When my coworker asked me to pretend we were a couple to buy a house, I thought it was just business, a quick deal, easy money. But one small lie turned into something far bigger, and before I knew it, someone I cared about got hurt in a way I could never take back.
Time — the one thing you can’t buy, earn back, or pause, no matter how hard you try. Maybe that’s why I hated it when people wasted mine.
And no one did it better than Caleb.
That morning, he showed up at my desk with two cups of coffee, looking far too pleased with himself.
He set one in front of me, flashing a grin that had probably worked on plenty of women before me.
“For you,” he said.
“Thanks,” I muttered, already turning back to my computer.
“You could at least drink it with me,” he said.
“I could,” I said, typing faster, “but I have work. So I’ll drink it here.”
“You’re gonna miss your whole life sitting behind this desk, you know that?”
“Better than missing a deadline.”
He chuckled under his breath and walked away.
For half a second, I almost felt guilty.
Almost. Then the guilt passed, replaced by my endless to-do list.
I wasn’t cold, just practical.
Growing up counting every dollar taught me to work hard so I’d never go back there again.
And Caleb?
I didn’t trust him.
Charming, sure, but so are most people in sales when they want something.
That night, I met June, my best friend and the only person patient enough for my constant “five more minutes” texts.
“You really think he’s up to something?” June asked.
“I know he is. No one brings someone coffee every morning for free. He probably wants my clients or my leads.
It’s business, not flirting.”
“Nora, are you dumb or pretending to be? He likes you. That’s why he’s doing all this.”
“That’s impossible.
He just wants to distract me so he can look better.”
“You’re blind. You seriously need to start seeing life outside your spreadsheets.”
I sighed and changed the topic before she could start a TED Talk about my love life. “Anyway, how are you?
What’s new?”
Her face lit up. “Remember that house I told you about? The one I grew up in?
I found out it’s for sale. I talked to the owners, and they’re considering selling it to me. They’re a bit strange, though.
Had some unusual conditions at first, but I think I made a good impression.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “But why that house? I could help you find something better.
Newer. With plumbing that actually works.”
“It’s not about the house. It’s about memories.
It’s the last place we lived as a family, before my mom passed. I just… want a piece of that time back.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Then I hope it works out.
You deserve it.”
She shrugged. “The owners aren’t bad people, just a bit conservative. But I think I managed to win them over.”
“Conservative clients are the hardest ones.
I’d rather sell to a ghost.”
The next morning, I was halfway through my emails when Caleb’s shadow fell across my desk again.
“Oh, great,” I muttered. “What now?”
He grinned. “Relax.
I actually have a business proposal for you.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably not. Come on, let’s talk outside.”
Caleb led me out of the office like we were about to discuss top-secret company business.
The second the door closed behind us, I crossed my arms.
“So? What’s this mysterious proposal?”
“I found a house listed for way less than it’s worth. If we buy it, fix it up, and sell it, we could make a huge profit.”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Where exactly do I come into this?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “the owners are… particular. They only want to sell to a couple.”
“A couple? As in—romantically involved?”
“Exactly.”
I laughed.
“People are losing it. Everyone has their weird conditions lately. My friend’s trying to buy a house too, and she said her sellers are strange as well.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then looked back at me with that mischievous spark I’d learned to fear.
“So, will you help me?”
“Help you how?”
“It’s obvious,” he said. “You’ll pretend to be my fiancée.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he said simply. “It’s a great deal for both of us.
The company profits, we both get bonuses.”
I rolled my eyes, but part of me hesitated. He was annoying, yes, but the opportunity was good.
And honestly, I’d been trying to prove myself for months.
Maybe this deal would finally get my boss to notice me for something other than perfect spreadsheets.
“Fine,” I said. “But if we get caught, you’re the one explaining it to HR.”
“Deal!” he said. “Be at the café tomorrow morning.
We need to… bond.”
“Bond?” I repeated. “You mean plan the story.”
He winked. “That too.”
Before I could argue, he was already walking away.
The next morning, I stood outside the café, convincing myself that this was purely work-related.
Caleb waved from inside, already holding a bouquet of bright tulips.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, walking in.
He stood up and handed me the flowers. “For my lovely fiancée.”
“Why?”
“Just felt right.”
Then he pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a ring with a tiny diamond.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Relax,” he said.
“It’s costume jewelry. But no fiancée of mine walks around without a ring.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous works,” he said, sliding the ring box toward me.
We ordered breakfast, and at first, I kept trying to steer the conversation back to the deal, the profit margins, the property details, anything business-related.
But Caleb had other plans.
Somehow, we ended up talking about our favorite movies, childhood pets, and the worst clients we’d ever had.
By the time we finished, I realized I’d been laughing nonstop. It felt… easy. Which was terrifying in its own way.
When he glanced at his watch and said, “We’d better go, we’re meeting the owner,” I actually felt a strange flicker of disappointment.
The house turned out to be a charming two-story with a wide porch and peeling white paint that only made it look more authentic.
The owner, Mrs. Thompson, greeted us at the door with warm eyes and a floral apron that looked straight out of the 1950s.
She asked gentle questions about how we met, how long we’d been “together,” and I nearly choked on my coffee when Caleb said, “Three years and she still hasn’t gotten sick of me.”
Mrs. Thompson laughed and squeezed my hand.
“You two make such a lovely couple. I can always tell when love is real.”
I smiled, trying not to die inside.
When we left, she said she’d call us soon, but her tone made it clear she’d already made up her mind.
Caleb and I walked out of Mrs. Thompson’s house grinning like two kids who’d just pulled off the world’s most harmless crime.
The deal had gone perfectly.
“That was insane,” I said. “I still can’t believe people actually sell houses only to couples.”
“People are weird.
But hey, weird worked for us.” He paused, glancing sideways at me. “We should celebrate. Maybe… dinner?
You know, a real date.”
“A date?”
“Unless you’re scared,” he teased.
I thought of June’s words, that I needed to see something beyond work. Maybe she was right. “Fine,” I said.
“One dinner.”
“Perfect,” he said, his grin widening.
The next evening, after work, I was getting ready for that dinner when my phone buzzed twice.
First, a message from Caleb: a photo of the signed contract with the caption: It’s ours!
Second, another notification, this one from June, written entirely in caps: I HATE YOU!!!
My chest tightened. I immediately called her.
“What happened?” I asked the second she picked up.
“What happened?!” she shouted. “You’re asking me that?
I was trying to help you, and you— you took everything from me!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your charming coworker texted me,” she said. “He wanted advice on how to get your attention. I told him you only cared about work, so maybe he could find a way to mix it with business.
I mentioned the house I wanted to buy, just mentioned it, and he used it!”
“Wait… what are you saying? That the house Caleb and I bought—”
“—is my house!” she screamed. “The one I’ve been saving for.
