Millionaire Needed a Fake Fiancée for One Night. Never Thought He’d Wish It Were Real Forever
The Counter Offer
“I need a fiance tonight. Can you pull that off, or should I ask someone else?”
Weston Adler stood in front of her, six-foot-something and dressed like he walked out of a GQ cover shoot. His tone: fast, clipped, and way too confident. Marin Dorsey blinked, unsure if she’d heard right.
One second she was scraping whipped cream off a cafe counter during the worst double shift of her week. Now, this man, this absolute stranger, was standing in front of her like he just ordered a fake engagement off the menu.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” she asked, frozen with a half-cleaned mug in her hand.
Weston’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall behind her.
“I’ve got a black-tie gala in three hours. My ex is going to be there and, unfortunately, so is a very wealthy investor who’s only interested in doing business with family men.”
“I need to show up with a fiance—someone smart, charming, and believable.”
“And you picked me because…?”
“You dumped coffee on me last week, then told off a banker with a Rolex and zero personality. You’re quick, and you don’t seem like the type who’s easily intimidated.”
Marin’s stomach flipped.
“You’re serious?”
“I’ll pay you $10,000 for one night. Just pretend we’re together; I’ll handle the rest.”
She stared at him: sharp jaw, dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, and blue eyes that didn’t waver. He looked like a man used to getting what he wanted, not by demand, but because people couldn’t find a reason to say no.
Still, she hesitated.
“This sounds like a terrible idea.”
“I agree,” he said, pulling a sleek black card from his wallet and sliding it across the counter. “But I’m out of options. 10,000, and I’ll throw an address.”
Marin looked at the card, then back at him. Her rent was overdue. Her car was one weird noise away from breaking down.
Maybe this was insane, but the way he looked at her made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could pull this off.
“One night?” she asked.
“One night. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“Fine,” she said, tossing the mug in the sink. “Just don’t expect me to fall in love with you or anything.”
Weston’s eyes softened just for a second.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Three hours later, Marin stood in front of a mirror at the Ritz-Carlton. She wore a floor-length black gown that probably cost more than her apartment. It hugged her curves like it had been made for her, which Weston casually mentioned it had.
He’d sent his personal stylist and a tailor the second she agreed. She turned as he walked out of the adjoining room, adjusting his cufflinks. He stopped when he saw her.
“Wow,” he said, his voice lower.
Marin crossed her arms.
“You’re not going to start with cheesy lines, are you?”
“No,” he said, still staring. “I just didn’t expect you to look like that.”
“Like what? Like someone I’d actually want to marry?”
Heat crawled up her neck, but she rolled her eyes.
“You really commit to the role, huh?”
He studied her for a moment, then offered his arm.
“Let’s go convince the world we’re madly in love.”
The gala was held in a massive ballroom lined with gold-trimmed walls and crystal chandeliers. Soft violin music floated through the air. Guests in designer gowns and tuxedos sipped champagne from flutes that sparkled like diamonds.
Marin leaned into Weston as they entered, her hand resting gently on his arm. He smiled, whispered, “You’re doing great,” and introduced her to a blur of important people with last names that sounded like luxury brands.
She played her part. She laughed at his stories, touched his arm at the right moments, and leaned in like she knew every inch of him. Somehow, it felt easy.
Then came the ex: tall, blonde, and dressed like a walking ad for old money. She sidled up with a fake smile.
“Weston, didn’t expect to see you here so soon—and with someone new.”
Weston’s jaw tensed.
“Hi, I’m Marin, his fiance.”
The woman blinked. “Fiance?”
“Yes,” Weston said smoothly, pulling Marin closer. “We’re getting married in the fall. It happened fast.”
The ex’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting. I always thought you weren’t the marrying type.”
“Guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought,” Marin said, her voice calm but sharp.
The woman stalked off. Weston turned to Marin, stunned.
“You’re better at this than I expected.”
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she said, a little breathless from the rush.
