All Chapters of Fake Dating My Ex’s CEO : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Sunday was supposed to be mine.Coffee, a book I’d been trying to finish for three weeks, the particular quality of morning light that came through my kitchen window between nine and ten before the building opposite blocked it. No events. No visitor passes. No performing warmth for rooms full of people I’d never see again.I had forty minutes of that before Ryan texted.“Can we talk? Please.”I looked at it. Put my phone face down. Picked it up again thirty seconds later because I was apparently not going to be able to leave it alone.Three days since the company event. Three days since I’d watched him across the room with her, his shoulders carrying that particular tautness. I’d told myself I didn’t want to know what happened after we left. I’d mostly believed it.I typed back: “I have an hour.”He suggested the coffee shop two blocks from my apartment, which was deliberate, neutral territory that was also slightly my territory, and I noted the calculation and went anyway because I w

Two days later.I was at my desk eating lunch I hadn’t tasted when my phone started moving.Not one notification. Not two. The sustained, relentless vibration of a device receiving more messages than it had been designed to process gracefully. I picked it up and looked at the screen and felt the floor do something it shouldn’t.The tabloid piece had gone live forty minutes ago. I’d missed it because I’d been in a meeting, and forty minutes on the internet was apparently enough time for a story to travel from a gossip column to my colleagues’ group chat to my mother’s WhatsApp.“Cole Industries CEO’s Mystery Woman.” Full page. A photograph I didn’t remember being taken, Adrian and me outside the stakeholder event three weeks ago, his hand at the small of my back, both of us mid-conversation, looking for all the world like two people entirely at ease in each other’s company. It was a good photograph. Whoever had taken it knew what they were doing.The piece wasn’t malicious. That was al

~ Venessa POV ~The last shot of the day was a close-up.Just my face, the director had said, filling the frame, nothing else competing for attention. He wanted raw. He kept using that word, raw, like it was a direction rather than a quality, like you could arrive at something true by being told to. I’d smiled at him in the way I smiled at directors who confused instruction with insight, warmly and without meaning it, and then I’d given him what he wanted because I always gave them what they wanted and it always looked effortless and that was the whole of the work.We wrapped at four.I was in the car to the airport by five, Paris still grey outside the window, the shoot’s last location receding in the wing mirror. Claudia was on the phone beside me running through the schedule for the next two weeks, New York appearances, a magazine sitting, the premiere that had been pushed twice and was now, apparently, immovable.I was listening with the part of my attention that handled logistics

~ Lena POV ~The meeting was on the calendar for nine.Preparation review, Priya’s email said. Upcoming appearances, revised media strategy following the tabloid piece, alignment on messaging for the next six weeks. Forty-five minutes, Adrian’s office, coffee provided.I arrived at exactly nine. Not early, the way I usually arrived to things I was nervous about. Exactly on time, because I’d decided in the lift that I was not going to be nervous about a scheduled meeting with a man I had a contract with, and arriving early would have been a tell.Priya showed me in. The office was the same as always, clean and uncluttered and faintly expensive in the way of things that didn’t need to be announced. Adrian was at his desk. He looked up when I entered and said, “Lena,” and stood, which he always did, and gestured to the chairs arranged at the low table by the window.That was the moment I noticed it.Not anything I could name precisely. A slight compression in the quality of his attention

I left the office at seven.Not because the work was done. The work was never done. I left because Vanessa had sent a second message at six forty-five, just my name with a question mark, which was her way of asking without asking, and I’d looked at it and closed my laptop and told Priya I was done for the evening.The car took twelve minutes. I spent them looking at my phone without using it, the city moving past the window in its evening mode, all lit glass and slow traffic and the particular energy of a Tuesday that had decided to become a night.She’d left the door unlocked.I let myself in and the apartment smelled different from this morning, something cooking, which was unusual enough that I stopped in the entrance hall for a moment. Vanessa cooked approximately four times a year and always made it clear she considered it an event rather than a habit. The smell was garlic and something else, warm and specific, and I followed it to the kitchen doorway and stood there.She was at