Chapter 3Faking Amnesia To Scam My CEO Rival

Lost in my memories, I realized Nolan had brought me to his place, not mine. Even though our family estates were literally next door to each other in the Hamptons.

I leaned into the bit, grabbing his arm and looking around in exaggerated awe. "Wow, future hubby, is this your house? It’s beautiful."

I felt the muscles in Nolan’s arm instantly lock up. The afternoon light caught the edge of his ear—it was completely red.

He slowly turned to face me, his expression strangely intense. "My name is Nolan. You used to call me Noly when we were little. Could you... could you just call me that once?"

Me: Uh... I hadn't called him that since we were ten. In my phone, his contact name was literally "Stubborn Jackass."

But hey, if he wanted to play house, I was going to make it unbearable for him.

"Did I used to call you that?" I tapped my chin playfully. "I think it sounds a little childish. How about I just call you Babe? Or... Honey? Does that work, Honey?"

I couldn't beat him in the boardroom today, so I was going to psychologically torment him in his own home.

Nolan stood completely frozen, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

Ha! Scared you, didn't I?

But then, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a devastatingly soft smile. He stepped into my space, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

"Whatever you want, Sweetheart. You're the boss."

Wait. What?

His voice was a low rumble against my chest. I was so taken aback by the warmth of him that I completely forgot to push him away. I just let him hold my hand as he led me into the massive, echoing house.

The place was dead quiet. Maria was apparently off for the week. No truffle risotto for me. A catastrophic miscalculation.

Instead, Nolan rolled up the sleeves of his cashmere sweater and started boiling pasta in his state-of-the-art kitchen.

"Honey, I’m making carbonara, is that okay?"

"Babe, do you want extra parmesan?"

How was he saying these pet names so smoothly? Was this a long-con humiliation tactic?

"Babe, if you're hungry, there's chocolate on the top shelf of the fridge to hold you over," he called out.

I opened the Sub-Zero fridge. The entire top shelf was lined with artisanal hazelnut chocolate bars. My absolute favorite.

When we were kids, my parents were strict about sugar. I used to beg Nolan for candy, and he always magically produced it.

Wow, I thought. No wonder he always had chocolate on him. He must be obsessed with it.

I snapped off a piece of chocolate, leaning against the marble island, watching him cook. He was even better looking now than he was in high school. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Even wearing an apron, he looked like he belonged in a GQ spread.

The chocolate tasted suddenly a little bitter on my tongue. I couldn't stop picturing the teenage boy who used to sneak me candy in the library.

He plated the pasta, sliding a massive bowl toward me. He had taken the time to perfectly fry an egg on top. His own plate was just the leftovers from the pan.

If I really had amnesia, this would be incredibly romantic. As it was, I just assumed he hadn't poisoned my food.

The portion was huge. I couldn't finish it. Without a word, Nolan pulled my half-eaten bowl across the island and finished it himself.

Okay. Definitely not poisoned.

Later that night, the tension thickened.

Nolan stood in the doorway of his own master bedroom, looking entirely out of his depth.

Why is he nervous? I thought. It's his bedroom. We've known each other since we were in diapers.

"You take the bed," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll sleep in the guest room next door. Call me if you need anything."

I narrowed my eyes. He’s trying to ditch me so he can finalize the Reed Global contract.

I had overheard him on the phone while he was cooking, telling his VP he was going to video-conference Declan tonight to sign the papers.

I wasn't going to let that happen.

I reached out and lightly tugged the hem of his sweater. "Nolan... we've been together for eight years. Are you saying we don't sleep in the same bed?" I let my gaze drop slowly, deliberately down his torso. "Unless... is there a problem? Are you... you know, incapable?"

Nolan’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. The look of pure, restrained agony on his face was incredibly satisfying.

He hates this, and I love it!

I stepped backward into the room, pulled him in with me, shut the heavy oak door, and locked it. Click.

Nobody is signing any contracts tonight, buddy.

I looked up at him, fluttering my eyelashes. "Stay with me, Honey. I don't want to be alone."

Since he wanted to play the protective fiancé to keep an eye on me, I was going to use my 'fiancée' privileges to take him hostage.

I didn't have pajamas, so after my shower, I threw on one of his oversized crisp white button-downs. I didn't even bother drying my hair; I just walked straight out of the master bath, terrified he might have snuck out to make a business call.

He hadn't. He was pacing the length of the bedroom like a caged panther. The man had probably hit ten thousand steps just walking from the window to the bed.

He glanced at me, and his face went instantly crimson, his eyes darting to the ceiling. He stammered, "I—I’m gonna go shower."

"Okay! Make sure you scrub behind your ears!" I chirped.

He practically bolted into the bathroom.

I sat cross-legged on his massive king-sized bed, bored out of my mind. I glanced over at his walk-in closet, the door slightly ajar. Hanging from the handle of a cedar drawer was a small, faded leather charm.

It was the talisman from the monastery. The one Sloane had paraded around junior year.

After high school, Nolan and I had gone to the same Ivy League university. As far as I knew, he never spoke to Sloane again. He was too busy making my life a living hell to date anyone.

Freshman year, I mentioned I thought the point guard on the basketball team was cute. Nolan told me my taste was garbage. The next day, he organized a pickup game and absolutely humiliated the point guard on the court. As the guy limped away, Nolan stood next to me, dripping with sweat, and sneered, "That’s what you like? A crybaby?"

Sophomore year, I said the captain of the tennis team had great arms. Nolan scoffed and told me I hadn't seen anything. For the next month, he inexplicably started wearing fitted muscle tees around campus. In November.

Valentine's Day of our senior year, I complained to my friends that I wished I got flowers. That afternoon, a massive, elaborate arrangement arrived at my dorm.

From Nolan. It was a wreath of white chrysanthemums. The kind you send to a funeral.

My funeral, apparently.

The bathroom door clicked open, pulling me out of my memories. Nolan stepped out, looking stiff and painfully awkward in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants.

"You should get some sleep," he said, moving toward his desk. "I’m just going to catch up on some emails."

My eyes widened. Hell no. He’s going to seal the deal!

I scrambled off the bed, sprinting across the rug, and threw my arms around his waist from behind. "No! You can't work!"

Before he could react, I rested my chin against his spine, projecting maximum pathetic energy. "Babe, please stay with me. My head still hurts."

Nolan didn't say a word. He just stood there for a second, then gently pried my hands off, turned around, and walked right back into the bathroom.

Wait. Didn't he just shower?

Whatever. While he was in there, I lunged for his laptop, changed his login password, and reformatted his smart-room lock. I changed all the codes to my birthday.

Checkmate. Tomorrow morning, I’m waking up first and sprinting to Declan’s hotel.

A few minutes later, Nolan emerged again. He grabbed the Dyson hairdryer from the vanity and walked over to me. "Come here, Harp. Let me dry your hair."

I plopped down on the edge of the bed with a secret smile. Since I was the amnesiac fiancée, I was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"Noly, the heat is too high."

"You missed a spot on the left."

"The ends are still damp, Nolan..."

I was being an absolute nightmare, but Nolan didn't show a flicker of annoyance. He just gently combed his fingers through my hair, adjusting the settings, his touch incredibly grounding.

The hum of the dryer and the warmth of his hands were hypnotic. I felt my eyelids getting heavy. I leaned back into his stomach, the fight draining out of me.

Damn it. I forgot the doctor had given me a mild sedative for the concussion.

I was vaguely aware of the hairdryer turning off. Nolan’s body went completely still against my back.

Gently, he scooped me up and laid me down on the mattress, pulling the heavy duvet over my shoulders. I felt the mattress shift as he started to pull away.

Without thinking, my hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Nolan. Don't go."

A long silence hung in the dark room.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harp," he whispered. "Go to sleep."

His body heat was a furnace against my back. The early autumn air outside was biting, but under the covers, I felt completely safe. I unconsciously curled closer, burying my face in his chest.

Just before the medication dragged me under, I heard him let out a long, shaky exhale.

"God, if only this were real," he whispered into the dark.

If what was real? I thought hazily. Does he actually want me to have brain damage?