Chapter 10: The Grandmother Factor

Adrian drives in silence before speaking. “That went well.” I stare at him. “Your grandmother gave us a three month deadline and threatened to intervene. That’s well?” “She didn’t throw you out. That’s progress.” “The bar is underground.” He almost smiles. “Eleanor likes you.” “She threatened us.” “That’s how she shows affection. Cold politeness is her actual weapon.” Adrian turns down a side street. “She suspects something. That’s different from knowing.” “Three months is half our timeline.” “Which means we need to be more convincing, faster.” He pulls into a parking garage. “Photos are easy. Living together is harder.” I blink. “What?” “Eleanor’s going to watch closely. Drop by unannounced. Ask neighbors questions.” He turns to me. “She’ll notice we live in different apartments. That I’ve never stayed over.” “What are you suggesting?” “We need to look more integrated. You keep things at my place. I keep things at yours. Just enough to be believable.” “Fake living together.” “Fake the appearance of a progressing relationship.” His expression is neutral. “We don’t have to cohabitate. Just look like we’re moving that direction.” I should say no. But Eleanor’s words echo. Three months. “Okay. But we need ground rules.” “Victor already drafted them.” He shows me his phone. “I texted him from Eleanor’s bathroom.” Of course he did. I skim the document. Privacy. Boundaries. Acceptable “evidence” of cohabitation. “You have a clause about bathroom products.” “Eleanor will check medicine cabinets.” “That’s invasion of privacy!” “That’s Eleanor.” He pockets his phone. “So?” “One condition. You teach me how to be calm about this. Because I’m internally screaming.” “I’m internally screaming too. Just better at hiding it.” “That’s weirdly comforting.” “Come on. Let’s go shopping.” “For what?” “Toothbrushes. Shampoo. Everything you’d keep at your boyfriend’s place.” “Of course he did.” We end up at Target because Adrian says expensive toiletries are “too obvious.” “This is surreal,” I say, pushing a cart while Adrian consults Victor’s list. “Which part?” “Both. Neither.” I grab a toothbrush. “Does color matter?” “Victor says contrasting colors. Makes it clear there are two people.” “Victor has opinions about toothbrush colors.” “It’s why I pay him obscene amounts.” Adrian grabs a blue toothbrush. “Shampoo?” “Whatever’s on sale.” He looks disturbed. “You don’t have a preferred brand?” “I have a preferred price point. Under five dollars.” Adrian grabs a bottle that costs fifteen. “Use this from now on.” “Why?” “Because if Eleanor asks, ‘whatever’s on sale’ isn’t strategic.” I check the price. “I’m not using fifteen dollar shampoo.” “It’s in the contract.” “It’s shampoo!” “Strategic shampoo.” I start laughing. “A month ago I was dating Ryan. Now I’m arguing about strategic shampoo with a billionaire.” “It is absurd.” “And I’m using my five dollar brand. I’m not changing who I am for Eleanor’s tests.” Adrian looks at me. Then puts the expensive bottle in his cart. “For me, then. So she sees both.” “You use thirty dollar shampoo.” “It’s from France.” “It washes hair, not grants wishes.” “You’d be surprised.” But he’s almost smiling. We work through Victor’s list. Razors. Face wash. Phone charger. The mundane details of a shared life. At checkout, the cashier grins. “Moving in together?” “Something like that,” Adrian says. “How long have you been dating?” “About a month,” I answer. “Moving kind of fast, but when you know, you know, right?” Adrian’s hand finds mine. “Right,” he says, looking at me. We load bags into his car. Evidence that we’re together. “Your apartment. We set up my things. Then my place.” He starts the car. “Make it look organic.” “Nothing about this is natural.” “No. But we’re getting better at pretending.” My phone buzzes. Mia: “Someone just sent me photos of you and Adrian at TARGET buying TOOTHBRUSHES and I need you to explain why this is cuter than the red carpet photo.” I show Adrian. He sighs. “Someone recognized us.” “This is my life now.” We drive to my apartment. When we arrive, Adrian doesn’t look uncomfortable in my small space with mismatched furniture. He looks curious. “This is very you,” he says. “Real. No pretense.” He picks up a photo. Me and Mia at graduation. “I like it.” The simplicity of it makes my chest tight. “Where should I put your stuff?” “Bathroom. Medicine cabinet.” He hands me his bag. “Make it look like I’ve been staying over.” I arrange his things in my tiny bathroom. Expensive razor. French shampoo. Evidence of Adrian Knight in my space. When I return, he’s looking at my design sketches. “These are good. Really good.” “Just concept work.” “Better than concept work.” He points to my Morrison design. “This should have been built.” “Ryan made sure it wasn’t.” “Then we’ll make sure you get another chance.” My phone rings. Unknown number. “Ms. Bennett? This is Janet Morrison. I’ve seen the news about you and Mr. Knight, and I’ve been reconsidering our decision about the hotel redesign.” My heart stops. “I’d like to discuss reinstating you on the project. Would you be available this week?” Adrian watches, eyebrows raised. I mouth “Morrison.” His eyes widen. “Yes. I’m available.” “Excellent. And Ms. Bennett? I’m sorry we let gossip influence business. Mr. Knight’s endorsement carries weight. We should have trusted our instincts about your work.” She hangs up. “Morrison wants me back.” “That’s excellent.” “Because of you.” I look at him. “Did you call them?” His expression answers. “Adrian.” “I mentioned your designs were exceptional. Word travels in certain circles.” “That’s manipulation.” “That’s business.” He meets my eyes. “You’re talented. They should have seen that. I just helped them remember.” I should be angry. But instead, I feel gratitude. And something more dangerous. “Thank you.” “You don’t have to thank me.” “I do, though.” We stand there in my small apartment, surrounded by evidence of our fake relationship, and I realize the most terrifying thing. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t feel real. My phone buzzes with a calendar notification. Victor: “Reminder: Knight Corporation annual charity ball, Saturday. Black tie. This is the big one. Everyone will be watching.” Adrian sees it too. “The charity ball. It’s where my father will be.” “Your father?” “Marcus Knight.” Adrian’s expression goes carefully blank. “Eleanor was the test. My father is the final exam.” And just like that, the moment shatters. Because meeting Adrian’s father isn’t just another public appearance. It’s walking into the lion’s den. And I have less than a week to prepare.