One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance

I was halfway through my lunch, spearing a perfectly dressed forkful of arugula and goat cheese when my office door banged open like it had been hit by a rampaging gorilla. The fork stopped halfway to my mouth. I was about to scold Penelope for acting like King Kong when he sees a tall building.

But it wasn’t Penelope going ape.

I looked up just in time to see Fox shutting the door behind him. Behind the glass, I caught a glimpse of Penelope’s stricken face, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“I told him you were busy!” Penelope called through the door, her voice muffled.

He was acting like it was normal to barge into an office. Maybe he had never been taught basic manners given his upbringing. He was half-feral.

Fox looked at me. There was accusation in his eyes. I couldn’t begin to think what I did wrong.

I sighed and put my fork down, taking a moment to mourn what was turning out to be an unusually good salad. Of course, I couldn’t even enjoy my lunch in peace. Men like Fox always complicated everything.

“Did we have an appointment?” I asked, giving him a pointed look. “I would have ordered you a salad.”

Fox strolled across my office as if he owned it, hands casually shoved into the pockets of his suit. The man was feigning nonchalance, which was silly considering that he’d almost knocked the door off its hinges.

He didn’t respond right away, instead letting his gaze drift around the room, taking in the sleek modern furniture, the framed photos with some of my biggest clients, the award plaques on the wall. He made it a point to look unimpressed. That irritated me more than it should have.

“I wasn’t thrilled you sent one of your minions to present your ideas to me this morning,” he said finally, his tone cool.

“Minions?” I echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Aaron is a senior executive. He’s perfectly capable of handling a presentation. I don’t handle individual accounts. I manage the executives who handle the accounts.”

“I didn’t hire that guy. I hired you.”

I sighed. He thought he was special and wanted me to handhold him through the campaign. “What didn’t you like about the concept?”

Fox flexed his jaw, the muscle ticking like he was holding back from saying something he shouldn’t. It was oddly satisfying to watch him struggle. He had put me on edge in the coffee shop when he was checking out my ass. It was my turn.

“That’s not my problem,” he said flatly. “I’m supposed to be working with you. Christa insisted on me hiring you. Not that Aaron guy. I would never hire him.”

“That’s not how this works,” I said, eyeing my salad wilting before my eyes. “I’m heading this account, but I have a team. I can’t babysit every single meeting. I oversee a lot of executives.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to feel better about it?” he shot back, stepping closer to my desk.

He was close enough now that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne—something crisp and woodsy that made me think of mountain air.

I couldn’t help myself. The words were out before I could stop them. “Are you that upset because you didn’t get to see me today? So, you could gawk at me again like you did at the coffee shop?”

He froze, and for a split second, his expression shifted. There was amusement mixed with a hint of surprise. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him out on his rude behavior. Maybe I should have let it go.

He was a client after all.

He looked at me another few seconds, the amusement fading into what almost looked like irritation. Or maybe anger.

“I don’t gawk,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Next time you’d like to meet with me one on one, schedule it with Penelope. She’s in charge of my calendar. Don’t expect me to just be wherever you want me to be. Make an appointment.”

“That’s not how I operate,” he said.

I was surprised he was so offended. And angry.

“Then you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” I shot back. “Because I don’t alter my operations for anyone, not even for you, Fox.”

There was a moment of charged silence. His mouth twitched at one corner, but his eyes remained cool. I refused to back down. I had encountered men like Fox before, men that presumed their money and influence could bully others into submission. They always assumed everything should go their way simply because they asked for it.

“I’m a client,” he stated again.

“And I don’t budge. Goodbye, Fox.”

Instead of leaving, he tilted his head, studying me like I was an unsolved puzzle. He didn’t look angry or irritated. He looked curious. “Tonight. Dinner.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You and I are having dinner tonight.”

“No, we are not,” I argued. I was the one irritated now. How dare he try and dictate my schedule? Or just assume he could order me to eat dinner.

“If you can’t be bothered to meet with your own client during working hours, then meet me tonight, for dinner.”

“I don’t do dinners,” I said firmly. “I do not mix my business and my personal life.”

“This isn’t that,” he said.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Then what do you do?” He leaned against the edge of my desk, looking far too comfortable for my liking.

I felt a flutter of something dangerous in my chest. Was it excitement? Maybe it was a challenge. I shouldn’t have been enjoying this. I shouldn’t like the way he was trying to get under my skin. But I did.

“One drink,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Fine. Where?”

I rattled off the name of a wine bar downtown, one I knew would be packed and noisy enough to drown out any tension between us. “Eight o’clock,” I added, meeting his eyes.

He nodded once, then pushed off my desk and headed for the door without another word. When he opened it, Penelope was right there, looking frazzled. Fox looked at her and then walked away. He left as quickly as he came in.

Kind of like a tornado.

“I’m sorry, Natalia,” Penelope stammered, glaring daggers at Fox’s retreating figure. “He just barged in.”

“It’s fine, Penelope,” I said, waving her off. “It wasn’t your fault. Men like Fox always try to get their way. He wouldn’t have stopped if you threw your body in front of him. He’s like a steam roller. That’s the kind of man that takes what he wants.”

Penelope leaned against the doorway, watching as he disappeared down the hall. “He’s pretty cute, though,” she mused.

I gave her a look. “One, he’s too old for you. And two, stay away from rich men. It’s never good news, no matter how charming they seem. No matter how in love they make you believe they are. They’re all the same. They’re all snakes in the grass. They slither around, injecting their venom into unsuspecting victims before slinking away, leaving the victims to suffer the consequences alone.”

Penelope blinked, her lightheartedness sobering at my words. “You speak from experience,” she noted, not really asking.

I shrugged noncommittally in response, not wanting to reopen old wounds. I couldn’t hide my bitterness. I did a pretty good job hiding it most of the time, but it was still burning just below the surface.

“Just trust me,” I said.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I bit back the rest of what I was going to say. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I am sorry. I’ll do better next time. I’ll throw a stapler at him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said with a smile. “Go ahead and take your lunch break.”

She nodded, giving me a small smile before she headed back to her desk. I let out a breath and turned back to my salad, but the good mood I had earlier was gone, replaced by the familiar ache of memories I’d tried hard to bury.

The crunchy lettuce and the perfect dressing were ruined. Time would tell whether Fox would ruin my evening, too.

I was tired and ready to curl up in my pajamas with my book by the time I pulled up to my craftsman cottage in Kirkland. It was a far cry from my office in downtown Seattle. My house was small and quirky, with a garden full of lavender and rosemary and a covered front porch where I drank my coffee on Sundays. The back patio was covered as well, a must in the Pacific Northwest. I loved the lush green that stuck around from March to October, but that meant I had to deal with the rain.

It wasn’t so bad.

I walked up the front walk, noting the empty flowerbeds. I was going to plant some of that purple cabbage looking stuff. I loved color. At home. Not at work. I unlocked the door and let myself in. Inside, the floors creaked in all the familiar places. There were colorful rugs and mismatched throw pillows, a sharp contrast to the sleek, minimalist style of my office.

My royal blue velvet couch was the centerpiece. Anyone that met me in the business world would never believe this was my home. I loved color. It was like I was two different people. There was the practical, no-nonsense business side of me and the whimsical, cheerful homebody who loved vibrant colors and lots of personality. The same woman who was a cutthroat marketing manager had a cloud-shaped mirror in her hallway and painted walls the color of sunshine. I tossed my steel-gray Kate Spade bag on a pale green wingback chair in the corner.

I needed to change for my wine date and I was already running late. I had no idea what I was going to wear. I shouldn’t care. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress Fox. I couldn’t care less what he thought.

But maybe I did a little.

I walked into my bedroom and turned on the lights. My bedroom. My haven. I painted it in light shades of lavender and sage green. It was supposed to be serene and help me sleep better. I didn’t know if that was the case, but I loved to be in my room. My oversized bed was covered in an ocean of white linen with purple accent pillows, perfect for lounging in on lazy days.

I opened up my walk-in closet and stepped inside. I took off my heels and put them on the shelf and surveyed the dress options. My closet was organized. It was probably the only part of my home that reflected my professional life. The closet had been renovated after I moved in to accommodate my wardrobe. I liked it tidy.

I had business attire on one side, all black, white, and gray. The casual portion of my closet was filled with every color of the rainbow. Blues, pinks, greens, yellows, and reds stood out vibrantly, beckoning me to choose them.

But those were clothes from my old life.

The dress code at the wine bar was casual, but I still found myself lingering in front of the dresses, hesitating longer than I should have. Why did I care what I wore? It wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting, plain and simple.

I settled on a little black dress, something simple but flattering. I didn’t want to show him the other side of me. Since the divorce, I found myself holding back. I didn’t let anyone in. The only time I wore my fun clothes was when I was at home and could be me.

I let my hair down, running my fingers through it. It looked good tonight—sleek and shiny from the blowout I’d gotten that morning. Satisfied, I slipped into a pair of red heels for just a tiny pop of color and grabbed my purse, ignoring the little voice in my head that was screaming at me to cancel, to call it off and make an excuse like a sensible person.

But somehow, that would have felt like he won. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I walked out the door, locking it behind me.

Half a mile from the wine bar, I heard a loud pop. The steering wheel jerked in my hands, and the car started to wobble. I swore under my breath and pulled over to the side of the road. Of course. Of course this would happen tonight, of all nights.

I climbed out of the car, the chill of the evening air biting at my bare legs. I knelt down to look at the tire, and sure enough, it was flat.

“Son of a bitch!” I shouted at the moon.