Page 25 of The Wild Card

Demonstrating “believable affection” in public (hand-holding, standing in close proximity, laughing at Landlord’s jokes)

Maintaining the appearance of a “serious, committed relationship”

“The… the GIRLFRIEND CLAUSE?!” I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved, papers clutched in my hand. “Are you insane?”

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement—”

“MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL?!” My voice has gone up about three octaves. “This says I have to pretend to date you!”

“Only for work functions and select social obligations.”

“I didn’t—this can’t be—” I wave the papers at him like they’re on fire. “WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?”

“You signed it.”

“Because I didn’t think there’d be a secret fake dating clause buried in the middle!”

“It’s not secret.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “It’s on page fifteen. Clearly outlined.”

“WHO PUTS THAT IN A ROOMMATE AGREEMENT?!”

Crew just shrugs. “Someone who needs a fake girlfriend.”

I stare at him, bewildered and breathing hard. Then it clicks.

“The rent.” I let out a strangled laugh. “You lowered the rent. I thought you were being nice, but you—” I jab a finger at him. “You were buttering me up. Like I’m a brisket.”

“I wouldn’t say buttering—”

“Oh my God. Oh my God.”

The silence stretches between us, broken only by Murphy meowing from somewhere in the living room, completely unbothered by the chaos unfolding in the kitchen.

“Are you serious right now?” I finally manage.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I need a minute.” I hold up a hand when he opens his mouth to speak. “No. Shh. I need to process.”

He starts to say something anyway, and I do the only thing I can think of—I grab a cookie from the cooling rack and shove it in his mouth.

He blinks at me, a cookie sticking out from between his lips, looking so startled that I almost laugh despite my fury.

“Chew,” I instruct. “Quietly. While I figure out whether to kill you or hear you out.”

He chews—quietly.

I take a breath. Then another. My heart is pounding, and my brain is spinning. I can’t believe I signed a contract agreeing to be some stranger’s fake girlfriend without even reading it.

Actually, no. I absolutely can believe it. It’s exactly the kind of impulsive, skim-the-fine-print mistake I would make.

Gavin is going to have a field day with this.

“Okay.” I pull out a chair and sit down heavily. “Explain. From the beginning. Why do you need a fake girlfriend badly enough to put it in a legally binding document?”

Crew swallows the last of his cookie and leans against the counter, arms crossed. For a long moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer.

Then he sighs, and something in his posture shifts—softens, just slightly. “My boss wants to transfer me to Alaska.”