The conference hall glittered with polished glass and too many smiles.

Ava stood backstage, adjusting the hem of her blazer for the tenth time. The company’s logo shimmered behind her like an accusation. Everything smelled like perfume, stage lights, and expectations.  

“This is a disaster,” she whispered.

Chloe, who had somehow convinced HR to give her a press badge, leaned in. “Relax. You look like confidence personified.”  

“I look like a person about to have a nervous breakdown.”  

“Same thing. Just add mascara.”  

A stage manager rushed by. “Two minutes!”  

Ava exhaled. She’d handled clients, investors, entire rebranding crises—but this was different. This time, she was part of the story. And her co-star was late.  

Again.

Evan appeared with the kind of timing that was either cinematic or suicidal.  

“Morning,” he said, voice easy. “Miss me?”  

“Not even slightly.”  

“You sure? Because your PR manager just hugged me.”  

“She hugs lawsuits too.”  

He smirked. “You’re tense.”  

“You’re late.”  

“Tomato, tomahto.”  

She groaned. “Just remember, we’re here to represent professionalism.”  

“Sure. You be the professional; I’ll be the illusion.”  

She was about to argue when the stage lights brightened, and the announcer’s voice echoed through the hall. “Please welcome our brand ambassadors—Ava Mitchell and Evan Brooks!”

“Kill me now,” she muttered.  

He grinned. “After the photo op.”

The applause was louder than she expected. Flashes from cameras burst like fireworks. Evan walked beside her, easy and unbothered, while she tried not to look like she was counting down the seconds until freedom.

They sat on the stage’s sleek chairs as reporters fired questions.  

“Ms. Mitchell, how has this collaboration changed your outlook on marketing?”  

“Mr. Brooks, how would you describe your relationship with Ms. Mitchell?”  

Ava smiled the way professionals smile—polished, polite, hollow.  

“It’s been an interesting experience,” she said.  

Evan leaned toward the microphone. “Eye-opening. She’s taught me about structure; I’ve taught her about chaos. We’re very educational together.”  

Laughter rippled through the room.  

Ava shot him a glare that could melt steel.  

He grinned wider. “See? Balance.”  

Halfway through the Q&A, a reporter asked, “So, is it true that the chemistry between you two is the secret behind the campaign’s success?”  

Ava froze.  

Evan didn’t.

He tilted his head, smiled that maddening smile, and said, “She makes it easy.”  

The room laughed again, flashes popping like confetti.  

Ava’s pulse spiked. She turned toward him, whispering through clenched teeth. “What are you doing?”  

“Being honest,” he murmured.  

“Stop it.”  

“Can’t. It’s working.”

Her chest tightened, part fury, part something else she refused to name.  

After the panel ended, the organizers ushered them toward a photo wall. The cameras waited like predators.

Evan leaned close. “Ready for round two?”  

“Don’t push me.”  

“Too late.”  

He slipped his arm around her waist just as the first flash went off.  

“Smile,” someone called.  

“I’m smiling,” she hissed.  

“Then maybe mean it.”  

She turned to glare at him, but he was already looking at her—not the cameras, not the crowd, just her. The sincerity in his expression threw her completely off script.  

And that was the shot the photographers loved most.

When it was finally over, she escaped to the backstage corridor, heels clicking against marble. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. She pressed her hand to her chest and counted breaths.  

Evan appeared a moment later, still too calm.  

“Hey.”  

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.”  

“You did great.”  

“I almost strangled you on stage.”  

“But you didn’t. Progress.”  

She shot him a look. “You had no right to say that.”  

“Say what? That you make it easy?”  

“Yes!”  

He raised a brow. “Because it’s true?”  

“Because it’s manipulative.”  

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”  

“For what?”  

“For making your fake romance more believable.”  

She groaned. “You’re impossible.”  

“Maybe. But you didn’t walk away.”  

“I’m seriously reconsidering.”  

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Are you?”  

Before she could answer, Chloe burst in. “You two were *amazing*! Twitter’s on fire, the press is drooling, and my mom texted to say she ships you.”  

Ava covered her face. “I want to disappear.”  

Evan smiled. “You heard the woman—success.”  

Chloe grinned. “Oh, it’s beyond success. You just set the internet on fire again.”  

“Great,” Ava muttered. “Exactly what I wanted.”  

They left the building through the back entrance to avoid the crowd. Outside, the evening air was thick with summer heat and camera flashes from the street. A small group of fans waited near the barricades.

“Wave,” Evan said quietly.  

“I’m not waving.”  

“Then I’ll wave for both of us.”  

“Evan—”  

Too late. He lifted her hand and waved it himself. The crowd erupted.  

“You’re insane,” she hissed.  

“Statistically accurate.”  

She couldn’t help it—she laughed.  

He looked down at her, pleased. “There it is.”  

“There what is?”  

“The smile that ruins me.”  

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been. She froze.  

He quickly looked away. “Sorry. That was… unfiltered.”  

“No kidding.”  

For a moment, neither spoke. The noise of the city filled the silence they couldn’t.  

Then he said softly, “Good job today, partner.”  

She stared at him, unsure whether to punch him or thank him.  

In the end, she did neither.

Later that night, Ava sat on her balcony, shoes discarded, hair undone, the city lights flickering below. Her phone buzzed with headlines: *“The Couple Everyone’s Talking About.”* *“Chemistry You Can’t Fake.”*

She didn’t open them.

Instead, she texted Chloe: *If I disappear, tell HR it was an accident.*  

Chloe replied instantly: *He’s growing on you.*  

Ava typed back: *He’s an infection.*  

Chloe: *Exactly.*  

Ava laughed despite herself. Then she glanced at the sky and whispered, “Rule number four—no surprises.”  

And yet, he kept finding ways to surprise her.