Three days passed without any sign of the mysterious Caleb or his uncle. I'd almost convinced myself the strange encounter had been nothing but a momentary blip in my otherwise mundane existence. Almost.

"Earth to Eve! Hello?" Harper waved her hand in front of my face, her silver bangles jingling. "You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes."


We were sitting in The Grind, the campus coffee shop where Harper worked when she wasn't attending fashion design classes or dragging me to social events I'd rather avoid. I blinked, realizing I'd been completely zoned out.

"Sorry," I mumbled, closing my dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. "Just tired."

Harper narrowed her eyes, her intuition—honed by fifteen years of friendship—detecting the half-truth. "No, you've got that look. The one where you're overthinking something but don't want to talk about it."


I sighed. Harper knew me too well. "It's nothing. Just a weird encounter at the library the other night."

"Weird how? Like 'creepy guy hitting on you' weird or 'someone returned a book with mysterious stains' weird?"


I laughed despite myself. "Neither. Just... this guy and his uncle were arguing, and I accidentally overheard them. The guy caught me listening."

"Was he cute?" Harper's priorities never failed to amuse me.

"That's not the point."

"So he was cute." She grinned triumphantly. "Details, Mitchell. I need details."

I rolled my eyes but found myself describing Caleb anyway—his height, those unsettling amber eyes, the way he moved with a predatory grace that seemed almost inhuman.

"Wait," Harper interrupted, her eyes widening. "Tall, dark, and brooding with those weird golden eyes? That sounds like Caleb Blackwood."

I stared at her. "You know him?"

"Of him," she clarified. "Everyone knows of the Blackwoods. They practically own half the county. Super rich, super private. They have that massive estate in the woods north of town." She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "There are all kinds of rumors about them. Some people say they're like a cult or something."

"What kind of cult has business meetings in university libraries?" I asked skeptically.

"The kind that donates enough money to have a whole wing named after them?" Harper pointed out. "The Blackwood Rare Manuscripts Collection ring any bells?"

I frowned. She had a point. The library's special collections area did bear the Blackwood name, though I'd never given it much thought.

"Anyway," Harper continued, "Caleb's the heir apparent or whatever. He's a few years older than us—I think he graduated from Ravenwood a couple years ago. Business degree, obviously. Now he works for the family... business." She said the last word with air quotes.

"What exactly is their business?" I asked.

Harper shrugged. "Officially? Real estate, investments, timber. Unofficially? Who knows. But they're loaded, and they keep to themselves except when they're throwing those exclusive parties at their estate."

"You seem to know a lot about them."

"Everyone gossips about the Blackwoods." She took a sip of her caramel macchiato. "So what did he say to you?"

I hesitated, unsure how to explain the strange intensity of our interaction. "Nothing important. Just warned me not to eavesdrop, basically."

Harper looked disappointed by the lack of drama, but before she could press for more details, the bell above the café door jingled. I glanced up automatically—and felt my heart stutter.

Caleb Blackwood stood in the doorway, scanning the room with those predator eyes. He was dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal gray sweater that did nothing to hide his broad shoulders. Beside him was another man—slightly shorter but equally imposing, with warm brown skin and an easy confidence in his stance.

"Speak of the devil," Harper whispered, her eyes wide. "And he brought Lucas Thornton with him. God, it's like the hotness Olympics just walked in."

I kicked her under the table. "Shh! Maybe he won't see us."

But even as I said it, Caleb's gaze locked onto mine as if he'd known exactly where I was sitting. A small smile curved his lips, and he said something to his companion before making his way directly to our table.

"Eve," he said, my name rolling off his tongue like he was savoring it. "I thought I might find you here."

My stomach did a strange flip. "You were looking for me?"

"I was." His gaze flicked to Harper, who was staring at him with undisguised fascination. "I need to speak with you. Privately."

Harper kicked me under the table, her eyes screaming "OH MY GOD" without her having to say a word.

"Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Harper," I replied, suddenly feeling protective of my space, my friend, my normal life that this man seemed determined to disrupt.

Caleb's companion—Lucas, apparently—stepped forward with an easy smile that somehow managed to be both charming and calculated. "Why don't I keep your friend company while you two talk?" he suggested, his voice smooth as honey. "I've been dying for one of their raspberry scones anyway."

Harper practically melted. "I can recommend the best items on the menu," she offered, already standing up.

Traitor.

"Ten minutes," I said to Caleb, gathering my books. "And we're staying where people can see us."

Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. "Worried I might bite?"

The question sent an inexplicable shiver down my spine. "Just setting boundaries."

I followed him to a table in the corner, far enough from other customers for privacy but still within view of the counter where Harper was now chatting animatedly with Lucas.

"How did you know I'd be here?" I asked as we sat down.

"Small campus. Limited coffee options." He shrugged, but I had the distinct impression he wasn't telling the whole truth. "I wanted to apologize for our meeting the other night. My uncle and I were discussing... sensitive business matters."

"Like I said then, it's none of my business." I fidgeted with the worn corner of my book. "Is that all you wanted? To apologize?"

"No." His directness was jarring. "I have a proposition for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "A proposition."

"A mutually beneficial arrangement." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend for the next few months."

I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard correctly." His expression remained perfectly serious. "I need to appear to be in a stable relationship, and you need money."

"I do?" This conversation was getting more bizarre by the second.

"Your family owns Mitchell's Books on Elm Street, correct?" When I nodded, he continued. "The shop that's been struggling since the chain bookstore opened in the mall. The one that's three months behind on rent."

My blood ran cold. "How do you know that?"

"I make it my business to know things." He said it so matter-of-factly that I couldn't even be properly outraged. "The building your family's shop is in belongs to Blackwood Properties."

"You're our landlord?" This was news to me. My dad had always dealt with the business side of the bookstore while I helped with inventory and sales.

"My family is. And I'm offering to clear your debt and guarantee a favorable lease for the next five years."

My mind raced. The bookstore had been struggling for years, but things had gotten worse recently. Dad had been working himself to exhaustion trying to keep it afloat, taking on extra shifts at his teaching job. If what Caleb said was true...

"In exchange for pretending to be your girlfriend." I said it flatly, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity of it. "Why? You could have any real girlfriend you wanted."

Something complicated passed across his face. "My reasons are my own. But I assure you, it would be strictly for appearances. Public events, family gatherings, nothing... intimate."

I should have been offended. Should have thrown my coffee in his face and stormed out. Instead, I found myself asking, "How long?"

"Three months. Four at most."

"And the bookstore's debt would be cleared completely?"

He nodded. "With a reduced rent moving forward. All I need is for you to sign a contract and follow a few simple rules."

"A contract." I laughed incredulously. "For a fake relationship."

"I take all my business arrangements seriously." His amber eyes held mine. "Think of it as acting. You play a part, you get paid."

"Why me? There must be dozens of women who'd jump at this chance without the need for financial incentives." I gestured toward the front of the café, where at least three women were openly staring at Caleb.

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with that unnerving intensity. "You're not intimidated by me. You don't know or care about my family's status. And..." He hesitated. "You have qualities that make you suitable."

"Qualities," I repeated skeptically.

"Intelligence. Discretion. And you're..." His eyes traveled over my face in a way that made my skin warm. "Convincing."

I should have said no. Every rational part of my brain was screaming that this was a terrible idea. But all I could think about was my father's exhausted face, the mounting bills, the "Going Out of Business" signs I'd seen him pricing online when he thought I wasn't looking.

"If—and this is a big if—I were to consider this insane proposition," I said slowly, "I'd need more details. Rules. Boundaries."

Something like triumph flashed in his eyes, quickly masked. "Of course. I have everything prepared." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim folder, sliding it across the table. "Take this. Read it. If you're interested, meet me tomorrow at seven p.m. at the address inside."

I didn't touch the folder. "And if I'm not interested?"

"Then you walk away. No harm done." He stood up, towering over me. "But I think you will be. For your family's sake, if nothing else."

There was something in his tone—not quite a threat, but a certainty—that made me bristle. "Don't presume to know what I'll do, Mr. Blackwood."

That almost-smile appeared again. "Caleb," he corrected. "If you're going to be my girlfriend, you should use my first name."

Before I could retort that I hadn't agreed to anything, he was walking away, signaling to Lucas who immediately wrapped up his conversation with Harper and followed him out.

Harper practically sprinted back to our table, her eyes wide with excitement. "What. Was. That?" she demanded. "Lucas said Caleb never talks to anyone outside their social circle. Like, ever. And now he's seeking you out? Twice?"

I stared at the folder on the table, my mind racing. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how? Like, he's-secretly-a-vampire complicated or he's-hiding-a-wife complicated?"

I laughed despite myself. "Neither. At least, I don't think so." I picked up the folder, curiosity winning over caution. "But I'm going to find out."

Little did I know that opening that folder would be like opening Pandora's box—releasing secrets and dangers I could never have imagined. And that vampires would have been the least of my worries compared to what Caleb Blackwood really was.