Jason. Of course.
The universe really said, "You thought things were getting too romantic? Here—have your ex with a side of emotional whiplash."
I stood there, blinking, like someone had paused me mid-episode.
Leo, to his credit, picked up on the tension faster than a Golden Retriever picks up the scent of bacon. He slid an arm around my waist so smoothly it looked practiced. Because it was.
"Isabelle, darling," he murmured. "Care to introduce me to your old... baggage?"
I elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.
Jason's eyes did a weird flicker thing when he saw Leo's hand on me. Then he smiled—tight, plastic. "Wow. Isabelle. Been a while."
"Yep," I said, popping the 'p.' "Years of therapy packed into one elevator ride."
His fiancée—blonde, sparkly, and clearly a yoga influencer—offered me a hand. "Hi! I'm Brittany. Jason's fiancée."
Of course she was.
Leo squeezed my hip. "I'm Leo. Isabelle's boyfriend. We're, uh... blissfully codependent."
I smiled. It wasn't a real smile, but it had enough teeth to make Jason blink.
"So," Jason said, clearly not enjoying this. "You guys serious, or...?"
Leo cut in. "Planning a vacation. To Greece. Might elope. Might adopt a goat. Who knows?"
Brittany laughed. "That's so spontaneous! Jason and I are doing a destination wedding in Bali."
"How original," I muttered. Leo snorted.
Jason cleared his throat. "Well. It's great to see you, Isabelle. You look... happy."
"I am. And not in the denial kind of way. Like, actual joy. Weird, right?"
He nodded. Brittany dragged him away with all the subtlety of a girl trying to escape a fire. Smart.
Once they were out of sight, I let out a long breath.
"That felt like getting slapped with a velvet glove," I muttered.
Leo leaned against a marble column. "Was that your ex? The one with the emotional constipation and a savior complex?"
I blinked. "How do you know about the savior complex?"
He smirked. "You talk in your sleep. Also, I eavesdropped during your last wine rant."
I groaned. "I can't believe he saw us together."
Leo grinned. "Correction. He saw you thriving. He saw you kissed by a Greek god."
"You're not Greek."
"But I could pretend. I'm very method, remember?"
He wiggled his eyebrows. I smacked his arm, and we headed for the car.
**
Later that night, back in my apartment, Leo plopped down on the couch like he lived there. Honestly, at this point, he basically did.
"So..." he began, tossing popcorn into his mouth, "that was your ex."
"Can we not?"
"Absolutely not. It's prime time drama. I'm invested."
I sighed and collapsed beside him. "We dated for three years. He said I was 'too much.' Too opinionated, too sarcastic, too driven. He wanted someone quieter."
Leo made a face. "Ugh. He wanted a decorative throw pillow, not a woman."
"Pretty much."
We sat in silence for a beat.
Then Leo said, "You know, you are a lot. In the best way. Like, 'a lot of champagne.' Or 'a lot of fireworks.' Or 'a lot of extremely niche trivia about early 2000s rom-coms.'"
I stared at him. He wasn't even being sarcastic.
My heart did that flutter thing again. Traitor.
"Thanks," I muttered. "I think."
He tossed a popcorn kernel at me. I caught it. We both froze.
"We should stop being good at this," I said.
"At popcorn or pretending to be in love?"
"Both."
But we didn't. We stayed on the couch until midnight, watching terrible TV and arguing about whether or not Ross was the worst character in Friends. (He was.)
**
The next morning, I woke up to a text from Miranda:
> "Impressive show last night. If Leo is as sharp in meetings as he is charming at dinner, you might just pull this off."
I showed it to Leo. He read it while brushing his teeth with my toothbrush. I gagged.
"Great. So she's onboard. What's next—our fake honeymoon registry?"
I rolled my eyes. "No. We just have to survive the next pitch meeting. With a straight face."
Leo wiped his mouth with a towel and grinned. "That's your internal conflict talking."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're scared to like me. Admit it. You're afraid that if this stops being fake, you'll actually have to deal with... feelings."
I pointed at him. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me while using my toothbrush."
He just winked.
**
At the pitch meeting that afternoon, Leo was a beast.
Confident. Sharp. Charming in that way that made investors nod slowly and say, "I see where you're going with this."
Miranda was practically glowing. I was stunned. Even I was half-convinced we were a power couple.
Until, of course, everything went sideways.
Because in the middle of Leo's final pitch slide, Brittany—the yoga Barbie fiancée—walked in.
She locked eyes with me. Walked straight to Miranda. Whispered something.
Miranda's face froze.
"Isabelle," she said calmly. "Can I speak with you for a moment? Privately?"
Leo's expression snapped to alert. I followed Miranda out, my stomach crawling into my throat.
Outside, Miranda handed me her phone.
"I just received this. From someone claiming to know Leo."
I looked. A screenshot of a dating app profile.
Leo. Shirtless. Flirting.
"I thought you two were exclusive," Miranda said coolly.
And just like that, my career—and fake love story—was spiraling toward a very real disaster.