The waiter placed a hot latte in front of Kittie. She grabbed the ceramic mug with both hands, letting the heat seep into her freezing palms. She took a massive gulp, letting the scalding liquid burn away the bitter taste Preston had left in her mouth.

Connor sat across from her. He leaned forward, his broad chest pressing against the edge of the table. He did not touch his coffee. He just watched her, his posture completely still, offering a silent, open space for her to fall into.

Kittie let out a long, shaky breath.

"My mother," Kittie started, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Dolores. She thinks I am a defective product sitting on a clearance shelf. Every week, it is a different restaurant, a different guy in a suit telling me how to fix my life."

Connor's eyes darkened. His index finger tapped the table once.

"What other kind of trash has she set you up with?" he asked.

The genuine interest in his voice chipped away at Kittie's defenses. Her chest felt heavy, weighed down by months of suppressed anger.

"It is not just the setups," Kittie said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "It is my own terrible choices. My ex, Eben Richardson. I caught him in my bed with my best friend. So now, I am completely immune to the concept of romance. I just want to be left alone."

Connor's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, a detail so fleeting Kittie missed it entirely. His posture remained perfectly sympathetic, though the muscles in his jaw feathered with a sudden, violent tension.

"What is your plan, then?" Connor asked softly. "You cannot just keep throwing coffee at people."

Kittie rubbed her temples. A dull headache throbbed behind her eyes.

"If I can just survive the Thanksgiving dinner next month without bringing home a disaster, I will do anything," she muttered.

Connor's finger stopped tapping. Thanksgiving. The timeline clicked into place in his mind like a loaded magazine.

"What if there was a way to permanently fix this?" Connor asked.

Kittie looked up, her eyebrows pulling together.

"I do not have the cash to hire a high-end escort to play my fake boyfriend, Connor," she said, waving a hand in the air.

Connor let out a low chuckle. The sound vibrated in the small space between them, deep and magnetic. Kittie felt a sudden, strange flutter in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard, shifting in her seat.

The air between them grew thick. The background noise of the cafe seemed to fade out.

Then, her phone vibrated against the wooden table.

The buzzing sound shattered the quiet moment. Kittie looked down. The screen lit up with Dolores's name.

All the color drained from Kittie's face. Her skin turned pale and clammy.

She hit the red button to decline the call. A second later, a rapid series of text message notifications pinged loudly.

Kittie picked up the phone. Her eyes scanned the family group chat.

Dolores: Preston just called me screaming. What is wrong with you?

Aunt Mary: Kittie, you are not getting any younger.

Dolores: You are an embarrassment.

Connor watched her shoulders cave in. He saw the exact moment her spirit cracked. The timing was perfect.

Kittie slammed the phone face-down on the table. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

"Are you having trouble with your shop's lease, too?" Connor asked quietly.

Kittie dropped her hands. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"How did you know that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Just a guess," Connor said. "Your coffee shop and floral business... it is struggling. What if we make a trade?"

Kittie frowned. The headache pounded harder.

"A trade?" she repeated. "You are a programmer. What kind of trade?"

Connor smiled. It was a small, tight smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I have a problem of my own," Connor lied smoothly. "I am dealing with a highly complex overseas asset trust audit. The board requires me to maintain a married status to mitigate certain legal risks and bypass a severe single-executive penalty. The auditors are breathing down my neck."

Kittie stared at him. The idea was insane. But the phone on the table buzzed again, vibrating against the wood like a warning siren.

She thought about the past due rent notices sitting on her counter. She thought about Dolores's sharp, cruel voice.

"This is crazy," Kittie breathed out.

Connor saw the hesitation in her eyes. He saw the desperation.

"Let us get out of here," Connor said, standing up. "Let us find somewhere quiet and talk about a real business arrangement."

Kittie looked at his outstretched hand. Her stomach did a nervous flip. She stood up, her legs feeling like lead, and followed him out the door.

The cold wind hit Kittie in the face the second they stepped onto the sidewalk. She pulled her trench coat tighter around her body, shivering.

Connor walked beside her, leading her toward a plain, dark gray Ford parked halfway down the block.

Before they reached the car, Kittie's phone started ringing again. The sound pierced through the street noise.

Connor took a step back, pulling his own phone from his pocket and pretending to check an email. His ears, however, were entirely focused on her.

Kittie hit the green button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Mom, I cannot talk right now," Kittie said, her voice strained.

"You will listen to me!" Dolores's voice shrieked through the speaker, loud enough that Connor could hear the pitch. "Preston Finch was a catch! You humiliated me in front of the entire neighborhood!"

Kittie squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingernails dug so hard into the palm of her free hand that the skin threatened to break.

"He told me to wash his car," Kittie whispered, her throat burning.

"So what?" Dolores snapped. "Look at Beatrix! She just married into the Thorne family. A century-old Boston money family! She had a wedding at the Plaza! And you? You are throwing coffee at men who actually have a 401k. This is exactly why I always said adopting you was a risk. You have no drive to secure your future."

The words felt like a physical punch to Kittie's gut. The air rushed out of her lungs. Her eyes burned with hot tears, but she locked her jaw, refusing to let them fall.

Connor watched the muscles in her neck tighten. A violent, dark urge flared in his chest. He wanted to find Dolores and rip her vocal cords out. He forced his face to remain blank, pushing the rage down.

"I have to go," Kittie said, her voice completely dead.

She ended the call.

The silence between them was heavy and suffocating. Kittie stared at the concrete sidewalk, her chest heaving as she fought to control her breathing.

She forced a tight, plastic smile onto her face and looked at Connor.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled.

She needed to change the subject. Her brain scrambled for anything else to talk about. The name her mother mentioned sparked a thought.

"Hey," Kittie said, her voice shaking slightly. "You work in tech. Do you know anything about that crazy rich family in Boston? The Powers family? Mom is obsessed with old money right now."

Connor froze for a fraction of a second. A dark amusement flickered in his icy blue eyes.

"The Powers family?" he repeated.

Kittie hesitated. "I know you're also a Powers, but…" She gave his clothes a quick once-over. "Ahaha, just kidding."

She leaned against the side of the Ford. "Yeah, the CEO. Is he some bald, fat old guy sitting on a pile of gold?"

Connor bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

"Worse," Connor said, his tone dripping with fake disgust. "They are a bunch of bloodsuckers. The CEO is a ruthless workaholic. He has no life, no personality. Just a machine. He is probably a nightmare to deal with."

Kittie let out a genuine sigh of relief.

"See?" she said, shaking her head. "That sounds awful. The rich are miserable. I would rather sleep on the floor of my shop than live in some strict mansion with a guy like that."

Connor's chest expanded as he took a slow breath. The tension in his shoulders melted away. She did not care about money. She did not care about status.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it.

Kittie's phone pinged again. Another text from the family group.

She looked at the screen, her face dropping.

"If I show up to Thanksgiving alone," Kittie whispered, her voice cracking, "they will eat me alive."

Connor stepped closer. He reached out and opened the passenger door of the Ford.

"Then let us talk about that trade," Connor said softly.

Kittie looked at the dark interior of the car. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She slid into the passenger seat.

Connor shut the door, walked around the front, and got behind the wheel. He started the engine. The low hum of the motor filled the cabin. He gripped the steering wheel, a terrifying sense of victory rushing through his veins.

The Ford rolled smoothly over the asphalt, passing the dark waters of the river.

Kittie stared out the window. The trees blurred together. Her stomach felt hollow, gnawed raw by the anxiety of her mother's words and the looming threat of bankruptcy.

She turned her head to look at Connor. His profile was sharp, his jawline tense as he navigated the traffic.

"So," Kittie said, her voice breaking the silence. She forced a nervous laugh. "Since you are single, do you want to take on a freelance job?"

Connor kept his eyes on the road.

"Are you hiring a hitman for the Wall Street guy?" he asked, his tone flat.

Kittie smiled, the tension in her chest easing just a fraction.

"No," she said. "I want to hire you to be my fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving. I cannot pay you in cash, but I can offer a lifetime supply of pour-over coffee and VIP status at my flower shop."

Connor did not laugh. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy.

Kittie felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck.

"I am kidding," she said quickly, waving her hands. "Obviously. We barely know each other."

Connor hit the brakes.

The car swerved smoothly to the right, pulling into an empty, quiet parking spot along the riverbank. He shifted the gear into park and turned off the engine.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned his entire body to face her.

His blue eyes locked onto hers. The intensity in his stare made Kittie press her back hard against the passenger door.

"I am not playing your fake boyfriend," Connor said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. "It is amateur. Your mother will see right through it."

Kittie swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"I can throw in some pastries?" she offered weakly.

Connor did not smile.

"We go to City Hall," Connor said, his words precise and sharp. "We get a marriage license. We do this for real."

Kittie's brain stopped working. The blood rushed out of her head, leaving her dizzy.

"What?" she gasped.

"A legal marriage," Connor stated, leaning closer. "It shuts your mother up permanently. A piece of paper holds weight. It gives you an untouchable status in your family."

"You are insane," Kittie breathed out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "We have not even been on a date."

"Dates are irrelevant," Connor said coldly. "Marriage is a contract. Emotion is a sunk cost we do not need to factor in. I need a wife to satisfy the requirements of that overseas asset trust audit I mentioned, to mitigate the legal risks my firm is facing. You need a shield."

Kittie stared at his perfectly calm face. Her mind raced. Dolores's screaming voice echoed in her ears. The stack of unpaid bills flashed behind her eyes.

If she had a husband, Dolores could never call her a leftover again.

"I cannot afford a wedding," Kittie whispered, her voice trembling.

"I will handle the fees," Connor said smoothly. "And as your legal spouse, I will cover half the rent for your shop. Call it a husband's obligation."

Rent.

The word hit Kittie like a physical blow. Half her rent meant she could keep the shop open. It meant she could breathe.

Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat. Her knuckles turned white.

"We would need a contract," Kittie said, her voice shaking. "To protect both of us."

A dark, predatory gleam flashed in Connor's eyes.

"Absolutely," he agreed. "Business is business."

Kittie closed her eyes. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her teeth. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Okay," Kittie whispered.