Chapter 6 - Rules of EngagementThe Rolls-Royce glided to a smooth halt in front of an imposing, ultra-modern glass tower overlooking the Chicago River—Vale Holdings headquarters.
Kieran didn't look surprised by her acceptance; he looked like a general whose siege had finally breached the castle gates.
"Name them," Kieran said, gesturing for his bodyguard to open the door.
Mara stepped out onto the polished granite pavement, adjusting her skirt before turning back to face him through the open door.
"One: No public announcements to the press until after the first gala. I need time to process the fact that my life has been hijacked by a corporate warlord," Mara said, ticking off her fingers. "Two: You stay out of my bakery kitchen. My recipes, my staff, my rules. You bought the land, not my mixing bowls."
Kieran stepped out of the car, towering over her by a full head. A slow, appreciative smile touched his mouth. "Fair. And the third?"
"Three: We keep our distance when the cameras aren't rolling. This is a business arrangement, Mr. Vale. Not a romance."
Kieran’s eyes darkened slightly at that, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them, but he nodded slowly. "Agreed. For now."
He signaled to a junior executive waiting by the revolving glass doors—a nervous-looking young man clutching an iPad like a shield.
"Mr. Vale! The board meeting started ten minutes ago—oh," the assistant stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed Mara standing beside his boss, her hair slightly mussed, wearing a flour-dusted dress at the center of a billionaire's empire.
"Cancel the board meeting for the next hour, David," Kieran instructed crisply, not taking his eyes off Mara. "Prepare the private suite on the forty-fifth floor. And have our legal counsel draft a non-disclosure and partnership agreement matching Miss Ellison's exact terms."
David’s jaw hit the floor, but he swallowed hard and nodded. "Right away, sir."
Mara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "You're clearing your schedule for a baker?"
"For my fiancée?" Kieran murmured, stepping close enough that Mara could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "Always."
Before Mara could think of a sufficiently sarcastic retort, a sleek private elevator whisked them upward at dizzying speed. Within sixty seconds, they stepped out into a penthouse suite that looked less like an office and more like a minimalist art gallery overlooking the entire Chicago skyline.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the sprawling metropolis, the afternoon sun glinting off Lake Michigan in the distance.
"Wait here," Kieran instructed softly, walking toward a sleek mahogany desk. "David will bring you up-to-date financial projections for your bakery's expansion. I need to make a phone call."
Mara walked over to the massive glass window, pressing her palms against the cool pane. Below her, cars looked like ants rushing through concrete canyons. Her whole life had changed in less than three hours. From sitting at a children's table eating untouched chicken to standing in a billionaire's penthouse as a fake fiancée.
Her phone buzzed in her purse.
She pulled it out. A text message from an unknown number.
“Mara, where did you go? Aunt Celeste is beside herself, and Gavin is demanding to know if you're actually dating Kieran Vale. Please call us back. Family is family.”
It was Vanessa.
Mara stared at the screen, a cold, sharp satisfaction blooming in her chest. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel small. She didn't feel like the afterthought, the consolation prize, or the joke at the kids' table.
She hit Block Number, sliding the phone back into her bag without a second thought.
"Done with your family reunion?" a low voice murmured right behind her ear.
Mara jumped slightly, turning around to find Kieran standing much closer than she anticipated, his suit jacket removed, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, corded wrists.
"I blocked them," Mara said evenly.
May you like
Kieran’s lips curved into a genuine, unmasked smile—one that made him look dangerously, devastatingly handsome.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now, let’s talk about your first public appearance as my future wife. Friday night. The Chicago Symphony Gala. And you're going to need a dress."
