Chapter 2 - The Boyfriend Nobody QuestionedNora stared at me for several seconds after admitting she had chosen me because I looked like someone her family would not dare question.
Most men probably would have taken that as a compliment.
I took it as confirmation that the instincts keeping Nora Bennett alive were better than she realized.
I slid the ten hundred-dollar bills across the table toward her.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Returning your money.”
Her expression immediately hardened. “We had a deal.”
“We still do.”
“Then take it.”
“I don’t need your thousand dollars.”
“That isn’t the point.”
I studied her.
There was pride beneath the nerves. A lot of it.
That interested me.
“Fine.”
I picked up one bill, folded it once, and put it into the inside pocket of my jacket.
Her eyebrows rose.
“What about the other nine?”
“My fee is one hundred.”
“You’re negotiating downward?”
“I’m charitable before noon.”
She almost smiled again.
Almost.
Then she looked at the clock above the café entrance and went pale.
“We have twenty-seven minutes.”
“To get where?”
“Magnolia House.”
I knew the restaurant.
Everyone in Charleston knew Magnolia House. An old mansion near the historic district converted into a private dining club, the kind of place where politicians shook hands with developers and old families quietly decided who belonged in the city.
Cole Development owned forty percent of the property.
I decided not to mention that.
Nora stood quickly.
“So we need rules.”
“We have rules now?”
“Yes.”
She opened her notes again as we walked toward the lobby.
“No excessive touching.”
“Define excessive.”
She gave me a look.
I smiled.
She continued. “No telling my family embarrassing stories about me because you don’t know any.”
“I’m creative.”
“Evan.”
It was the first time she said my name.
Something about hearing it in her voice made me look at her.
She stopped scrolling.
For one moment, neither of us said anything.
Then she cleared her throat.
“No improvising unnecessarily.”
“That rule feels specifically designed to ruin my afternoon.”
“No discussing politics.”
“Agreed.”
“No discussing money.”
“Probably wise.”
“And absolutely no threatening Miles.”
I stopped walking.
Nora took three more steps before realizing I was no longer beside her.
She turned.
“Why did you stop?”
“You added that rule suspiciously early.”
“Because you look like a man who threatens people.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
I walked toward her again.
“What does a man who threatens people look like?”
“You.”
I laughed.
Her shoulders finally relaxed.
Then the revolving doors opened behind us.
Two men in dark suits entered the hotel.
Both saw me immediately.
Both stopped.
Nora noticed.
One of the men lowered his head.
“Mr. Cole.”
I gave him a slight nod.
“Morning.”
They moved away without another word.
Nora watched them cross the lobby.
“Employees?”
“Something like that.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What kind of businesses did the newspaper say you own again?”
“Hotels. Construction. Freight. Security.”
“And people salute you?”
“That wasn’t a salute.”
“It was emotionally a salute.”
I opened the door for her.
“Your family is waiting.”
Outside, the Charleston morning had turned bright and humid. Horse-drawn carriages moved along the street while tourists wandered between pastel buildings carrying shopping bags and cameras.
Nora reached toward the curb.
“I’ll call us a rideshare.”
“No need.”
A black Mercedes pulled smoothly to the entrance.
My driver stepped out.
Nora froze.
I opened the rear door.
“You said you needed a believable boyfriend.”
She stared at the car.
Then at me.
“How rich are you?”
“Rule number four.”
Her mouth opened.
Then she remembered.
“No discussing money.”
“Exactly.”
She climbed inside.
I followed.
The privacy partition was already raised.
Nora sat very straight beside me.
For thirty seconds she said nothing.
Then, “This was a terrible idea.”
“You’re realizing that now?”
“My mother is going to investigate you.”
“She’ll find flattering articles.”
“My aunt Susan will Google you during lunch.”
“She’ll find less flattering articles.”
Nora turned toward me.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing criminal.”
Technically true.
Nothing criminal that had resulted in charges.
Her eyes narrowed.
I changed the subject.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
The suspicion disappeared immediately.
“Rose.”
Nora smiled.
It transformed her.
“My grandmother is the best person in our family.”
“Dangerous thing to say before I meet everyone else.”
“You’ll understand.”
“She supports the bakery?”
“She was the first person I told.”
Nora looked through the window.
“When I was eight, she taught me to make biscuits. I ruined the first batch. They were basically stones. She ate two anyway.”
“That’s love.”
“She said every good baker has to make terrible bread before they make beautiful bread.”
“Smart woman.”
“She gave me five thousand dollars from her savings when I started pastry school.”
Her voice softened.
“I gave it back.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted the business to be mine. Not something someone gave me.”
That told me more about Nora than everything else she had said.
I spent my life around people who wanted things handed to them.
Contracts.
Money.
Protection.
Influence.
Nora had been offered help and returned it because she wanted to know she could build something herself.
“What kind of bakery?”
Her eyes lit up.
And suddenly the frightened woman from the café disappeared.
She told me about sourdough croissants, laminated pastry, citrus tarts, chocolate entremets and something called kouign-amann that sounded like it required an engineering degree.
She wanted a small storefront with open windows and wooden tables.
Nothing luxurious.
Nothing designed for photographs.
Just somewhere that smelled like butter and coffee before sunrise.
“What’s it called?”
She went quiet.
“You have a name.”
“Maybe.”
“Nora.”
She sighed.
“Rose & Rye.”
I looked at her.
“For your grandmother.”
She nodded.
I liked it.
The car slowed outside Magnolia House.
Before my driver could open the door, Nora grabbed my wrist.
Her fingers were cold.
“Wait.”
I looked down at her hand.
She noticed and immediately released me.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She swallowed.
“I need one more thing.”
“What?”
“When my mother starts questioning us, don’t let me panic.”
Something in her voice wiped every joke from my mind.
“Does she scare you?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
I knew fear when I heard it.
Not physical fear.
Something older.
More complicated.
The fear of disappointing someone whose approval had once felt necessary for survival.
“I won’t let you panic,” I said.
Nora looked at me.
“How?”
I reached for her hand.
This time I did it deliberately.
I threaded my fingers through hers.
Her breathing stopped.
“If you forget what you came here to say, look at me.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“I’m a stranger.”
“For today, I’m your boyfriend.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“Then sell it better.”
A small smile appeared.
“That was almost encouraging.”
“I have limited experience.”
The door opened.
We stepped onto the sidewalk.
Through the windows of Magnolia House, I could already see a long dining table filled with people.
Then I saw a man standing near the entrance.
Thirty-two.
Blond.
Expensive navy suit.
Clean-cut face.
Confident smile.
Miles Harper.
He was watching Nora.
Actually, no.
He was watching our joined hands.
His smile disappeared.
Nora whispered beside me.
“Oh God.”
I squeezed her hand once.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Still want to run?”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
The front doors opened.
Miles stepped outside.
“Nora.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
Something changed in his expression.
Recognition.
He knew exactly who I was.
Interesting.
“Mr. Cole,” he said carefully.
Nora looked between us.
“You two know each other?”
I smiled.
“Apparently.”
May you like
Miles did not.
And for the first time since Nora had placed a thousand dollars beside my coffee, I began wondering whether she had accidentally walked me into something far more interesting than a fake relationship.
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