My Childhood Rival Pretended to Be My Boyfriend

Nathan Cole and I had grown up next door to each other. Our parents were best friends, and for most of our childhood, we were inseparable.

We became enemies when he was seventeen and I was sixteen.

Eight years later, we were both working in our family businesses, which gave us a whole new way to annoy each other. That morning, I marched into his office at Cole Group, convinced he'd stolen my deal with Parker Group.

“Does everything taste better when you take it off my plate?” I demanded, planting my hands on his desk. “I hate you, Nathan.”

He sat with his long legs crossed and muttered something I couldn't make out.

My phone rang before I could tell him to speak up. I put it on speaker. My project manager had news: Evan Parker's plane had landed.

Evan was back in the country. If I could get a meeting with him, I might still salvage the partnership. We'd been classmates in high school; surely that counted for something.

Nathan stood so quickly his chair rolled backward.

“Don't go to him. Chloe, there's something I need to tell you.”

“I'll go wherever I want. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

I headed for the elevator without waiting for an answer.

Outside, wind tore at my coat. A hurricane was approaching the coast, and the weather was already getting ugly. I looked up just as a planter blew off a second-floor ledge.

A pothos plant. Water. Glass.

Then a sharp blow to the head.

The last thing I saw was Nathan rushing toward me, looking furious and terrified.

Was he checking whether I was dead so he could take the rest of my clients?

Unbelievable.

When I began to wake, I smelled disinfectant and heard a doctor speaking beside my bed.

“Her examination is reassuring, but she may have a mild concussion. Someone should stay with her and follow the discharge instructions. If her symptoms worsen, bring her back.”

“Then why hasn't she woken up?” Nathan asked. “Could there be lasting damage?”

“She responded during the examination. She appears to be sleeping now.”

I kept my eyes shut.

So I'd been knocked out, briefly, and then taken a nap. Excellent. Very dignified.

Still, an opportunity was an opportunity.

If I pretended to have lost my memory, I could demand compensation from Nathan. Emotional distress. Lost business. Having to look at his face.

I could also stay at his house. Both sets of parents had gone on vacation together several days earlier, leaving us on our own. I was sick of the food at work, and his housekeeper was an incredible cook.

My eyelids twitched before I'd finished developing this brilliant plan.

“Mr. Cole, she's awake,” the nurse said.

Showtime.

I opened my eyes and gave Nathan my most innocent, bewildered look.

He leaned over me, holding up a hand. “Chloe. How many fingers?”

He was moving them so fast I couldn't have counted them with a perfectly intact brain.

“I don't know.” I touched my forehead. “Who are you?”

He went still.

Then he turned to the doctor. “She doesn't know me.”

The doctor came closer and asked me more questions. When had I last eaten? Did I remember coming to the hospital? Could I tell them my name?

I supplied a careful mixture of answers and puzzled looks. The doctor repeated part of the examination and kept me for further observation.

“Memory symptoms after a head injury need monitoring,” she told Nathan. “Let us know about any changes.”

He listened so intently that, for a second, I almost felt bad.

Almost.

Later, with the doctor out of the room and a nurse checking the chart, I looked at him again.

“Who are you?”

At that moment, my performance was Oscar-worthy—good enough to outshine every A-list actress in Hollywood. And Nathan bought every second of it.

Nathan hesitated.

“I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for eight years. We're going to get married.”

I stared at him, bewildered.

Had he caught me? Was this revenge?

But his hand settled gently on my hair, well away from the sore spot.

“It's okay, Chloe. I'll take you home.”

One of us had suffered a serious blow to the head. I was beginning to wonder which one.

His eyes were red, as though he'd been crying.

Must have been the wind. It was vicious out there.

He cleared his throat under my scrutiny.

“You don't believe me? We could kiss. See if that feels familiar.”

Before I could answer, his ears turned red. He looked away.

“I'm kidding. Obviously. There are people here.”

I blinked at him.

He hadn't been looking at the people. He'd been looking at my mouth.

I had planned to get money out of this. How had he managed to negotiate kissing rights?