Five

"No. Listen, as I understand it, you need a fiancée until you can contest the terms of your father's will... and I just lost a small fortune in my divorce. I think we can help each other."

This time, Ritchie paused for what felt like an eternity. It was so lengthy that Stella began to think he'd hung up. Finally, he asked her, "Are you offering your services to me?"

It was an odd way to phrase it, she thought. "I guess," she replied. "I'll pretend to be your fiancée for a fee. You pay my bills, and I'll help you maintain your financial position."

"Alright," he agreed. "Let's discuss it over dinner. Are you free this evening?"

She could almost hear Stoney in her head, making remarks about her empty schedule. "As a matter of fact, I am."

**Ritchie**

The call from Stella came during his breakfast. He had been contemplating buying a new, smaller dining room table. The one he had was too large. It was Eleanor's choice; she had often talked about hosting grand dinner parties and perhaps raising a large family to sit around the table. But now that it was all over, he was left with a big, lavishly decorated table that took up space.

She was the last person he expected to hear from. Their only meeting had been an unpleasant one, and he had hoped never to encounter her again if he could avoid it. Back when Stoney was his personal assistant, he had mentioned her in passing. Ritchie's knowledge about her was so limited that he barely regarded her as anything more than a set of basic facts: she was Stoney's twin, and she worked as a secretary at a doctor's office across town.

Thus, her call left him stunned and somewhat disbelieving that she wanted to work with him. It seemed too good to be true, but if there was even a slight chance of delaying this whole situation, he had to seize it.

He had been contemplating hiring someone, perhaps a call girl, to solve this problem. Yet he doubted he could find anyone who could fool the lawyers and his stepmother. The mere hint of glitter or any other indiscretions, and the whole plan would go up in smoke.

Stella, on the other hand, seemed like an ordinary woman, with just the right amount of allure to make someone like him consider her. She didn't appear flashy enough to be mistaken for a prostitute. It almost seemed too perfect.

He carried on with his day as usual, heading to the office and managing his business while Rebecca, his stepmother, hovered like a shadow. At one point, she entered his office under the pretense of a social visit, her eyes scanning the room as if looking for something specific.

"I was just curious about this fiancée of yours," she said. "How long have you two been together?"

"Long enough," was his terse reply.

"Yet, you don't have any photographs or anything—"

"Is there something you wanted, Rebecca?" he interjected, irritation evident in his tone. She shrugged and slinked back towards the door.

"No, I was just checking in to see how you're doing. I've got to run anyway. Another meeting with estate attorneys. It just never ends, right?"

He merely scowled at her with annoyance before calling his attorney to discuss some paperwork ahead of his business dinner with Stella.

By the time the workday ended and he was back home, getting ready for dinner, he was more than prepared to discuss business. However, first things first, he had to ensure there were no witnesses. If Stella agreed to his conditions, he needed to guarantee that nothing would leak from his end. He had his chef prepare a meal and sent the chef and the rest of the staff home early.

Soon, the doorbell rang, and it was time. He walked to the door and opened it to find Stella standing on his doorstep. She wore a stunning blue strapless dress that hugged her hourglass figure. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a bun, with tendrils framing her face, and her makeup was immaculate. She smiled, her ruby-red lips captivating Ritchie.

Clearing his throat and stepping aside, he said, "Good evening, Ms. Lively. Come in."

Stella entered, taking a moment to look around his grand foyer. "Wow," she remarked, "You have a beautiful house."

"Thank you," he replied, making an effort to avoid eyeing her too overtly. "The dining room is this way."

He led her into the dining room, giving her the opportunity to walk ahead of him while he struggled to keep his eyes off her completely. When they reached the dining table, Stella's eyes widened as she saw the sumptuous spread awaiting them. It wasn't anything extraordinary, just a roast with pomme frites, complemented by side dishes suggested by the chef. He moved to the open wine bottle and asked, "Wine?"

"Sure," she accepted. He poured the wine into her glass, then seated himself across from her at the table.

"This all looks absolutely delicious," Stella remarked.

"Courtesy of my chef," he explained. "I sent him and the rest of the staff home early tonight."