Fake Marriage To The Undercover Boss

Emaline stared at the white fabric. She did not take it.

"Were you eavesdropping?" she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Cullen dropped his hand, letting the handkerchief fall back into his pocket. He shrugged.

"It was hard not to hear him," Cullen said. "The man projects like he is trying to be heard in the next state. He has the subtlety of a foghorn."

Emaline tightened her grip on her purse. She turned her body away from him, her boots scraping against the concrete. She did not have the energy for a stranger's games.

"Wait," Cullen said. He took a step to follow her. "Let me buy you a drink. Consider it compensation for the free entertainment."

Emaline stopped. She whipped her head back to look at him.

"I do not need your compensation," she snapped. "And I definitely do not need your pity."

Cullen held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. The streetlights caught the expensive glint of his watch.

"No pity," Cullen said. His tone was smooth, almost hypnotic. "Just a shared misery. My date was a disaster too. Tiffany spent forty-five minutes asking roundabout questions to figure out my net worth."

Emaline studied his face. The exhaustion in his eyes looked real. The tension in her shoulders dropped a fraction.

"Congratulations," Emaline said flatly. "We are both losers tonight."

The playful smirk vanished from Cullen's face. His dark eyes locked onto hers, suddenly intense and calculating.

"What if I told you I have a way for both of us to stop losing?" he asked.

Emaline frowned. Her brow furrowed.

Cullen closed the distance between them. He lowered his voice, forcing her to lean in slightly to hear him over the wind.

"A marriage," Cullen said. "You and me. Strictly business. We both get what we need."

Emaline's jaw dropped. The air left her lungs.

"Are you insane?" she breathed out. "We met five minutes ago."

Cullen did not blink. "I have my reasons. I need a marriage certificate to satisfy some family trust clauses. And you need money to pay those hospital bills."

A cold sweat broke out on the back of Emaline's neck.

Her hand flew to her coat pocket, covering the phone hidden inside. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"How do you know about that?" she demanded, taking a step back. "Did you read my phone?"

Cullen stayed perfectly still. "I saw the notification light up on your phone screen when you were hunched over outside the restaurant. It is none of my business, but you looked like you needed help. I am a project manager. I make a stable income. I have no bad habits. We sign a prenuptial agreement. You get your bills paid, and I get my family off my back."

Emaline's mind spun. The pavement felt like it was tilting beneath her feet.

The proposal was madness. It was dangerous. But the image of her father's pale face in the hospital bed flashed behind her eyes.

"This is ridiculous," Emaline said, shaking her head. "Why would I ever trust you?"

Cullen reached into the inner pocket of his coat. He pulled out a crisp, white business card and extended it to her.

"My contact information," Cullen said. "I am not forcing you. But if you change your mind, call me."

Emaline hesitated. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and took the card.

It was thick cardstock. It just said 'Cullen Preston' and a phone number. No company name. No title.

Before she could say another word, her phone vibrated violently in her pocket.

She pulled it out. The screen showed an incoming video call from her younger brother, Leo.

Emaline swiped to answer.

Leo's face appeared on the screen. He was frantic. His hands moved in rapid sign language, a blur of panicked motion.

The mechanical voice of the translation app echoed from the phone speaker. "Emaline. Dad discharged himself. He will not stay at the hospital."

All the blood drained from Emaline's face. Her stomach plummeted into a bottomless pit.

"What?" Emaline gasped, her voice cracking. "Where is he?"

Leo signed faster. The app translated: "He is home. He looks awful. He is coughing. He threw his pills in the trash."

The world tilted violently. Emaline could not breathe. The edges of her vision went black.

"I am coming right now," Emaline shouted at the screen. "Do not let him move!"

She ended the call. Her fingers fumbled as she opened a ride-sharing app. The screen spun with a loading circle. No cars available. She looked up at the street. The Manhattan traffic was a solid wall of red taillights, but not a single empty yellow cab was in sight.

A wave of pure terror crashed over her.

"Get in," Cullen's voice cut through her panic.

Emaline looked up. Cullen was standing by the open rear door of a clean but unremarkable dark sedan that had just pulled up to the corner.

She looked at the ordinary vehicle. She looked at the stranger holding the door. Her instincts screamed at her to run away.

But her father was dying in their living room.

Emaline clenched her jaw. She gripped the business card so hard the edges dug into her palm.

She walked past Cullen and slid into the back seat of the sedan.