Chapter 1Faking Amnesia To Scam My CEO Rival

After a blistering screaming match with my lifelong nemesis, I got knocked out cold by falling debris.

When I came to, I figured I’d play dumb, fake amnesia, and extort him for everything he was worth.

"Who are you?" I whispered, blinking up at him with Bambi eyes.

He froze. The shock on his face was palpable, but without missing a beat, he lied straight through his teeth: "I'm your fiancé. We’ve been together for eight years."

I stared at him. Excuse me???

He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "Want to make out? Just to, you know, jog your memory with the taste."

Men. Absolute dogs.

I was after his bank account; this bastard was after my mouth.

* * *

Nolan Davis and I practically grew up in each other’s backyards.

By the time we were seventeen, we were sworn enemies. Honestly, if you looked at us on paper—two kids from old-money families, both ridiculously competitive, both easy on the eyes—you’d think we were a match made in country-club heaven. But in reality, we were like oil and water. A spark and a powder keg.

Case in point: this morning, he ruthlessly poached a massive contract my firm was trying to land with Reed Global.

I had marched straight into his corner office, slamming my hands on his mahogany desk. "Does it taste better when you steal the food right out of my mouth? God, Nolan, you are the absolute worst."

Nolan just sat there, his impossibly long legs crossed, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch.

Right then, my phone buzzed on speaker. My assistant informed me that Declan Reed’s flight had just landed in the city. If I wanted to salvage this deal, I had to corner Declan immediately. Besides, Declan and I went way back. We were high school classmates. We had history.

Hearing that, Nolan practically shot out of his leather chair. "You are not going to see him. Harper, stay here. I need to talk to you."

I was too pissed to care about whatever corporate mansplaining he had queued up.

"Watch me!" I snapped. "Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t own me!"

I stormed out of the Davis Holdings building. Outside, the sky was an angry, bruised purple. A nor'easter was rolling in, and the wind was howling through the concrete canyons of the city.

I tilted my head back to check the dark clouds, and that was the exact moment a heavy terracotta planter, trailing a massive ivy plant, blew right off a second-floor balcony and introduced itself to my skull.

Right before the lights went out, I saw Nolan sprinting out of the revolving doors, his face pale and twisted in sheer panic.

That son of a bitch, I thought, slipping into darkness. He’s probably rushing over to check if I’m dead so he can monopolize the rest of my clients. Ruthless.

When my consciousness finally clawed its way back, the sharp, sterile scent of rubbing alcohol flooded my senses. A doctor’s muffled voice filtered into the room.

"Ms. Hayes is perfectly fine. She has a mild concussion, so she might experience some dizziness or nausea over the next few days. Just standard post-concussion protocol."

"Then why isn't she waking up? Are you sure there’s no brain damage?" Nolan’s voice was ragged, laced with a desperation I had never heard before.

The doctor paused. "Uh... Mr. Davis, she’s just taking a nap."

Me, pretending to still be unconscious: ...

Wait, so I got knocked out for exactly one second and then just took a cozy little nap?

My brain started working in overdrive. Opportunity. If I was going to suffer the indignity of a concussion, I was going to make Nolan pay for it. Literally. I’d fake amnesia, move into his penthouse, and drain his resources to make up for the Reed Global deal he stole.

It wasn't a terrible plan. Even though we hated each other, our parents were inseparable. Right now, the four of them were on a luxury cruise in the Mediterranean. And frankly, the corporate catering at my office was getting stale, while Maria, Nolan’s private chef and housekeeper, made a truffle risotto that could bring a tear to your eye.

Thinking about that risotto, my eyelids fluttered involuntarily.

A nurse gasped. "Mr. Davis, she’s waking up!"

Damn it, I need a minute to get into character! Channel your inner Meryl Streep, Harper!

I fluttered my eyes open, softening my gaze until I looked as vacant and innocent as a newborn fawn.

Nolan rushed to my bedside, waving two shaking fingers in front of my face. "Harper, how many fingers am I holding up?"

His hand was trembling so much it was just a blurry appendage.

I weakly raised a hand to my bandaged temple, putting on my most delicate, breathy voice. "I don't know... but... who are you?"

Nolan froze. He whipped around to glare at the doctor. "You said she was fine! Why the hell doesn't she remember anything?"

The doctor began to sweat, nervously clicking his pen. "This shouldn't be happening. Medically speaking, this doesn't make sense..." He cleared his throat. "It appears the patient is experiencing transient global amnesia. But don't worry, it should resolve itself."

I offered the doctor a sweet, vacant smile, then turned back to Nolan. To really nail the coffin shut on this performance, I tilted my head and asked again, "Who are you?"

I swear, my acting in that moment was Oscar-worthy. The sheer vulnerability, the confusion. It was flawless.

Nolan swallowed hard. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, "I'm your fiancé. We’ve been together for eight years, Harper. We’re getting married soon."

Me: ???

Was he onto me? Was he counter-playing my amnesia grift?

But before I could overthink it, Nolan’s large, warm hand cupped the side of my face. His thumb gently stroked my cheekbone. "It’s okay, Harp," he murmured softly. "I’m going to take you home."

Holy shit.

Either I had actual brain damage, or Nolan had finally lost his mind.

I stared at him in genuine shock and realized, with a sudden jolt, that the rims of his eyes were rimmed with red. His lashes were wet. It looked like he had been crying.

Right. The wind from the nor'easter outside. It must have made his eyes water.

Maybe my stare was a little too incredulous, because Nolan cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "What? You don't believe me? Want to make out? Just to, you know, jog your memory with the taste."

Before I could even process the audacity of that sentence, Nolan turned his head away, the tips of his ears burning crimson.

"Kidding. Just a joke," he muttered to the floor. "There are people in the room."

I blinked. I didn't see a joke in his eyes. Just seconds ago, his gaze had been fixed on my mouth with a dark, consuming intensity. He looked like he actually wanted to kiss me.

Wait a minute. I was just here for his money. Was he trying to get in my pants?