Fake Marriage To The Undercover Boss

an clicked shut, sealing

leather. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped her phone. Her ey

in the dim light. Emaline gave him her address, her voice barely a whisper that cracked o

tween the seats and pulled out a chilled

. Her chest felt tight, wrapped in iron bands

. It rang ten times before going to voicemail. Sh

e was on hold. Vivaldi's Spring played

onto the leather seat. The dull

her hands into her eyes

dam

terror, exhaustion, and financial ruin poured out of her in violent waves. Tears fl

ed her. His

ted closer to her, his presence a wall against the driver's quiet presence, and raised his hand, hover

inched at

hand seeped through her jacket

eways, leaning into the pressure of his hand. She needed an anc

t his thumb began to stroke a slow, rh

e was a low rumble in the quiet

she choked out, her voice broken and wet. "He gave up. He lef

old him about the failing lungs. She told him about the final notices from the bank. S

rupt. His thumb kept up its stead

of breath. She lifted he

ast sharp shadows across his face. He

whispered, her voice ho

ear-filled eyes.

le word," C

er teeth sank into the soft

thly. "But time is the one

f Manhattan reflected in the tinted windows, sliding across Emaline

s coat. He pulled out a

laced the cash on the empty space of the seat between them. The cr

h meant to someone in her position. It was a lifeline. It was more

rinking back against the door

argument. "It is an advance. You need cash tonight for your

y. "I have not agreed to an

ow, you can hand it back to me. This has nothing to do wi

es of the bills. It felt like grabbing a live wire, the texture of the c

slowed t

umbling brick apartment building in Brooklyn. The contrast between

k of cash. She shove

r door open and scrambl

k, before sprinting up the concrete ste

r. He watched the empty