Single Mom Sat Alone at a Wedding — The CEO Whispered: “Pretend I’m Your Husband Tonight”
Professional Redemption and Mountain Secrets
What neither of them could have known was how a single night of pretend would unravel secrets both had kept buried for years. These secrets would either tear them apart or bind them together forever.
Rebecca’s evening transformed with startling speed. Within an hour of Jackson’s whispered proposition, she found herself swept into a dizzying performance as his supposed wife.
The pretense evolved into something more complex with each passing minute. Jackson played his role with effortless charm, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back as he guided her through conversations.
He introduced her to New York’s elite as the brilliant editor who keeps Meridian’s bestseller list stacked. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” she murmured as they swayed on the dance floor.
She was careful to maintain a respectable distance despite his hand warm against her waist. “At dancing?”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “At pretending.”
She studied his face, searching for cracks in the facade. “Most CEOs I’ve met couldn’t act their way out of a paper bag.”
Jackson spun her gently, bringing her back a fraction closer than before. “Who says I’m pretending?”
The question hung between them, loaded with implications Rebecca didn’t dare examine. She changed the subject.
“Your toast was beautiful. I didn’t realize you and Thomas were so close.”
Something flickered in Jackson’s expression—a shadow of an emotion she couldn’t name. “We were once. Time and circumstances have a way of creating distance even between old friends.”
“What changed?” He hesitated.
“Success changes relationships. People expect things from you or they assume you’ve changed when you haven’t.”
His voice lowered. “That’s why this is refreshing. You don’t treat me like I’m made of money.”
Rebecca laughed softly. “That’s because I’ve seen you spill coffee all over yourself when the elevator jerked between floors last Christmas.”
His surprised laugh resonated through her. “You remember that?”
“Hard to forget the CEO of Meridian Publishing cursing like a sailor while wearing a reindeer tie.” Jackson’s smile softened into something genuine.
“See? That’s exactly what I mean.”
As the dance ended, Rebecca caught sight of Penny yawning widely by the dessert table. “I should get her to bed. It’s well past her bedtime.”
Jackson nodded discreetly, passing her a key card. “Suite 12:17. Take your time; I’ll make excuses if anyone asks.”
“Thank you,” she said. The words were inadequate for the strange kindness he’d shown her and Penny throughout the evening.
Settling an exhausted Penny in one of the suite’s two bedrooms took 30 minutes. Rebecca stood in the opulent living area of Jackson’s hotel accommodation, feeling desperately out of place.
The suite was larger than her entire Brooklyn apartment. It featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline.
She kicked off her heels and padded to the window. She pressed her palm against the cool glass as she tried to process the bizarre turn her evening had taken.
A soft knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find Jackson, his bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said, standing in the hallway rather than entering. “I forgot my overnight bag.”
“Oh, of course.” She stepped aside to let him in, suddenly conscious of her bare feet and slightly disheveled appearance.
Jackson retrieved a leather duffel from the closet, then paused. He seemed reluctant to leave.
“How’s Penny?” “Out like a light. This place is nicer than anywhere she’s ever slept; she thinks we’re in a princess castle.”
He smiled, but there was something guarded in his expression now. The easy camaraderie of their dance floor conversation was fading.
“Jackson, why are you really doing this?” Rebecca asked, unable to contain the question any longer.
“The pretending, the suite—it’s generous, but…” “But you’re wondering what’s in it for me?”
He set down his bag, his expression unreadable. “Would you believe me if I said I was just being kind?”
“In my experience, men—especially powerful men—aren’t kind without reason.” Something hardened in his eyes.
“That says more about the men you’ve known than about me.” Rebecca crossed her arms defensively.
“You can’t blame me for being cautious. You’re my boss, Jackson; this whole situation is complicated.”
“Is that why you’ve turned down every promotion I’ve authorized for you over the past 2 years?” Rebecca stared at him, genuinely shocked.
“What are you talking about?” Jackson ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it further.
“Three times, Rebecca. Three times I’ve approved moving you up to senior editor with a substantial raise and three times you’ve declined without even discussing it with HR.”
She felt as if the floor had tilted beneath her feet. “That’s impossible. I never received any promotion offers.”
Jackson went very still. “What did you just say?”
“I’ve never been offered a promotion at Meridian. Not once.”
The silence between them thickened as understanding dawned on both their faces simultaneously. “Daniel Morgan,” they said in unison.
Daniel Morgan was the editorial director and the man directly above Rebecca in Meridian’s hierarchy. He had made his resentment of her clear from day one.
He had taken credit for her acquisitions more than once and happened to be Jackson’s oldest friend. “He told me you weren’t interested in advancement,” Jackson said slowly, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“He said you preferred your current position because of Penny and the flexibility it offered.” Rebecca felt a cold fury building inside her.
“And you believed him without ever speaking to me directly?” “He’s been with Meridian since before I took over. We’ve known each other 20 years.”
Jackson’s expression darkened. “But that ends Monday morning.”
“What does?” “His career at Meridian.”
Jackson’s voice was flat, brooking no argument. “I’ve suspected for a while that Daniel’s been manipulating situations to his advantage, but this crosses a line.”
Rebecca sank onto the edge of the sofa, overwhelmed. “This explains so much. The way he’s been undermining me and moving my projects to other editors.”
She looked up at Jackson, her professional frustration momentarily overshadowing the strangeness of their situation. “Do you know he reassigned the Montana Sky author to Brett in romance just last week?”
“That happened after I built that relationship for over a year.” Jackson’s expression shifted from anger to something more calculating.
“Is that why you called in sick last Friday? The first sick day you’ve taken in 3 years?”
Rebecca felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I needed time to process. That series meant a lot to me.”
Jackson sat beside her, careful to leave space between them. “I had no idea this was happening, but that stops now.”
He hesitated, then added more quietly, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I should have paid closer attention.”
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. This wasn’t the distant executive or the charming pretend husband; this was a man taking responsibility and showing genuine regret.
“Why do you care so much?” she asked. “I’m just one editor among dozens.”
Jackson looked away, his profile sharp against the city lights. “Because I started as an editor, too. Before the MBA, before the corporate ladder.”
“I know what it means to love books and to fight for stories you believe in.” He turned back to her, his gaze intense.
“And because I’ve watched your work from afar, Rebecca. The authors you discover and the manuscripts you champion are always something special.”
The unexpected praise left her momentarily speechless. Before she could respond, a small voice came from the bedroom doorway.
“Mommy, I had a bad dream.” Penny stood there in her Disney princess pajamas, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Her eyes widened when she spotted Jackson. “Mr. Magic Man, did you come for a sleepover too?”
Rebecca tensed, but Jackson smoothly knelt to Penny’s level. “No, sweetheart. I just stopped by to make sure you and your mom were comfortable.”
“I heard you had a bad dream.” Penny nodded solemnly. “There was a dragon under the bed.”
“That is serious business,” Jackson agreed, matching her grave tone. “I happen to know that dragons are terribly afraid of brave flower girls, though.”
“Especially ones who know how to do magic.” “I don’t know any magic,” Penny whispered, her fear replaced by curiosity.
“Sure you do.” Jackson reached into his pocket and produced a quarter—the same trick he’d used earlier.
“Remember this?” As Jackson patiently taught Penny the simple sleight of hand, Rebecca watched them with a growing knot in her throat.
Her daughter, usually shy around strangers, was giggling and attempting to mimic Jackson’s movements with clumsy determination. What surprised Rebecca most was Jackson’s patient gentleness.
He encouraged each attempt with genuine warmth rather than condescension. When Penny finally mastered the trick, her face lit with triumphant joy.
“Now the dragon will be scared of me!” “Absolutely terrified,” Jackson confirmed.
“Want me to check under the bed just to be sure?” After a thorough dragon inspection and magical demonstrations, Penny allowed Rebecca to tuck her back into bed.
When Rebecca returned to the living room, she found Jackson standing by the window again. His expression was pensive.
“Thank you for that,” she said quietly. “You didn’t have to be so kind to her.”
“It wasn’t kindness; I enjoyed it.” He turned to face her. “She’s a remarkable child.”
“She is.” Rebecca hesitated, then added, “Her father has never met her; he was gone before I even knew I was pregnant.”
Jackson’s expression remained carefully neutral. “His loss.”
“I used to think so.” Rebecca sank back onto the sofa. “The truth is it was probably for the best.”
“Michael wasn’t exactly father material.” “Was he abusive?”
Jackson’s question was gentle but direct. “Not physically, just…”
She searched for the right words. “Selfish. Manipulative. Convinced his big break as a musician was around the corner while I paid all the bills.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “The irony is he finally did get that record deal 6 months after walking out; I saw his face on a billboard in Times Square last year.”
Understanding dawned in Jackson’s eyes. “Your ex is Michael Delaney?”
Rebecca nodded, surprised. “You know his music?”
“My niece is obsessed with his last album.” Jackson sat beside her again.
“No wonder you’re wary of men with ambition.” The observation was too accurate for comfort.
Rebecca changed the subject. “It’s getting late. You should go before people start talking.”
“Let them talk.” Jackson’s gaze held hers. “Unless you want me to go?”
The question hung between them, loaded with unspoken implications. For one reckless moment, Rebecca considered asking him to stay as the man who had shown her glimpses of someone worth knowing.
Instead, she stood, putting necessary distance between them. “This has been unexpected, but we should remember who we are on Monday morning.”
Jackson rose as well, retrieving his overnight bag. At the door, he paused.
“You know, you never answered my question from earlier about whether I was really pretending.” Before Rebecca could respond, he was gone.
He left her alone with the question that would keep her awake long into the night. She had a growing suspicion that this masquerade might have awakened feelings neither of them had bargained for.
