming sparkle in his eye that always made it possible for him to get away with literally anything in life. “But that was before I knew I was engaged. I hope you aren’t terribly mad, Jess.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide…with the brain injury and all…”

“I’ll consider it my last hurrah in the hospital,” Alistair said with a wink at the nurse as she excused herself. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, wincing a bit. “Bloody hell, my head is pounding.”

“Take it easy,” she warned. “Did they give you anything for the headaches?”

“Yes. I have everything in my convenient carryout bag there.” He pointed toward a white paper bag on a side table. “You’ll have to feed me the horse pills, but I’m sure that must be in our betrothal agreement somewhere.”

She bit back a grin. Never in a million years had she imagined hearing Alistair’s voice saying these words…to her. And it delighted her in a way she hadn’t even counted on. It was like a fantasy she hadn’t been aware of harboring…something secretive and tucked away. And why would she think about marrying the boss? Stuff like that was strictly taboo, especially when she was gaming the system already.

But for all Alistair irritated her or confused her with his avant-garde methods, a part of her had longed for him since day one. How could she not? The man was the perfect intersection of genius and magazine model. His jawline was almost as admirable as his brain. The luster of his dark hair. And those baby blue eyes…he could charm the coveralls off a construction worker.

“I’ll help you swallow them,” she promised. “Or insert them. Whatever the case may be.”

He shot her a warning look. “That is not in our betrothal agreement, I’m sure of it.”

She threw her head back with laughter. “Oh, come on. Let’s get you dressed. Do you need help?”

“I don’t know.” He grumbled a bit as he tugged at the hospital gown, loosening some snaps on the side. It fell away from him, revealing washboard abs and all. His nipples were small, his chest dappled with dark brown hairs. She blinked a few times, trying to act like this wasn’t the first time she’d seen his naked chest.

“I don’t have any other clothes for you,” she said, turning away from him, trying to find the clothing he’d come in with. “I came straight here from the airport, so all your things are still at the hotel.”

He grunted, pinching one eye shut as he tilted his head. “Ugh. This head.”

“It’ll get easier, darling.” She bit her bottom lip, tugging open a cabinet. Darling was the only pet name she could come up with? My sweet hellion might have been more appropriate, based on the disaster area he called an office. His clothes were folded inside the cabinet, neatly pressed. She passed him a black mesh ski shirt and name-brand sports pants. “Just go slowly.”

He nodded, clutching at the clothes in his lap, drawing a deep breath. She watched him for a moment, wondering if she could be doing more. Going from chronically single to suddenly engaged in the span of a day required a lot of adjusting. She needed to get in the habit of being with someone…even though she had no idea what that was like.

Jess had deliberately chosen her career as the only partner she’d need in life. With so many bad examples around her of failed or sinking marriages, why should she expect anything else? Her own sister was the star of the Don’t Ever Get Married Show, after having married at age nineteen due to an unplanned pregnancy. She and her husband were basically just trapped together at this point, raising their three girls while simmering in animosity.

The heartache and heartbreak just never seemed worth getting close to someone she, at the end of the day, didn’t really need. Everything a couple could do, she could do just fine on her own. Besides, who knew what she liked between her legs better than herself?

So all she had for reference now was some sort of theatrical approximation of a relationship—what she’d gleaned from television, her sister, and her own parents’ flagging marriage-turned-convenient-tax-break.

“Here,” she said once he’d sighed for the third time while struggling to put on his pants. “Let me help.” She kept her eyes off his muscly thighs as she helped him step into his ski pants. She got them up to his knees, and then he stood, his briefs bulging in a way that made her cheeks flush. Don’t think about his penis. It seemed like this whole ruse would be easier if she just pretended like they were both sort of asexual. She yanked his pants up over his hips.

“Couldn’t get them any tighter, could you?” she mused, reaching for his shirt. Before he could answer, she tugged it over his head, taking one last long drink of his chest before it was covered by the spandex-y material.

“You must admit, I have good taste in ski clothes,” Alistair said once his head poked through, his hair comically mussed. “Look at how big my dick looks in these.”

A surprised laugh escaped her, and her eyes automatically fell to his groin. Dammit. It wasn’t wrong for Jess the Doting Girlfriend to be looking at her fiancé’s dick, even if it still scandalized Jess the Mere Assistant. This was the part she needed to work on more.

“Well, if your whole purpose for coming to the slopes of Austria was to wave that around and attract all the honeys,” she said with a small quirk of her lips, “then we need to have a talk.”

“I assure you,” Alistair said, slipping his arm around her waist. “I’ve attracted the only honey I need.”

She inhaled sharply as his hand squeezed the fleshy part of her hip. Desire streaked through her, and she leaned against him for a moment. It’s not supposed to feel that good. Heart racing, she smiled up at him, trying not to let on how much that warm touch affected her. “Well that makes me feel better then.”

They watched each other for a long, pulsating moment, in which the entire fabric of her being urged her to kiss him. That would be right. She squeezed his shoulder, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek.

“Let’s go, sweets.” There, that at least felt more natural than darling. “I’ll call the car to have it ready.”

He groaned as he followed her out of the room, his boxy, muscly frame moving jerkily behind her. A wheelchair waited for them, his ride to the front door. He sent her a heartbreaking grin. “Will you give me a push?”

She couldn’t fight the laugh that escaped her. “Of course. Sit down.”

He eased into the seat. They got rolling, and a moment later he asked, “What’s my name for you, Jess?”

She blinked, stopping in her tracks. Fuck. “You mean your pet name for me?”

“Yes.” He paused, looking uncertain as his gaze washed over her. “I hate to ask, but…”

“Marigold,” she blurted, resuming their trek down the hallway. It was true, sort of. Once, he’d referred to her as his little marigold. It had made her laugh, and then she’d fantasized about him for a week solid afterward until he’d done something annoying enough to shake her out of the Alistair stupor. There were countless occasions of that in their working relationship.

“Marigold,” he said. “It’s perfect. There is something about you that reminds me of that flower.”

She swallowed hard, focusing on the floor as she pushed him down the hallway. “I’m deer resistant and vaguely medicinal.”

Her steps fell softly on the white linoleum as they wound their way out of the hospital, Alistair’s few things stuffed into the purse on her shoulder. She gnawed at her lip, eager to get back to the hotel and start planning phase two of this ridiculous mission. Every passing moment reminded her of the insanity of what she was attempting. But there was no turning back now.

They were as good as married.

Her palms turned sweaty when they neared the reception area of the hospital. Through the glass doors and floor-to-ceiling windows, reporters swarmed the cul-de-sac approaching the hospital. She gritted her teeth, hearing the singsong warning voice from Poltergeist in her head: They’re heeere.

And whenever the paparazzi showed up, a shit storm was sure to follow.

“Well, it looks like your secret vacation leaked,” she said into his ear. He watched the scene in front of them with disinterest.

“What do you mean? Was my trip supposed to be secret?”

She creased a brow. For the hundredth time in just a handful of hours, she had to remind herself: he remembers nothing. No matter how unlikely or absurd it seemed. “Well…I suppose it wasn’t a secret. It was just a private getaway, you know. But, well…you and your family—you’re famous.”

He made a small noise, eyes darting over the scene outside. “Are they…?”

“They’re here for you. News of your accident must have leaked.”

“Bloody hell. What do I do for a living?”

She squeezed his hand. “Let’s just get back to the hotel. I’ll explain everything there. Okay?”

He nodded, brow furrowed as he assessed the swarm of reporters outside. “Fine.”

She rolled him to the front doors, which slid open quietly as they approached, and he stood. The clamor of voices and shouts engulfed them at the same time the crisp, Austrian air infiltrated her senses. She grimaced, pulling him along quickly, forging a path through the sea of people. The car she’d come in was parked nearby, the driver at attention. The dark sedan rolled toward them; Jess helped Alistair step carefully into the back seat while cameras clicked around them.

Once they were safely in motion, she let silence hang as long as possible, as though it might reset the strange disturbance of so much attention. Alistair craned to look behind them as the car left the hospital parking lot.

“Insane,” he murmured.

“I just wonder how much leaked,” she said, fingers twitching as she fought the urge to check her phone. It would be better to address everything at once, from the safety of his room. Then she could hopefully stave off her oncoming panic attack with planning and spreadsheets.

Alistair deflated into his seat. “So, clearly I have money. Private car. Paparazzi. Gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Well, you definitely have the first things. Gorgeous, now, I wouldn’t say—”

“Don’t tell me otherwise, Marigold.” Alistair sent her a trademarked grin, one that had snagged him his fair share of celebrities. At least if the rag mags’ speculation was right. That was the one area she’d never dared breach with him: his love life. She’d scheduled plenty of questionable lunch and dinner dates with famous names but never got to see him in action. It seemed inappropriate for his assistant to ask, but she’d also always been scared to find out he was as slutty as the occasional article made him seem. And why? It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with him. Even though she’d secretly imagined what it might be like for him to use one of those Magnum XL’s she’d found in his desk drawer a year ago. Whether it was an emergency stash or a gag gift…well, even she wasn’t naïve enough to think it was a gag gift.

“Fine. But you’ll see,” she said, “once you get used to shacking up with me again, it’s not all fragrant marigolds.”

His gaze drifted over her face, his warm hand covering hers. “I should say I’m excited to relearn.”