CHAPTER 1.
...Ethan...
Nat stood in front of me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking like a school kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. My office suddenly felt too small for this conversation. I knew that look—it was the same one he'd worn when he crashed Dad's car in high school and tried to convince him it was "just a scratch." I could already tell this conversation was heading south.
"Okay, spill it, Nat. What did you do?" I crossed my arms, bracing for whatever latest screw-up he'd managed to get himself into. The sun streaming through my office window seemed to spotlight him like an interrogation lamp.
"Well, see..." he started. "I may have, uh, told Richard Harris you were married." The words hung in the air like smoke from a blown-up deal.
I stared at him, wondering if all those business school degrees between us had somehow failed to teach basic common sense. "You what?"
"He's just so easy to talk to!" Nat said, as if that justified everything. "And he was going on about family values, wanting to partner with people who have... you know, stability. I was just trying to make us look like the right fit." Classic Nat—diving headfirst into problems and expecting me to find the parachute.
"Oh, that's perfect," I muttered, rubbing my temples. The headache I'd been fighting all morning was winning. "Because nothing says 'fit' like lying about my marital status." Fifteen years of building our reputation, and he was risking it over small talk.
"I know, I know." Nat was nodding a little too emphatically, clearly already bracing for my reaction. "But you don't understand—he practically lit up when I mentioned it. He was thrilled. And you know how important this acquisition is, Ethan. This is Wilbur & Dawn Publications. It could take us to a whole new level."
"Yes, and what's it going to do to our credibility when he finds out I'm single?" I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut through corporate red tape. "We'll look like we tried to scam him!"
"Not if he doesn't find out." He had the audacity to look optimistic.
I just stared at him, dumbfounded. "That's... wow, Nat. That's an impressive level of wishful thinking, even for you."
"Look, it's not as bad as you think. I've got it all handled." Nat grinned like he'd already pulled off the heist of the century. "I managed to find someone who's agreed to play the part. Just a couple of hours over dinner. In, out, problem solved." His confidence was as misplaced as a startup without a business plan.
This was getting worse by the second. "You managed to find... someone?" I echoed, the disbelief clear in my voice. "What do you mean, 'someone'? Who, exactly, do you have lined up to fake-marry me?" The thought of trusting our company's reputation to some random person made my jaw clench.
Nat had that glint in his eye, like he knew exactly how much this was going to rile me up. "Trust me, it's covered."
"That's not an answer, Nat. Who is it?" My patience was wearing thinner than our Q1 profit margins.
He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "It's... it's Maya Rhodes."
"Maya Rhodes? No. Absolutely not. No way." The woman had already cost us dearly with her apartment incident, and now he wanted to drag her into this? "Anyone but her."
"Ethan, come on," Nat said, trying to reason with me. "She's perfect for this. She's quick-witted and she can think on her feet. She can handle herself in a social setting, and she has a connection to art, which—”
"Which has nothing to do with pretending to be my wife!" I shot back, my voice echoing off the pristine walls. "You couldn't find someone else? One of the assistants, maybe? Someone who actually understands business etiquette would be preferable to an artist who probably thinks corporate structure is a form of oppression.”
"Ethan, you know Harris is sharp. He'd see through anyone like that. She’s your wife so it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t understand the corporate world.” Nat put his hands up defensively. "Look, just hear me out. Maya's smart, and she actually agreed to it... though there was one minor stipulation."
I narrowed my eyes, recognizing the tone he used when he was about to drop another bomb. "What stipulation?"
"I, uh, promised her the mural job on Impact Street."
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to shout. Years of board meetings had taught me to keep my cool, but this was testing my limits. "Nat, are you insane? You can't just hand out jobs as part of some desperate cover-up! Do you even realize what that mural represents for the project?" That mural was supposed to be the crown jewel of our lobby, not a bargaining chip for my brother's schemes.
He held up his hands, looking far too calm for someone who'd just promised away a six-figure commission. "I know, I know. But listen, she's good. Seriously, I looked up her website."
My skepticism was probably written all over my face. "And you think a quick look at her website makes her mural-worthy?" I'd seen enough startup pitches to know that online presence meant nothing.
"No, but I think her art does." He reached for his phone, pulling up a tab he'd clearly bookmarked just for this. "Here. Just... look."
I took the phone begrudgingly, preparing to skim through a couple of amateur attempts at abstract art. But what I saw made me pause. Bold, vibrant colors. Energy on the canvas. Her work was striking, completely unlike the usual fare. I could see a mural like this elevating the Impact Street project—modern but grounded, with a local artist's touch. It was exactly what we needed, though I'd rather negotiate another hostile takeover than admit that to Nat.
I let out a slow breath, trying to shove down my grudging admiration. "Fine, she has talent. But you're telling me you promised her a public mural job, without even running it by me?" The CEO in me was screaming about proper channels and procedures.
Nat's shoulders dropped a bit in relief. "Look, I knew you'd love her work. I knew if I got you to see it, you'd understand. And you do, right?"
"Don't get smug about it," I muttered. But the truth was, he had a point. I did see the potential in her work. She might be able to pull this off for a couple of hours. But that didn't mean I was thrilled about it. The whole situation felt like a hostile takeover of my personal life.
"Okay," I said, leveling him with a glare. "If this whole charade blows up in our faces, it's on you. And knowing our luck with Maya Rhodes so far, that’s a real possibility.”
Nat grinned, far too relieved for my liking. "Great! So, dinner is set for tomorrow night at seven."
"Oh, of course it's already set. Why am I not surprised?"
"Because you trust me, deep down. You just don't admit it.” Nat gave me that irritating, boyish grin he was so good at—the same one that had gotten us both out of trouble countless times growing up.
This whole situation was spiraling into something ridiculous. But what choice did I have? Sometimes being CEO meant damage control, even if the damage was caused by your own brother's inability to keep his mouth shut. At least Maya Rhodes had talent—I'd give her that. But pretending to be married to her? That was going to require all my negotiation skills and then some.
