THE VALENTINE PROPOSAL

LIORA

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. I woke up to the sound of notifications going off like fireworks. One after another after another. I grabbed it from the nightstand and squinted at the screen.

Four hundred and seventy two I*******m notifications.

My stomach dropped.

I opened the app. The first thing I saw was a photo of me and Everett leaving his parents' house last night. Someone had taken it from across the street. My makeup was smudged from crying. Everett's hand was on my back. We looked like we were running away.

The caption read: Billionaire's Mystery Fiancée: Gold Digger or True Love?

I scrolled through the comments. My hands started shaking.

She's so pretty! This is like a real life Cinderella story!

Are you kidding? She proposed to him after catching her boyfriend cheating. Total gold digger move.

I'd do the same thing if I had the chance lol

She doesn't even look like she belongs in his world. This won't last.

Someone had posted side by side photos of me and Diella. The comparison was brutal. Diella looked perfect in every shot. Designer clothes, professional makeup, confident smile. I looked like I'd borrowed someone else's life.

My phone buzzed with a text. Flynn.

You're making a mistake. Call me.

I threw my phone across the bed. I couldn't deal with this right now. I couldn't deal with any of this.

There was a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said. My voice sounded hollow.

Margaret walked in. She wasn't alone. Three people followed her. A woman with a camera. A man with a tablet. Another woman with a rolling rack of clothes.

"Good morning, Miss Jovan," Margaret said. "Mr. Montague has asked me to prepare you for the media attention."

I pulled the blanket up to my chin. "What?"

"The story has gone viral. We need to control the narrative before it controls you." Margaret gestured to the others. "This is Simone, our publicist. Marcus handles social media. And Claire is our stylist."

Not the Claire. A different Claire. I needed to stop being paranoid.

"I don't understand," I said.

Simone stepped forward. She had sharp eyes that reminded me of a hawk. "The public is very interested in you, Liora. We need to give them a version of you that supports the love story. Right now you're just a blank space they're filling with their own assumptions."

"So we're going to analyze your current social media presence," Marcus said. He was already scrolling through something on his tablet. "Then we'll create a strategy for what you post, when you post, and how you engage."

"We'll also update your wardrobe," Claire added. She looked at my pajamas like they were covered in dirt. "You're going to be photographed everywhere you go now. We need to make sure you always look the part."

I felt sick. "You want to turn me into a different person."

"We want to turn you into the best version of yourself," Simone corrected. "Think of it as packaging. The product is already good. We're just making sure people see that."

Margaret's expression softened just a little. "Mr. Montague wants you to feel prepared. Not ambushed."

I nodded slowly. What choice did I have?

They spent the next two hours taking photos of me, going through my Instagram, picking apart every outfit I owned. Simone told me to delete half my posts. Marcus created a content calendar. Claire measured me for new clothes.

By the time they left, I felt like I'd been put through a machine and spit out the other side.

I was still sitting on my bed staring at nothing when Everett knocked.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure."

He walked in and sat on the edge of my bed. He was already dressed for work. Suit, tie, perfect hair. He looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"Your team just spent two hours turning me into a product." I picked at the blanket. "So that's fun."

"I'm sorry. I should have warned you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The media attention is only going to get worse. I wanted you to have support."

"I feel like I'm disappearing," I said quietly. "Like I'm becoming whoever you need me to be instead of just being me."

Everett was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I have a proposition."

"Another one?"

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "I want to offer you a job. A real job. Not as my assistant. As the head of marketing for our new consumer division."

I stared at him. "What?"

"I've seen your work. The campaigns Flynn stole. You're talented, Liora. Really talented." He pulled out his phone and showed me something. "This is the pitch Flynn presented six months ago for our smart home launch. And this is your original deck that I found in the archives."

I looked at the screens. My throat got tight. Flynn had taken my entire concept. He'd just polished it and removed all the parts that made it special.

"You have a gift for emotional storytelling," Everett said. "For making people feel something about products they didn't know they needed. I want that for Montague Tech."

"This is pity," I said. "You're giving me a job because you feel bad."

"This is business." His gray eyes met mine. "Prove me right or prove me wrong. I'm betting you'll prove me right."

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him I didn't need his charity. But the truth was I did need this. I needed to prove I was more than just the girl who proposed in a lobby.

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it."

"Good. You start Monday."

That was three days away. Three days to prepare for walking into Montague Tech as Everett's fiancée and his new marketing director.

I was going to throw up.

Monday morning came too fast. I wore one of the outfits Claire had picked out. A navy blue dress that was professional but not boring. Heels that made me two inches taller. Makeup that took me forty minutes to do.

I looked like I belonged. I felt like a fraud.

The car dropped me off at the front entrance. I walked through the lobby where I'd proposed to Everett just weeks ago. People stared. Some smiled. Others whispered.

I kept my head up and walked to the elevator.

The fifteenth floor looked different now. I wasn't visiting Flynn anymore. I was walking to my own office. My own team. My own job that I hadn't earned yet.

Margaret met me at the elevator. "Your office is this way."

She led me down a hallway. The office had glass walls and a view of the city. There was a desk, a computer, a coffee maker. My name was already on the door.

Liora Jovan, Director of Consumer Marketing.

"Your team is waiting in the conference room," Margaret said. "Good luck."

I walked to the conference room. Six people sat around the table. They all looked up when I entered.

"Good morning," I said. My voice only shook a little. "I'm Liora Jovan. I'm excited to work with all of you."

A man in his forties leaned back in his chair. He had gray hair and a look on his face that said he'd already decided he didn't like me.

"Derek Harris," he said. "I've been in marketing for fifteen years. Just so we're clear, I'm only here because HR said I had to be. I don't report to people who sleep their way to the top."

The room went silent.

My face got hot. "I didn't sleep my way anywhere."

"Sure." Derek's smile was mean. "You just happened to propose to the CEO and coincidentally got promoted to director. That's totally normal."

"I got this job because I'm good at what I do," I said. My hands were shaking so I put them in my lap. "And I'm going to prove that to all of you."

"Looking forward to it," Derek said. He didn't sound like he meant it.

The rest of the meeting was terrible. I tried to introduce myself and my vision for the department. Derek interrupted me three times. The others just looked uncomfortable.

By the time it ended I wanted to hide in my office and never come out.

But I had work to do. Everett's new product launch was in six weeks. The previous marketing campaign had been safe and boring. I needed to pitch something better.

I spent the whole day building a presentation. I researched emotional marketing, user generated content, viral campaigns. I found case studies and data to back up my ideas.

By five o'clock I was ready. I called a team meeting.