Page 5 of Flashpoint
"This is insane," I mutter when we reach the hallway.
"Absolutely insane." He pauses. "Although..."
"Although what?"
That grin appears—the one that probably started this whole mess. "At least we know our chemistry is convincing. Even when we're arguing."
"We don't have chemistry, Gentry. We have combustion. The dangerous, explosive kind that requires a hazmat response."
"Isn't that still technically chemistry?" His eyebrow quirks.
The glare I shoot him has less heat than this morning. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe the absurdity finally sinking in. Or maybe because when he smiles like that—genuine, not for cameras—something in my chest does a flutter that I'm absolutely not examining right now.
"This weekend," Hazel interrupts, consulting their phone with invasion-planning intensity. "I'll send details. Coordinated outfits would be great—nothing too matchy-matchy, but complementary colors. Blues and greens photograph well."
"Coordinated outfits?" The words come out faint.
"Trust me, it makes a difference. Oh, and practice standing closer together. The body language in the video was great, but intentional proximity reads even better on camera."
Hazel bounces off down the hallway, leaving Aiden and me in awkward silence.
"Intentional proximity," he says finally. "That's a new one."
"This is going to be a disaster." My back hits the wall with a thud. "I investigate fires. I don't perform for cameras. I'm not a trained seal."
"Hey." His voice goes surprisingly gentle. "We'll figure it out. Just a few appearances, some photos. How hard can it be to pretend we don't irritate each other?"
Looking up at this infuriating man who's somehow become my fake almost-boyfriend in the span of an hour, the answer comes easily. "On a scale of one to ten? Probably about a twelve."
But he laughs—really laughs, not the practiced chuckle reserved for public events—and for just a moment, maybe this won't be a complete catastrophe.
Probably wrong about that. But standing in the fluorescent-lit hallway with Aiden smiling like we're co-conspirators instead of reluctant partners, pulling this off almost seems possible.
Weekend. Riverside Park. Fake relationship for the cameras.
I pull out of the parking lot, Aiden's face still framed in my rearview mirror—that infuriatingsmile, those impossibly broad shoulders, the way he looked at me when he steadied my elbow.
My phone buzzes. Hazel's already sent a detailed itinerary with color-coded time blocks and a mood board for 'couple aesthetics.'
I'm so screwed.
Chapter 2
Aiden
The conference room smells like dry-erase markers and ambition. Hazel has transformed the space into what looks like a war room—promotional materials spread across the polished table in color-coded stacks, multiple devices scattered like digital landmines, and a whiteboard covered in hashtags that make my eye twitch.
What I'd assumed would be a straightforward media briefing is clearly something else entirely.
"Okay, so I've mapped out your entire relationship arc." Hazel swipes through their tablet with the intensity of a general planning an invasion. "Meet-cute at the warehouse—already captured, thank God. First public appearance this weekend. Gradual escalation of intimacy cues over the following three weeks."
Intimacy cues. My coffee suddenly tastes like regret.
Riley sits at the far end of the table, her posture rigid enough to pass a military inspection. Her hair is pulled back in that practical style she favors, wire-rimmed glasses reflecting Hazel's presentation slides. Everything about her screams "I would rather be anywhere else."
That makes two of us.
"The key is authentic chemistry." Hazel bounces slightly in their chair. "Think less performance, more natural connection."
