All For Show
Annalise Miller never imagined her boss would propose—especially not like this. As the executive assistant to one of New York’s most powerful men, she’s spent years keeping his life in order. Now, he wants her to be his wife. No love, just convenience. A partnership of power and luxury. But as their engagement unfolds, Annalise starts to see cracks in the perfect billionaire façade. His past is darker than she expected, and the closer she gets, the harder it is to ignore. Can she marry a man who doesn’t believe in love, or will his secrets send her running before she ever says “I do”?
The Date
ANNA
I stared at the deep blue eyes and perfect white teeth across from me.
Adam was a blind date arranged by a friend. We agreed to meet after my yoga class for a quick coffee.
He was charming and handsome, showed up on time, and wore a crisp suit.
He held the door open and paid for my drink without making any sort of scene of it.
Adam was a few years older than me.
But truthfully, I was tired of the games guys my age wanted to play just in the search of meaningless hookups.
When he said he was looking to settle down, he really seemed to mean it.
So what if he checked his phone a few times? It was a weekday morning, after all.
I was lost in my thoughts about our potential future as I watched Adam talk animatedly about a fishing trip he took with his friends a few weeks prior.
So what if he didn’t notice how uninterested I was? He was telling me about himself. Getting to know each other was the entire point of a first date.
“Earth to Anna.”
“Huh?” I blinked as he waved a hand in front of my face.
“Your bag is ringing, sweetheart.”
I fought a wince at the pet name.
“Oh, right.”
“Everything okay?” Adam asked with a bright, easy smile.
“Oh yeah,” I said casually, despite my itch of unease. “Just work, but it can wait.”
My phone immediately started buzzing again. When I silenced it once more, a text message popped up.
I forced a smile. “I’m so sorry. I just need to send a quick text.”
“No worries! What is it you do again?”
I froze with my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
I’d told Adam I was an executive assistant, which was true.
What I failed to mention was where exactly I was employed and whose assistant I was.
“I’m an exec—”
“Executive assistant,” he cut me off, nodding as though he’d just remembered. “Right. For somebody important, I suppose, if they are already blowing up your phone at seven a.m.”
He was prying. Gently, but still.
“Powell Incorporated.”
Adam’s eyebrows shot up.
“I work for Gavin Powell.”
He choked on his latte.
I nodded, my heart already racing as though sensing the impending disaster.
I forced a smile. “I think there’s only the one.”
“What’s that like?” He leaned forward, and I saw the flicker of what I hoped was interest in his eyes.
“It’s fine.” I lifted a shoulder noncommittally.
“I suppose it’s a job like a lot of others. I guess—I dunno—I don’t think much of it.”
“Work.” I hoped he would pick up on my dismissal.
“Well, what kind of work?”
No such luck.
“I can’t discuss it,” I said finally.
His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head in suspicion.
“I signed an NDA,” I clarified. “I cannot discuss my job or Mr. Powell. At all.”
He scoffed, “What kind of secretary needs to sign an NDA?”
Annoyance pricked my spine.
“I am not a secretary,” I said coldly. “I’m his assistant. I literally manage the man’s entire schedule. I make sure every piece of his life is in order from the time he wakes until his head hits the pillow.”
“So what? You pick up his dry cleaning on your way in?” he asked condescendingly.
“No. I hire the man who picks up his dry cleaning.”
He looked slightly taken aback.
“I’m privy to every piece of company information, as well as his personal life,” I explained. “Everyone wants a piece of him, and he’s extremely busy trying to give them his attention. I make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“What? Do you travel with him too?” he mocked.
“Sometimes.” I eyed him over my mug.
The wheels were turning in his head, and I took a deep breath in preparation for what was coming—what always followed.
“So you spend all of your time with America’s most eligible bachelor?” he asked with a smirk.
“Go ahead and ask.”
“What do you mean?” His feigned innocence made my blood boil.
“It’s always the same question.” I shrugged.
When he continued to stare at me, I leaned forward and lowered my voice to mimic him. “So, Anna, how’s the boss in bed?”
He chuckled. “Well, I mean, why else—”
“Would he hire me?” I rolled my eyes. “Go fuck yourself. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for asking, right? What man hires a gorgeous twenty-year-old to be his assistant if not for the extracurriculars?”
His laugh sent my stomach into knots.
“You’re disgusting.”
I pushed back my chair before stomping away, leaving the stupid coffee behind.
“By the way,” I called over my shoulder, “I’m twenty-four, and no, you cannot pass for thirty-two.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away angrily. I should be used to this by now.
It was the same way most of my relationships—if you could even call them that—ended.
If it wasn’t on the first date, it was when they saw my apartment and started asking major questions about what I did for a living.
I slammed the door of the coffee shop open and released a deep breath into the chilly New York air.
Before I could even take my first step, my phone started ringing again.
With a sigh, I answered. “Good morning, Mr. Powell.”
“Annalise,” he greeted flatly. “Oversleep?”
I wrapped my windbreaker around myself.
“No, I was just grabbing a coffee after yoga,” I told him as I hurried into my building just across the street.
I heard my date shout my name from where the doorman held him hostage at the front entrance. I merely flipped him off as the elevator doors slid closed.
“Yoga ended an hour ago.” Before I could question how my boss knew that, Gavin continued, “Mark will be there to pick you up in thirty minutes. I need to be on the line with Shanghai in an hour.”
I stifled a groan. Another day of rushing to get ready, only to be thrown directly into a meeting.
“Of course, Mr. Powell,” I answered.
“I have that lunch—”
“At noon,” I finished for him. “I’m the one who put it on your calendar and made the reservation.”
“Right,” he answered, sounding amused. “See you soon.”
The line went dead. I jammed the button for my floor repeatedly.
When my apartment door swung open, I threw my yoga mat and kicked off my tennis shoes before running for the shower.
I could only hope my workday ended on a higher note.
Given my boss’s current attitude, it seemed doubtful.
I was about to get in the shower when my phone lit up on the counter.
