“It worked!”

I look up from my desk as Steven Liu storms into my office, the door slamming into the wall behind him. I see Max’s unimpressed expression from her desk as she watches him.

Everyone seems to be barging into my office these days.

“What worked?” I ask my publicist, who’s grinning from ear to ear.

He looks damn triumphant, like a kid who has been given an early Christmas present. “Your little date last night did the trick. You and Max are hot news, you son of a bitch!”

It must be good for him to drop a vulgarity like that. Usually, Steven is much more refined than this.

I’d been avoiding the news or social media since last night. Not that I had any time to dwell on it really. After my shower, I tried to sleep in my huge king-sized bed by myself, although I couldn’t stop thinking about, well, everything. I just kept thinking about Max, what she told me about her son, and why she agreed to act as my fiancée.

There’s a reason for it. One that I could help her with if only she’d set aside her pride and tell me. Then again, I keep thinking that there’s more to it. And I really, really can’t dwell on it.

“Where were we featured?”

Steven sits in the chair opposite me and pushes a folder across the plane of my desk. He’s beaming, absolutely thrilled. I guess I would be too after I had a crazy idea that actually worked. I slap my hand on top of the folder and slide it over to me, peering down at the stack of magazines and printouts. The top is a cut out from the Who’s Who section of a big newspaper, and it’s a shot of Max and me looking at each other across the table. I swallow back the lump in my throat because we truly do look like two people in love. Max is exceptionally photogenic, I realize. Her smile even looks genuine.

And me? I look less like the playboy and more like a man enraptured by a single person.

“That’s a nice photo of us,” I murmur honestly. I don’t remember a photographer taking that one, although that doesn’t mean anything. We’d been dining for over three hours last night, there were plenty of opportunities for snaps.

“And that’s not all,” Steven adds as he moves the clipping aside. “You two made the cover.”

It’s a local socialite magazine, much smaller than the newspaper, but it still makes its rounds through my clients and prospective ones. I raise an eyebrow at it’s a shot of Max and me getting out of the limo and into the restaurant. Again, she’s smiling like she only has eyes for me. Like I’m the only man for her.

HAS CUPID BEEN STRUCK? the caption says. Then, to my horror, the article speculates about my relationship with Max and if I’ll dump her like I did all the other women I’ve dated in the past. Nadya’s interview truly was damning.

“Looks like some are still skeptical,” I mutter.

Steven’s triumphant expression falters. “Well, you have to allow the news to get used to the idea that you’re this great guy, Damien. They’ve spent the last two weeks raking you over the coals, they can’t just do a 180 and say that you’re suddenly a one-woman man.”

I snicker. “You mean like the 180 they did when they decided I’m a womanizer?”

He shrugs. “They always love a bad guy. But,” he taps my picture, “if you keep this up, they can’t deny that you look like a man in love. That you’re changing your ways for ‘the One.’”

I can’t even deny it myself. I wonder if Max has seen this picture, and what she thinks of it. She looks like she’s reciprocating my feelings. And there’s a weird thrill that runs through my body at the thought of it.

“Well, we’ll see how it goes,” I say with a small smile. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Steven, who claps me on the back. I shoot him a cool look and, to my relief, he shrinks away. “So what’s next?”

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “you just keep doing what you’re doing. Go out on dates. Eventually a public proposal. Keep up this act.” He points to the picture again. “Oh, and you’ll have to find another personal assistant.”

I blink. “What?”

He chuckles, oblivious to my panic. “Well, you can’t expect Max to remain your personal assistant after this. Remember, you’re supposed to be in love with her. It’s a love story waiting to happen. But if she remains your assistant, you’ll always have a power struggle with her. So, she’ll have to change roles in your employ. Be your partner.”

I glare at him, about to rip into his stupid smug smile for suggesting such a thing.

“I like this plan,” Max says from the doorway. We both whirl to see her standing there, crossing her arms as she leans against the door frame.

I look between the two of them and then shake my head. “No. Absolutely not.” Max raises a quizzical eyebrow. I can’t believe she’s agreeing with Steven. “You’re the best damn personal assistant. I…” My voice trails off, because I was about to say, “I can’t do this without you.” Which is exactly what a man in love would say, but I don’t know what my own feelings truly are. The lines between us are blurring and I can’t keep up.

Gods of Olympus, I’m in way over my head with this.

“You’re always threatening to fire me,” Max points out. “Because I don’t get you your stupid coffee. Among other things.”

Fuck, she’s serious. Can’t she take a joke? “That stuff is trivial,” I say, desperate. “You’re brilliant at helping me manage my clients. Manage my life. You can handle the worst of them and you’re always ahead of me. If you’re not there to do that…”

“I’m not saying for her to be fired outright,” Steven says. “I’m suggesting that she takes on the role of partner. Which is what your relationship would be anyway.”

“I’d still do the most important duties,” Max adds. “You’d basically just need a secretary to sit out there.” She gestures with her head toward her desk beyond the door “I know a few staffing agencies I can contact to get a good fit immediately.”

“And where would you sit?” Her eyes roam the office, and I realize that she’s measuring the space for her new desk. “No. No, you’re not sharing my office.”

I realize how pathetic I sound in that moment.

“It’s cheaper than renting out more space.” Her arms cross again. “This is the easiest—and cheapest—way of doing this.”

Our eyes meet, her green-eyed gaze daring me to protest. To cross her.

And I don’t. Shit.

“The media would hate the fact that you’re keeping Max as your personal assistant,” Steven says. “After all, this is the woman you love—” he indicates Max, who blushes deep scarlet, “—so you’d want to keep her close to you at all times. And not have her do all that menial work. It shows that you value her as a partner in life.”

I glare at Steven and then look back at Max. “You’re not getting another raise from me.”

She smirks. “No, the promotion is good enough.”

Aggravating woman.

I comb my hands through my hair. “This is blackmail.”

Max has the audacity to laugh, but Steven is still trying to smooth things over. “This is just for your public persona. You can have a temp do Max’s public duties while she continues to do what she does best behind the scenes.” At my dubious expression, he adds, “You know it’s true. The media will love Max’s Cinderella story.”

“You’re getting no glass slippers from me,” I snarl to her.

She only laughs. “Those sound even less comfortable than stilettos.”

“And it will change your reputation from being a bad guy to being a good guy,” Steven continues. “It’s for the best.”

“For the best,” I mutter. Max is watching me keenly, and I sit back with a sigh. “Fine.”

She thrusts out her hand. “Partners?”

I roll my eyes. I seem to be making terrible deals lately. “Partners.”

Then, to my shock, she turns to Steven with a sugary sweet smile. “I guess this means that you work for me now, too. So how about getting me a nonfat latte from Starbucks?”

I can’t tell if she’s joking, but Steven’s expression makes it all worthwhile. I laugh at Max’s delighted expression. And that makes everything—from making her my “partner” to this whole charade—worthwhile, too.