The Proposal

Lorana Rimer stayed at her desk long after the rest of the floor had gone dark. The only light came from her monitor and the faint glow of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words on the screen blurred. She had read the clause from her grandmother’s will a dozen times already. Marriage by her thirtieth birthday or the inheritance passed to distant cousins who would gut the family foundation her grandmother had built. Lorana was twenty-nine. Time was not on her side.

She glanced across the open-plan office toward Julian Navarro’s workspace. His drafting table was still lit. Of course it was. The man treated overtime like a personal challenge. They had been circling each other for two years, trading barbed comments in meetings, competing for the same corner office, and somehow ending up assigned to the same massive mixed-use development. Rivals. Nothing more. Until tonight.

Lorana stood, smoothing her pencil skirt, and crossed the quiet floor. Her heels clicked against the polished concrete. Julian looked up as she approached, that familiar half-smile already in place, green eyes flicking over her before returning to his screen.

“Rimer. Still here? I thought you had a dinner with the Montgomery team.”

“Canceled,” she said. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

His eyebrows lifted. “That sounds serious. Should I be worried or flattered?”

She didn’t smile. “My office. Now.”

Julian followed, closing the glass door behind him. The space felt smaller with him in it. Lorana stayed behind her desk, using the barrier like armor.

“I have a proposal,” she began. “A six-month arrangement. Strictly contractual. I need a husband on paper. You need the kind of capital that lets an architect open his own firm without begging investors. My grandmother’s will requires marriage. The payout would cover both our ambitions twice over.”

Julian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re serious.”

“Completely. We marry, live together for appearances, attend the required family events, and dissolve it cleanly at the end. Separate bedrooms. No feelings. I’ve already drafted the terms.”

He let out a short laugh. “You’re actually standing there offering me a fake marriage like it’s a merger. That’s cold even for you, Lorana.”

Her stomach tightened, but she kept her voice even. “The financial incentive is two million upon successful completion. Paid to you. Tax-free. Plus full access to my legal team to protect your firm interests during the arrangement.”

Julian’s smile faded. He studied her for a long moment. The office felt too quiet, the distant hum of the building the only sound. “Two million,” he repeated. “And all I have to do is pretend I’m in love with my biggest rival for six months?”

“Exactly. We sign an NDA tonight. Then a full contract. You move into my apartment next week. We stage the wedding before the board reads the will. Public appearances only. Nothing private unless we both agree.”

He pushed off the door and walked closer, stopping at the edge of her desk. “You’ve thought this through. Of course you have. But why me? Plenty of men would jump at this.”

“Because you’re ambitious enough to keep it professional,” Lorana said. “And because you already know how to lie convincingly in front of clients. This is no different.”

Julian’s gaze sharpened. Interest flickered behind the initial refusal she could still see in the set of his shoulders. “One condition,” he said. “If we’re doing this, we do it right. No half-measures. If your family smells a fake, we both lose.”

She slid the NDA and contract across the desk. “Sign and we negotiate details over dinner. I booked a private room downtown. We need to practice looking like we can stand each other.”

Julian picked up the pen. His signature was bold across both documents before she finished speaking. “Done. But dinner better include wine. I’m going to need it.”

The restaurant was dim and expensive, the kind of place where conversations stayed muffled by heavy tablecloths and attentive servers. They sat across from each other in a secluded booth. Lorana had changed into a black dress that skimmed her curves without being obvious. Julian had left his tie at the office, collar open. The first glass of wine loosened nothing between them.

“We need rules,” she said after the server left. “No touching without warning. No real dates. Separate finances except for shared appearances.”

Julian swirled his glass. “And when we kiss in public? Because that’s going to happen. Your grandmother’s lawyers will expect it.”

Lorana’s pulse kicked. She hadn’t let herself imagine that part. “We keep it brief. Clinical.”

“Clinical,” he echoed, voice low. “Right.”

The check came. Julian paid without argument. Outside, the night air was cool. He held the car door for her, a gesture that felt too natural. At her building he followed her up without being asked. The contract had already changed the air between them.

Inside her apartment, Lorana turned to face him. “We should practice. Once. So it doesn’t look awkward tomorrow when we announce the engagement.”

Julian stepped closer. His height forced her to tilt her head back. “You sure about this, Rimer?”

“It’s business,” she said, though her voice had gone softer than she intended.

His hand rose, fingers brushing her jaw before settling at the nape of her neck. The kiss started exactly as she had described: brief, controlled. Then his mouth slanted and the control slipped. Heat flared low in her stomach. Lorana’s hands found the front of his shirt without permission. Julian made a quiet sound against her lips, deepening the kiss for one charged second before pulling back.

They stared at each other. Her breath came uneven. His green eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown.

“That,” Julian said, voice rough, “didn’t feel clinical.”

Lorana swallowed. Her lips tingled. “It was practice. Nothing more.”

He nodded once, but neither of them moved. The contract sat signed on her kitchen counter, six months suddenly feeling both endless and far too short. Julian stepped back first, clearing his throat.

“See you at the office tomorrow, wife.”

The word landed between them like a live wire. Lorana didn’t correct him. She simply watched him leave, the door clicking shut, and pressed her fingers to her mouth where the heat still lingered.