Chapter 6 Get a grip

MIA

The glass door of my boss’s office clicked shut behind me, and I let out a long, ragged breath. My legs were absolutely killing me. I had been standing in heels for three straight hours delivering the quarterly audit presentation, and my feet felt like they were on fire.

As I trudged back toward my cubicle, rubbing the back of my neck, I passed the intern's desk.

Before I could even look up from my dual monitors, Chloe, our department’s usually quiet summer intern, practically bounced into my cubicle. She was clutching a large, heavy box wrapped in flawless, matte-black paper and tied with a thick, crimson silk ribbon. It looked entirely too expensive to exist within a fifty-mile radius of a standard corporate tax firm.

"Mia! Oh my god," Chloe squeaked, her eyes wide with a level of excitement usually reserved for a promotion. She carefully set the box right over my open ledger. "This just arrived downstairs via a private courier. The guy was wearing a literal suit, Mia! Who is it from? Is it a secret admirer?"

I stared at the pristine black box, my fingers freezing over my keyboard. This is weird. For a self-proclaimed finance nerd whose social calendar usually consisted of reading financial forecasts and ordering takeout alone, a mysterious, luxury delivery at my workplace was practically a glitch in the matrix.

"I... I have no idea," I stammered, pulling the box closer. There was no card. Just my name, Mia Whitney, written in elegant, silver calligraphy on the top.

"Well, open it! Don't keep me in suspense," Chloe urged, leaning over the partition with her chin in her hands.

"I'll open it in a bit, Chloe. I just need to finish formatting this Q3 report before I hand it off to you," I offered a tight, polite smile, trying to gently nudge her back to her own desk. Once she finally retreated, whispering something about 'secret boyfriends' to the receptionist, I let out a long breath.

I pulled out my phone. My heart did a stupid, uninvited flutter against my ribs as I scrolled to the restricted number I had saved earlier. I hit dial.

It rang exactly once.

"Missing me already, sweetheart?"

Damien’s deep, gravelly baritone vibrated through the speaker, so smooth and commanding that I instinctively looked around my cubicle to make sure no one could hear him.

"Did you just send a massive, highly conspicuous black box to my office?" I whispered aggressively, leaning forward over my desk.

A low, amused chuckle echoed over the line, sending an unexpected shiver straight down my spine.

"A black box? Oh, Miss Mia... are you two-timing me?" Damien teased, his tone dripping with a dangerous, playful charm that made my face instantly burn. "Do you have another boyfriend I need to deal with? Because I don't like sharing."

"Damien," I warned, though the heat in my cheeks was betraying me.

"Of course it's from me," he murmured, the teasing edge softening into something more calculated. "Open it. It’s a dress."

The blush on my face deepened.

*Get a grip, Mia, I scolded myself silently. It’s a script. He’s an actor. This is just a transaction.

"Thank you for the dress Mr. Grey," I said, my voice dropping its flustered edge and settling back into a practical, professional tone. "But we really need to keep things low-profile at my office. I just spent the last three hours obtaining my sudden leave from my boss and delegating a month's worth of financial reports to the interns. I can't afford any distractions."

"A month's leave? Impressive. I suppose you're ready to commit to the role, then," Damien murmured. There was a brief pause on the line, the sound of papers rustling shifting into a low, deliberate hum. "But tell me something, Miss Whitney. Of all the names you could have blurted out to your friend Elena, why mine? Why didn't you just pick some random workplace guy from your office to pretend to be your boyfriend? Why me?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around my pen as my safe, boring accounting logic scrambled for an answer. I couldn't exactly tell him that in a moment of pure, blinding panic.

Trying to wave off the question not ready to answer that,I said "To show my gratitude for you pretending to be my boyfriend, I promise I'll buy you a massive, incredibly expensive wedding present when you finally decide to settle down and get married for real."

The moment the word married left my mouth, the entire atmosphere over the phone shifted. The playful, charming billionaire vanished instantly, replaced by a voice so cold and clipped it felt like winter cutting through the line.

"There will be no need for that," Damien said flatly.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden drop in temperature. "Oh?"

"I am never getting married, Mia. Ever." The absolute finality in his gravelly baritone left no room for argument. It wasn't just a casual statement; it sounded like an ironclad vow written in blood.

"Oh," I whispered, my heart doing a strange, unexpected little dip. "I... okay. Understood."

Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, Damien cleared his throat, seamlessly shifting back into his commanding, authoritative CEO persona.

"Now, onto the logistics," he continued, completely brushing past his sudden mood swing. "A private driver is already on his way to your office building. You need to pack up your desk. We have a lot of ground to cover before we fly out, and if we are going to convince the media—and your text-happy friend—that we are deeply in love, we need to completely overhaul your wardrobe."

My jaw dropped slightly. "Wait, right now? Damien, I can't just walk out in the middle of the work day. I still have to finalize a few hand-off notes with my boss, Sebastian, and—"

"Sebastian has already been taken care of," Damien interrupted smoothly. "I called him ten minutes ago and told him I was borrowing his favorite auditor for the afternoon. He cleared your schedule for the rest of the day."

I froze, completely stunned. "You... you know Sebastian? Our managing partner?"

"We are well acquainted," Damien murmured, a faint trace of amusement returning to his voice. "He was more than happy to do me a favor. So, clear your desk, Mia. My driver will be waiting at the curb in exactly fifteen minutes."

"And what about you?" I asked, my heart beginning to race as the reality of the situation fully set in. "Are you meeting us at the shops?"

"Not yet," Damien said, the low hum of background noise on his end indicating he was moving. "I'm currently on set wrapping up a shoot. The director is just setting up the lighting for my final kissing scene. Once we get the take and I wrap for the day, I'll let you know exactly where to meet me."

A kissing scene.

The image of Damien—with his sharp jawline, tattoos, and devastating intensity—leaning in to kiss some gorgeous, A-list actress flashed vividly behind my eyelids. A sudden, bizarre knot tightened in my stomach, but I quickly forced it down.

"Right. Your scene," I said, keeping my voice entirely unbothered. "Don't let me keep you from your work, Mr. Grey."

"Get moving, sweetheart," Damien murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made my b

reath catch. "The clock is ticking, and we have a wedding to ruin."

The line went dead.