I do not believe in failure. I believe in spreadsheets.
So when the Ember Falls Motorcycle Rally lands in my lap eleven weeks behind schedule — and the visiting biker clubs decide I’m not worth taking seriously — I do what any rational event planner would do.
I find a fake boyfriend.
His name is Callum. His road name is Jinx. He’s the unluckiest prospect Iron Vow MC has ever produced, and he agrees to play my biker boyfriend with a grin I am absolutely not going to think about later.
The rules are simple. Public hand-holding only. No improvising. Eleven weeks, then we walk away from each other.
I drafted the contract myself. Four pages. Color-coded. Airtight.
So why, halfway up the highway with my arms wrapped around him, am I starting to wonder which one of us is going to break Rule Three first?
