Page 19 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"And what do I get besides your legal expertise?" I kept my voice businesslike, analytical, even though my heart was pounding. This was the boy I'd had a crush on at fourteen, asking me to fake date him. The irony would have been funny if it weren't so absurd.

"Protection," Ethan said simply. "A fighting chance. Someone in your corner who knows how these corporate vultures operate, who can warn you about strategies before they're deployed, who has access to information you'd never see coming." He paused. "And someone who will make sure that even if I fail to stop the investment group entirely, your bakery is protected. Legalprotections, financial safeguards, everything you need to survive whatever comes next."

I studied him, trying to separate the fourteen-year-old's fantasy from the thirty-four-year-old's reality.

"Rules," I said finally, my voice firm. "No real feelings. Strictly business. We're clear about the boundaries from the start."

"Agreed." He said it immediately, and I ignored the small twist of... something... in my chest. Disappointment? Relief? I couldn't tell.

"This is purely strategic. You get community acceptance; I get legal protection. When your work here is done, we end things quietly and go back to our separate lives."

"Understood."

"And if at any point I think you're using this arrangement to manipulate me or gather information for your investment group, the deal's off and I will destroy your reputation on this island so thoroughly you'll never be able to show your face here again."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face—the first genuine expression I'd seen from him. "That's fair."

I uncrossed my arms and extended my hand, keeping the gesture professional, businesslike. "One week. Maybe two. Then we're done and you leave Lopez Island."

Ethan looked at my outstretched hand for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and took it, his grip warm and firm.

"Deal," he said.

His hand was larger than mine, his palm slightly rough despite the expensive suit—like he'd done physical work at some point in his life. The handshake lasted a second longer than strictly professional, and I felt... something. An echo of the teenage flutter combined with my current strategic assessment.

This was dangerous. Not because I might fall for him, I was too smart for that now, too experienced, too aware of the risks.But because fake dating the enemy meant spending time with him, letting him see my vulnerabilities, potentially giving him ammunition to use against me.

But it also meant getting inside his operation. Learning his strategies. Using him as much as he was using me.

I could do this. I'd survived brutal restaurant kitchens, demanding chefs, the pressure of Canlis's Michelin-level expectations. I could certainly handle a fake relationship with a corporate lawyer for a week or two.

It was just business. Strategy. Nothing more.

I released his hand and stepped back, creating professional distance again. "So, how do we start? I assume you have a plan for how to make this look believable?"

"We should be seen together publicly. Tomorrow, maybe. The farmers market? It's Saturday, the whole island will be there."

"Fine. I'll meet you there at 10 AM. I have to work the morning rush at the bakery first."

"Of course." He turned toward the door, then paused. "Maya? Thank you. For taking a chance on this. I know you have no reason to trust me."

"I don't trust you," I said bluntly. "But I trust that we both want something from this arrangement. That's enough."

Something flickered in his expression—hurt, maybe, or resignation. But he just nodded and walked toward the door.

"Ethan?" I called after him.

He turned back.

"Just so we're clear—this is fake. I'm not that fourteen-year-old girl with a crush anymore. I'm a business owner protecting my interests. Don't confuse the two."

His eyes widened slightly—surprise that I'd mentioned the crush, that I'd remembered, that I was acknowledging it existed.

"Understood," he said quietly. "For what it's worth, I barely remember you from back then. You were just... background.The baker's granddaughter. I was too wrapped up in my own problems to notice much of anything."

The words shouldn't have stung. I'd known he didn't remember me, didn't remember the hours I'd spent watching him work. That he didn’t know about the elaborate fantasies of him I’d built back then.

But somehow, hearing him confirm it—hearing that I'd been so completely invisible to him that I was just "background"—hit harder than I expected.