The Fake Boyfriend – Steamy Shorts Read Online Lena Little

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Lena Little Advertisement

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I gesture toward the living room. "Not at all."

As I measure coffee beans, I can't help overhearing snippets of her conversation.

"I know, Soph... I've tried everything..."

"No, I can't just hire someone, he'd see right through it..."

"I can't let the library go, I just can't..."

Something uncomfortable twists in my chest. I grip the counter edge, processing the feeling. She sounds desperate, broken.

My resolve solidifies: I'm making the right call.

She ends the call and returns, walls back up. I hand her the coffee, and our fingers brush. Ah, fuck. Here we go again. She pulls back—she notices the electricity when we touch. I noticed she noticed. Her gaze drops to my mouth for less than a second, then away.

My pulse jumps, and to avoid making things more awkward, I hold out the pastry bag. "Croissant or chocolate twist?"

"No way. From Sip O'Clock? How did you know I like it there?"

"I noticed. You ordered the same thing during our second meeting."

She takes the chocolate twist, doesn't comment further. Good thing she doesn't ask why I'm creepily noticing things I shouldn't, because honestly, I have no answer. I've been asking myself the same question.

We sit—Emmy on the sectional, me in the Eames chair. The physical distance is intentional. The farther I am, the better I can think.

The will remains on the coffee table between us.

"I've been thinking about your situation," I say.

Emmy tenses, her posture defensive.

"I have a solution. Unconventional, but logical." I pause. "I'll pose as your boyfriend."

For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, and I can almost see her debating whether she thinks I'm joking... or a psycho.

Then, Emmy puts down her coffee. Deliberately. She doesn't move but chuckles. "You can't be serious."

"I am serious."

"We hate each other, Adrian."

"We don't hate each other. We have different communication styles and worldviews."

"So we're incompatible. Great foundation for fake dating. Not!"

"On the contrary. Our antagonism makes the eventual relationship more believable. I believe enemies-to-lovers is a popular trope. But of course, you'd know that better than me."

She stares at me. "Did you just reference a romance trope?"

"I've done my research."

"Did you read any of my novels?"

"I tried, couldn't finish them."

"Harsh, but... thank you for that vote of confidence."

"It's just not for me, okay? I don't like fiction in general."

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You don't read my books, we have nothing in common, and we can't even talk without raising voices." She narrows her eyes. "Why would you want to help me?"

"In my defense, you're the only one who ever raises your voice." I take a deep breath and massage my temples, already feeling the start of a headache. I've prepared for this question. "I knew Violet well. I understand what she would consider an authentic relationship. I'm already professionally connected to your family. The arrangement benefits both of us."

"Both of us? What could you possibly get out of this?"

I meet her gaze steadily. "The firm is considering me for managing partner."

"And, so⁠—?"

"Judith Morrison thinks I'm too isolated, too focused on work. She believes I lack the interpersonal skills to manage people effectively."

Emmy snorts, "Shocking. She's not wrong, though."

I ignore that. "She's been encouraging me to develop a life outside the office. A serious relationship demonstrates work-life balance."

"So I'm just a box to check on your career advancement plan?"

"That's reductive."

"Is it? What's in it for you besides a promotion?"

I hesitate. This part is more difficult to articulate. "Also, Violet was important to me."

Something in Emmy's expression shifts.

"My mother died when I was twelve."

Her eyes soften. I didn't expect that. Then again, maybe I should have. Emmy seems to be the type of person who'll cry if a dog from the rescue center doesn't get adopted.

"Violet reminded me of my mom—warm, perceptive. She invited me to the estate three times before her death. We talked in the library, surrounded by books. She specifically asked me to look after you. She said, 'She needs someone who won't give up on her when she's stubborn.' I promised I would."

Emmy studies me. "You really cared about her."

"I did." I straighten, returning to business. "This solution honors her wishes and helps us both. It's logical."

Emmy still looks skeptical, and she squints at me. "What's the catch?"

While she asks this, we're looking at each other, no hostility for the first time. I notice her hazel eyes have gold flecks near the pupils.

A thought, sudden and unbidden, slides into my mind. What would those eyes look like if they darken with desire? Those lips, would they taste as sweet and pillowy soft as they look?

My jaw tightens. I shove the thoughts away. This is a business arrangement. I cannot afford to complicate it with attraction.

But my body isn't listening to logic, so I need to move and do something besides ogle this woman across from me. I stand.


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