The rain in Nashville was cold and heavy, graying out the city skyline beyond the high glass windows of the hotel restaurant.

I stood near the entrance, my hands shaking as I adjusted the collar of my worn coat.

Across the dining room, my ex-husband, Grant, and his mother, Evelyn, were speaking to the hostess.

They were early.

The custody hearing at the Davidson County Courthouse was in two hours, but they wanted to corner me first.

I looked down at the silver watch on my wrist.

Nine minutes.

That was how long I had before my attorney arrived with the temporary protection order for my daughter, Rosie.

But Evelyn had already spotted me, her eyes narrowing as she pointed in my direction.

She smiled, a cold, triumphant curve of red lipstick.

I looked around the room in a panic, my chest tightening.

My gaze landed on a man sitting alone at a quiet corner table.

He wore a dark charcoal suit that fit him perfectly, and his hair was cut short and neat.

He was staring down at a tablet, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line.

He looked powerful, guarded, and entirely unapproachable.

I didn’t have another choice.

I walked over to his table, my heels clicking softly on the polished hardwood floor.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

The man did not look up immediately.

When he did, his gray eyes were sharp, cold, and entirely focused on me.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and flat.

“I need you to pretend to be my husband,” I said.

I gripped the edge of his table, my knuckles turning white.

He stared at me, his face showing absolutely no emotion.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just for nine minutes,” I pleaded, leaning closer so only he could hear. “My ex-husband and his mother are coming over here. They want to take my six-year-old daughter. If they see I am alone, they will use it to prove I have no stability.”

The stranger looked past me, his eyes scanning the room.

He saw Evelyn and Grant walking toward us, their expensive shoes clicking on the floor.