Chapter 2 VINCENT'S POV

I've just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Okay, maybe the second biggest. The first was probably that night with Penelope two years ago, but who's counting?

I stare at the email I've just sent, the words burning into my retinas:

Ms. Goodman,

Please see me in my office immediately. We have an urgent matter to discuss.

-V. Floyd

Urgent matter. Right. More like a catastrophic lapse in judgment that's about to blow up in my face.

I lean back in my leather chair, loosening my tie as I try to figure out how the hell I'm going to explain this to Penelope. My mind drifts back to last night's disastrous family dinner, the source of all my current problems... _________________________________________________

"Vincent, darling, when are you going to settle down?" Mom's voice dripped with honey-coated venom. "You're not getting any younger, you know."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. At thirty, I was hardly decrepit. But in my family's twisted worldview, I might as well have had one foot in the grave.

"I'm focused on the business right now," I replied, stabbing a piece of asparagus with more force than necessary. "Vinz Hotels doesn't run itself."

Dad snorted. "The company's doing fine. What you need is a good woman to keep you in line."

I glanced around the dining room, searching for an escape route. No such luck. My younger brother Hudson and his girlfriend Susan were too busy making googly eyes at each other to offer any backup. And my sister Sarah was conveniently absent, probably forewarned about the ambush.

"I don't need anyone to keep me in line," I growled. "I'm doing just fine on my own."

Mom's lips thinned into a disapproving line. "That's not the point, Vincent. Family is everything. Look at your brother—he's found such a lovely girl in Susan."

On cue, the lovebirds broke apart long enough to beam at my parents. I fought the urge to gag.

"That's right," Hudson chimed in unhelpfully. "Having Susan in my life has made me a better person. Don't you want that kind of happiness, bro?"

What I wanted was to be anywhere but there, but I put on a neutral expression: "I'm happy with my life as it is."

Dad leaned forward, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. "Son, we're worried about you. All work and no play isn't healthy. When's the last time you even went on a date?"

I opened my mouth to lie, but Mom beat me to it. "Oh, I know! It was that lovely New Year's party two years ago. What was her name again? Penelope?"

I choked on my wine.

Penelope.

Images flashed through my mind—silky brown hair, laughing green eyes, curves that haunted my dreams for months. But that was ancient history, a mistake never to be repeated.

"That wasn't a date," I muttered. "She works for me."

Mom's eyes lit up like a shark scenting blood. "Oh? And where is this Penelope now?"

"Still working for me," I said through gritted teeth. "As the head of events for Vinz Hotels. Nothing more."

"Hmm," Mom hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, perhaps you should reconsider. A workplace romance could be just the thing—"

"Enough!" I slammed my hand on the table, making the crystal goblets rattle. "My love life is none of your business. Can we please change the subject?"

A heavy silence fell. I looked up to find my parents exchanging one of those loaded glances that never bode well for me.

Dad cleared his throat. "Actually, son, that's why we asked you here tonight. Your mother and I have come to a decision."

Ice trickled down my spine. "What kind of decision?"

Mom reached across the table to pat my hand. I resisted the urge to pull away. "We think it's time for some tough love, darling. You need a push in the right direction."

"What your mother is trying to say," Dad continued, "is that we won't stand by and watch you throw your life away on work. It's time for you to man up and find someone to share your life with."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how exactly do you plan on forcing me to do that?"

Another loaded glance between my parents. Then Dad dropped the bomb.

"You have two months to find a serious girlfriend—preferably a fiancée—or don't bother showing up to your brother's wedding."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, we're dead serious," Mom said, her voice steely. "We love you, Vincent, but we won't enable your lone wolf lifestyle any longer. It's time to grow up and think about your future."

I turned to Hudson, desperation clawing at my throat. "You can't be okay with this. It's your wedding."

My brother had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Sorry, bro. I tried to talk them out of it, but you know how they get when they've made up their minds."

Susan squeezed his hand. "We really do want you there, Vincent. Maybe this is the push you need to find someone special."

I wanted to flip the table, and tell them all where they could shove their ultimatums and misguided concerns.

Instead, I pushed back from the table and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I need some air."

I stalked out of the dining room, ignoring my mother's protests. The warm night air hit me as I stepped onto the patio, but it did little to cool the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Two months. They expected me to conjure up a serious relationship—hell, a fiancée—in two months? It was insane. Impossible.

I paced the length of the patio, my mind racing. I could call their bluff, but deep down, I knew they weren't bluffing. My parents were many things, but idle threat-makers wasn't one of them. If I showed up to Hudson's wedding alone, I'd be turned away at the door.

The thought of missing my little brother's big day twisted like a knife in my gut. For all our differences, I'd promised Hudson years ago that I'd stand beside him when he got married. Being his best man meant more to me than I cared to admit.

But how the hell was I supposed to find someone willing to play happy couples in such a short time? I wasn't exactly drowning in prospects. Most of the women I met were either gold-diggers or sycophants, more interested in my bank account than me as a person.

I needed someone who already knew me. Someone who wouldn't be starstruck by the Floyd name or intimidated by my success. Someone who could hold their own against my family's particular brand of insanity.

An image flashed through my mind—warm green eyes, a sassy smile, the scent of jasmine...

No. Absolutely not. I dismissed the thought as quickly as it appeared. Getting tangled up with Penelope again would be a disaster of epic proportions.

But as I stood there, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city below, a plan began to take shape. It was crazy. Probably illegal. Definitely unethical.

It might be my only chance. _____________________________________________________________

And that's how I ended up here, waiting for Penelope to arrive, with a half-baked plan to ask her to be my fake fiancée. God, I'm an idiot.

A knock at the door jolts me out of my reverie. I straighten my tie and school my features into what I hope is a calm, professional expression.

"Come in."

Penelope enters, her face a mask of polite neutrality. But I know her well enough to see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the slight furrow between her brows.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Floyd?"

I gesture to the chair across from my desk. "Have a seat, Ms. Goodman. We have some... matters to discuss."

She perches on the edge of the chair; her posture ramrods straight. "Is everything alright? Your message seemed urgent."

I nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach clenches. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue—I need you to pretend to be my fiancée—But looking at her now, all professional poise and razor-sharp intelligence, I can't bring myself to say it.

"I, uh..." I clear my throat. "I wanted to discuss the upcoming Summer Solstice Gala."

Penelope blinks, clearly surprised. "The gala? But sir, we just had a meeting about that yesterday. Is there a problem with the arrangements?"

"No, no problem," I say quickly. "I just wanted to... go over some details."

She raises an eyebrow. "What details, exactly?"

Good question. I rack my brain for something, anything, to justify this meeting. "The, uh, guest list. Yes, the guest list. I was thinking we should review it."

"The guest list," Penelope repeats slowly. "The one we finalized two weeks ago?"

I can feel myself starting to sweat. "Well, you know how these things are. Always room for last-minute changes."

Penelope's looking at me like I've grown a second head. Can't say I blame her. "Mr. Floyd, are you feeling alright? You seem... distracted."

That's one way of putting it. I stand abruptly, needing to move, to do something other than sit here drowning in my own idiocy. "I'm fine. Just... concerned about the gala. It's our biggest event of the year, after all."

"I'm well aware," Penelope says, her tone careful. "Which is why we've been planning it for months. Everything is on track, I can assure you."

I nod, pacing behind my desk. "Good, good. That's... good."

Penelope stands, her brow furrowed with concern. "Sir, if there's nothing else, I should really get back to work. We have a lot to do before the gala."

This is my chance. I should just blurt it out, get it over with—I need you to pretend to be my fiancée for two months—But the words stick in my throat.

"Of course," I hear myself say instead. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Goodman."

She hesitates at the door, looking back at me. For a moment, I think she's going to say something else. But then she just nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

I slump into my chair, my head in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm Vincent Floyd, for God's sake. I've negotiated multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat. So why can't I ask one simple favor of my employee?

Because it's not a simple favor, a voice in my head whispers. And Penelope's not just any employee.

I groan, rubbing my temples. This is a disaster. I have less than two months to find a fake fiancée, or I'll miss my brother's wedding. And the one person I trust to pull this off just walked out of my office, probably thinking I'm losing my mind.

Which, to be fair, I might be.

I glance at the clock. It's barely 10 AM, and I already feel like I need a drink. Instead, I pull up the gala plans on my computer. Might as well make this impromptu meeting somewhat productive.

As I scroll through the event details, an idea starts to form. The gala... it's the perfect opportunity. It's a glamorous event with all of LA's elite in attendance. If I'm going to introduce a fiancée to the world, that would be the ideal setting.

Now, I just need to convince Penelope to play along. To do that, I need to man up and actually ask her.

I reach for my phone and then pause. No, this isn't a conversation for email or text. I need to do this in person, preferably somewhere private where she can't cause a scene when she inevitably thinks I've lost my mind.

I pull up my calendar. There's a site visit scheduled for our newest hotel property next week. Penelope's supposed to come along to start planning the grand opening event. A few hours in the car together, then a tour of an empty hotel...

Perfect.

I send a quick email to my assistant, asking her to clear my schedule for that day. Then I lean back in my chair.

One week. I have one week to figure out exactly how I'm going to propose this insane idea to Penelope. One week to come up with an offer she can't refuse.

Because if she does refuse—and let's be honest, she'd have every right to—I'm well and truly screwed.

I close my eyes, Penelope's face floating in my mind. Those sparkling green eyes, that sassy smile that's haunted my dreams for two years...

God help me.