Zoey blinked.
Then blinked again.
"Come again?"
Zayn Maddox didn't even twitch.
He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over that annoyingly broad chest, every inch of him calm and collected like a man who knew he'd win before the game even started.
"I said," he repeated slowly, "I need a fiancée. Temporary, of course."
Zoey stared at him as if he'd just suggested they rob the Bank of England. "What the hell kind of crack are you smoking in this glass tower?"
Zayn's lips curved faintly. "I don't smoke, Bad for the lungs."
"Oh my god, you're serious."
"Deadly."
Zoey turned in a slow circle, scanning the floor to ceiling windows like there might be cameras hidden somewhere.
Maybe this was a prank show? Maybe in five seconds a TV crew would burst in and yell Gotcha!
But no. It was just the two of them, the muffled hum of the city far below, and his pale eyes locked on her with unnerving focus.
She threw her hands up. "You ruin my event, insult me, and now you want me to fake date you like this is some cheesy Netflix film?"
He tilted his head slightly.
Zoey groaned. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet you're still standing here."
She whirled toward the door, ready to storm out and then stopped cold.
What if she at least heard him out? She wasn't the kind of woman to make deals with devils, but maybe this devil came with benefits she could use.
"You know what? Fine," she said, turning back. "Explain. What's the catch?"
Zayn's gaze sharpened. He pushed off the desk and began pacing slowly, hands in his pockets. "My board..." his mouth paused just slightly before the word, " is pressuring me to settle down.
They believe it makes me look more stable. Trustworthy. The kind of man investors and clients want to deal with."
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "You? Stable? You bulldozed a cupcake tower."
"Collateral damage," he said smoothly.
She crossed her arms. "And you think I'm going to magically make you look stable?"
"You're bold. You challenge me. And you have a certain charm that makes people pay attention."
Her eyes narrowed. "Fake fiancée. For how long?"
"Three months."
Zoey considered that. "And what do I get out of this? Besides the joy of your sparkling personality?"
"I'll pay for your event," Zayn said without hesitation. "Venue, catering, decor exactly how you planned it. Anywhere in London. Twice the budget you had before."
Zoey's pulse skipped. That gala was her baby, the thing she'd been working toward for years. Losing it had been a gut punch.
Almost.
"I'm not wearing a ring from your soulless collection," she said, lifting her chin.
"I'll get you one that sparkles just enough to piss you off," he replied.
Zoey narrowed her eyes. "Terms?"
"Three months. Appearances at events. A few nights out. Photos for the press. And one weekend with... twitching his eyebrows "my family."
"You hesitated."
"It's complicated," Zayn said flatly.
"What kind of complicated?"
He looked at her for a long moment. The silence stretched until she could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Then, in a voice that sent an inexplicable shiver down her spine, he said, "The kind that growls if you're not careful."
Her brows knit together. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"It's a warning."
Zoey let out a sharp laugh, pushing past the strange tightness in her chest. "Fine. One condition."
"Name it."
"You don't get to boss me around. I'm your fake fiancée, not your lapdog."
Zayn's mouth curved into something dark and amused. "Careful, Zoey. You might find out I like a challenge."
Later That Night
Zoey slammed her apartment door behind her, dropped her bag, and leaned back against the wood with a groan.
"What the hell am I doing?" she muttered to the empty room.
Her small flat in Putney looked exactly the same as it had that morning warm fairy lights along the wall, a pile of fashion magazines on the coffee table, the faint smell of vanilla from the candle she'd forgotten to blow out last night but somehow the world felt… different.
She crossed to the couch, collapsed onto it, and stared at the ceiling.
Fake fiancée to London's most arrogant man. The thought made her stomach twist, and not entirely in a bad way annoyingly enough.
There was something about Zayn Maddox that got under her skin.
It wasn't just his stupidly perfect jawline or the way he carried himself like he owned the air around him. It was that he looked at her like he knew things.
Things he shouldn't.
She shook her head hard. No. She wasn't going to overthink this. This was a business transaction, nothing more.
She'd get her gala back, get her name in all the right circles, and walk away without so much as a backward glance.
Easy.
Except…
She remembered the way his eyes had seemed to change for a split second in his office.
The way the grey had almost bled into a stormy silver, catching the light in an unnatural way. And that pause my family.
It was probably nothing. Rich people were always weird.
Right?
Across the City at Maddox Estate
Zayn stood at the floor to ceiling window of his private study, staring out at the moonlit gardens of the Maddox family home.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass sharp suit still on, tie loosened, jaw tense.
She'd said yes.
He told himself it was purely strategic. She was the perfect cover, the perfect distraction for the board and, more importantly, for his pack.
If the elders thought he was "settling down," they'd stop pushing him toward a political marriage with some Luna from the northern territories.
But deep down, he knew there was more to it.
Something about Zoey Hart had caught his wolf's attention the moment she'd stormed into his office.
That fierce spark in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin his instincts had prowled under his skin, restless and curious.
It was dangerous.
And he couldn't afford dangerous.
Not with the full moon coming.