Chapter 3

Elsa

How in the hell is this going to work?

A million thoughts race through my mind, and a range of emotions tear at me. My blood rapidly drains, and I start feeling light-headed, nauseated—like I’ve been punched in the gut.

I wasn’t expecting plan B to be this terrible.

Sitting at the conference table, I place my hands in front of me for balance.

And I blink rapidly, hoping to find some clarity in the whirlwind that’s now upending my world.

It’s like I’m in the goddamn Wizard of Oz. But, instead of it being a dream, it’s my reality—I’m being thrown into a dangerous, time-warping vortex, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I lick my lips, trying to bring some moisture to my mouth and some semblance of life back to my body.

“Ex-excuse me? W-what?” I stutter and shake my head in disbelief.

“Given the current state of our stocks, which is a direct result of your feud and reckless stunts, we have no other choice but to change the narrative and make it seem as if this whole thing was a lover’s spat. Not a business disagreement,” Mark restates.

If he wasn’t spouting profanities at me, I would think Mark cute: salt and pepper hair with emerald green eyes. He might be a bit older, but, sometimes, maturity is a good thing.

It’s a type of quality that Tanner has yet to acquire.

Another director on my board, Michael, follows up, continuing to describe some of the finer details.

“For our industry, spinning this as a spat between lovers makes sense. It is relatable, and our consumers will understand. You will get engaged, and we’ll leak everything to the press. I’m sure Lis Langley will have a field day with this.” He raises his eyebrows and a few of the other directors laugh at his oh-so-humorous joke.

Are you fucking kidding me? Get engaged? To Tanner!?

No matter how many times they say it, I still can’t believe it.

My body starts to go numb, and I’m beginning to feel like I’ve died and am now floating above my body, watching as my world implodes below.

“How in the hell do you think that’ll work?” Tanner asks, looking all too comfortable given the current situation.

One of the directors goes into a lengthy explanation, answering his question, while I get distracted by him and my raging thoughts.

He looks agitated but not enough for our current situation. Nothing close to matching my fury.

Why isn’t he fuming? Why isn’t he freaking out about this?

A day ago, he was humiliating me, and now he’s fine with being engaged to me.

He’s fucking Jekyll and Hyde.

And it’s shit like this—his unpredictability—that made marrying him a terrible idea. One of the many reasons why I so vehemently ran away from it.

Sure, what we had was powerful and exhilarating. But it was too good to be true.

Something like that—like us—is dangerous.

Don’t get me wrong, once upon a time I dreamed of being Mrs. Sharpe. Running the lingerie world by his side as Mr. and Mrs.

And, in our time, we were damn good at it.

So naturally, and very briefly, it makes me think that this ridiculous plan could work.

Seeing as we have a past, it wouldn’t be hard to spin it as a fight or whatever the hell they’re calling it.

My mind veers off as I stare at him. His muscles tense, outlining his chiseled features, and he runs his hand through his chestnut hair, styling it in a perfectly groomed but messy way.

I hate how attractive he is, even when he’s hungover—it’s not fucking fair.

Maybe, it could be like last time—hot, passionate, magnetic.

Admittedly, parts of me still ache for him. And his steel grey eyes continue to send chills down my spine and heat up my body.

Watching him now sitting across from me, biting and licking his lips, has me reminiscing about the times we had together.

Shit, I can’t go down that path again.

I was naïve then. I’m not now.

Yes, I fell for his bad boy looks and his prince charming personality. How could I not? He’s a fantasy come to life.

But now, I know what can happen—or what does happen when you get into bed with Tanner Sharpe.

My nemesis.

At least this time, seeing as I’m being forced into bed with him metaphorically, I’m prepared.

I shudder, reliving the memories while I also become slightly disgusted with myself.

I can’t do this shit.

He meets my gaze, and his eyes clear the fog clouding my vision. His lips grow into a smug smirk, almost like he knows what I’m thinking.

Ass!

“And how do you expect me not to murder him?” I ask, now irritated with his presence—again.

God, I hate how he has me dripping wet one second and infuriated the next.

Mark looks straight at me, stern and serious, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Like I said, this is your last and only option. There is no plan B or C. If you,” he says to me before looking at Tanner, “or you fuck this plan up in any way, you will be fired immediately.”

I sit there frozen. They mean business, and there’s no room for bullshit.

The severity of my situation settles in my gut, and again I feel sick to my stomach.

The mix of anger, adrenaline, lust, and disappointment pulsating through my body leaves me feeling defeated and weak.

“Before we leave, you’ll both sign contracts to approve the terms we’ve agreed upon today.”

“Well, we barely had any room to negotiate, so I wouldn’t call it an agreement, more like an ultimatum,” Tanner sarcastically points out to Mark.

Quickly, tension crackles through the room, and Mark’s face turns crimson.

Shit, he’s pissed. Again.

He stands up and hovers over Tanner, looking like he’s about to punch him.

“You’ll agree, or you’ll be fired. You still have a choice. You might not like the options, but it’s a choice nonetheless. You’re lucky we’re giving you any say after what you did. You sank us.” He raises his voice, and he turns to look over at me, saying, “You both sank us. So, we’re giving you the option to agree to our terms. And if you don’t, the door is right there.”

Mark continues to shuffle around some papers, and then hands us two documents, one stating that we agree to the fake marriage plan, and the other laying out the specifics of our probation.

My shoulders sink while reading over them—there really is no other option.

But I will not lose my livelihood because of that asshole. He will not cost me what I’ve worked so hard on.

I need to take control of my responsibilities and become the goddamn CEO I’ve always wanted to be—strong, ruthless, and powerful.

I would do almost anything to keep my company and to run it honestly. And if that requires me to be part of a fake engagement with him, I’ll get it done.

I visibly shake as I reach for a pen, and it takes me more than a few minutes to scribble something resembling my signature on the dotted line.

A second later, Mark snatches the papers out of our hands.

“Very well then. Gentlemen, I think we have everything we need. Michael, please stay behind and continue to hash over the details with them. I want the story out by tomorrow.”

I watch in horror as they finish stuffing their briefcases and head out the door, waving or nodding their ‘Bye’s and ‘Good day’s when they leave.

Tanner faces me and forces me to meet his eyes.

We stare at each other in silence, not sure what to say or what to do.

What in the hell do you say to your enemy-now-pretend-fiancé?

I don’t have much experience in the matter, and, I believe, neither does he.

The air in the room thickens, and sweat develops at my hair line. I squirm, feeling more uncomfortable than I did with the directors in the room.

Michael breaks the awkward, tension-filled silence and starts to fill in the gaps of our new arrangement.

Although I might not like what he’s saying, I silently thank him for his distraction. If not for him, I’m not sure what would happen between Tanner and me right now.

The way he’s looking at me—how he’s making me feel—has me confusing my hatred for desire.

There’s no denying that we’re attracted to each other, but the way he draws me to him unnerves me.

It’s something beyond natural or understandable. And, believe me, I’ve tried many times to figure how and why he has this effect over me.

There’s no logical reason.

I shake him off and focus on avoiding his passing glances and his annoying comments. I know I should be listening to Michael, but my attention is everywhere else. In my head, I force myself to repeat a new mantra: Tanner is the enemy.

Albeit a sexy, very sexy enemy.

And I have to shove any of this bubbly, mind-fucking nonsense down before it becomes a much bigger problem.

Once Michael finishes explaining everything, we all begrudgingly agree on how best to go forward with our fake engagement.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” I say, standing up.

I fix my dress and move my hair over to one shoulder. The temperature in the room is now scorching, making me wet everywhere.

“Until next time, Mrs. Sharpe,” he says, shooting a wink at me.

Shit. We’re definitely not in Kansas—or my New York—anymore.