Chapter 8
WHEN I BASICALLY FAKED AN ORGASM OVER DESSERT. THEN HE KISSED ME LIKE HE KNEW. #KISSEDBYTHEDEVIL
DAKOTA
God help me. Tonight was going to suck donkey balls.
I studied my reflection one last time, mentally calculating how much my appearance would have cost if all these products hadn’t been given to me in exchange for social media posts.
Two hundred for the hair. Three fifty for the makeup.
Another sixty for the false eyelashes that made my eyes look innocent.
The exact opposite of how I felt. All to convince strangers I was in love with Satan’s favorite intern.
That’s all he was. Those moments, or whatever the hell you might call them, in the bathroom and the one before it in the office meant nothing. In fact, they weren’t even moments. They were glitches. Malfunctions in the matrix.
You are not a needy teen, desperate for his attention, Dakota. So, do not let him have the power. You hate Axel, Dakota. Hate. Hate. HATE!
Then why did I put on my most devastating dress?
The ruby-red fabric hugged every curve like it was painted on. No. It wasn’t to impress him; it was strategic. A woman going to war needed armor, and mine came with a push-up bra and five-inch Louboutins that click-clacked like walking the plank on the way to the living room.
I rounded the corner into the foyer and froze.
Damn. Double damn. Triple damn with a cherry of F-my-life on top.
Axel Pierce stood with his back to me, tailored shoulders broad enough to fill out that suit like a movie star. When he turned, those piercing cobalt eyes hit me like a car accident. His jaw, shadowed with dangerous stubble, tightened when he saw me.
The man had no right to look so gorgeous. Tall, with perfectly tousled dark hair and a personality like a paper shredder. A really hot paper shredder. The kind that made you want to feed it important documents just to watch it work.
Heat radiated through my body as his gaze traveled from my face to my stilettos and back up slowly, memorizing every inch. When his eyes met mine again, something dark and hungry flickered before he masked it.
“You look almost tolerable when you’re not talking, Sunshine,” he drawled.
See? If you needed proof there were no moments in the office or bathroom, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. We were right back where we started. Safe ground. The familiar territory of mutual loathing.
Good. That’s exactly where I wanted us.
I forced my lips into a smile with too many teeth. “And you clean up surprisingly well for someone with the personality of a cactus.”
“Enough, you two.” Rebecca stepped forward, all business.
“Three influencers will be positioned near you tonight with fifteen million followers between them. They think they scored prime reservations, but every seat was strategically placed. One of them is Paul Hargon; he can make or break this. You’ll apologize publicly; Axel will forgive you. ”
My apology. The idea of groveling to him publicly tasted like throw-up.
“Hear that, Sunshine?” His eyebrows shot up. “Apologize. Loud and fucking clear.”
I glared while he smirked.
“And you’ll seal the night with a kiss authentic enough to convince those influencers you’ve been doing it for months.”
My stomach dropped. “A kiss?” I choked. “I’d rather cut my lips off.”
“You think kissing you is any less repulsive to me?” Axel snarled. “I’d rather kiss a blender. While it’s running.”
“Then help me here.” I gestured wildly. “We can sell the whole couple-making-up narrative without my enduring his mouth on mine. We can hold hands and pretend the touch doesn’t feel like acid. But a kiss? I can’t pull that off. Not with him.”
“We agreed to do everything she said.”
I gripped my hips hard enough to leave marks. It was that or punch his perfectly structured face. “You’re just saying that because making me squirm brings you joy.”
His lips quirked up. Case. In. Point.
“Dry your panties, Sunshine. It’s a fake kiss. Kissing you will feel like kissing a corpse.”
“Kissing you will feel like kissing an insect.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Rebecca’s expression was pinched. “Is kissing each other really so bad, you’d rather lose everything?”
Yes, I thought savagely, even as images flashed through my mind: my mother’s wheelchair ramp, the unpaid bills on their counter.
I swallowed the word and glared at Axel instead.
“Good.” She pointed a finger at us. “Stay. On. Script.”
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the restaurant in electric silence.
Per Rebecca’s script, I waited for Axel to open my door. When he extended his hand with practiced gallantry, I stared at his fingers like they might infect me.
“Come on, Sunshine.”
The transformation in his voice stopped my heart. Gone was the cutting edge, replaced by something warm that slid over my skin like expensive wine. His entire demeanor had shifted. Blue eyes softened from glacial to summer skies, posture curving toward me instead of away.
When our hands connected, a shiver started in my palm and rippled inward, setting off tiny earthquakes in my chest. As he helped me from the car, his other hand settled on my lower back, fingers splaying wide, the touch burning through the thin fabric in the worst and best way.
He leaned down, breath warm against my ear. “Wipe that deer-in-headlights look off your face, Sunshine. Remember, you’re seasoned at tricking people into thinking your life is perfect.”
So much for the loving-boyfriend transformation. Seriously. Jekyll and Hyde had nothing on Axel Pierce.
His barb landed precisely, but when he pulled away, his expression was adoring for any watching eyes.
I motioned for him to bend down, letting my smile stay bright and affectionate. “Pretending my life is perfect and pretending I can stand you are entirely different skill sets,” I murmured, letting my lips brush his ear. “One requires a filter. The other requires a frontal lobotomy.”
His responding wink nearly stopped my heart. Not because it was charming—which, maddeningly, it was—but because of how effortlessly he slipped between personas. Axel Pierce, asswad by day, Oscar-worthy actor by night.
Minutes later, we were seated, intimate lighting casting everyone golden. I immediately spotted our targets: three influencers at the nearest tables, phones out, attention seemingly fixed elsewhere but clearly locked on us.
I recognized Paul Hargon instantly. Gossip turned into a multimillion-dollar empire.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Axel cooed, right on script.
Suddenly, anxiety crashed over me. What if I screw this up? Forget my lines?
Axel’s fingers brushed my hand, eyes locking on mine with an unspoken message: Breathe. We’ve got this.
The genuine concern caught me off guard. Strange how quickly enemies became conspirators when survival was at stake.
“You look beautiful,” he continued flawlessly. “You’ve always looked stunning in red.”
His gaze tracked down my neckline before returning to my eyes. Hopefully noticed by our audience. But beneath the performance, I caught genuine appreciation that sent unwelcome heat pooling low in my abdomen.
Traitorous body. We were supposed to be a united front against him.
Okay. Time for the main event.
“Axel,” I began, projecting just enough to be overheard. “I’m sorry about what I did.”
His expression softened unexpectedly, and for an eerie moment, we seemed to slip back in time before Knox’s arrest, before everything shattered.
Axel nodded encouragingly, one eyebrow lifting slightly. You’re doing fine. Keep going.
The unexpected tenderness in his gaze made my throat tight, but I pushed through the feeling, desperate to maintain my emotional distance.
“When we broke up that night,” I continued, “I was so hurt, I acted in a way I normally never would. I should never have taken that picture of you with that woman. And I never should’ve posted it online.
” I drew a steadying breath, aware of Paul angling his phone toward us.
“I didn’t mean to share it publicly. I thought it was my private story.
But that doesn’t excuse taking the photo. I’m really sorry.”
At least that part was true. Maybe my express ticket to hell would be downgraded to economy.
“I was flirting with her to make you jealous,” Axel delivered with such sincerity, I almost believed him.
“I was upset you broke up with me. Being immature and a complete jackass. I’m sorry.
” He paused. “And for the record, I didn’t know who she was or that she was married.
I’d have picked a more believable target. ”
Axel reached across and took my hand.
The contact sent shock waves through my system. Especially when his thumb traced slow circles on my skin and he was looking at me like I was the only person in the room.
There was something mesmerizing about this version of Axel: attentive, loving, genuine. Some hidden part of me wondered what it would be like if this wasn’t an act.
“I love you,” he said with such conviction, my heart nearly squealed.
“I love you too,” I managed, finding myself tracing circles on his skin.
“Come back to me,” he urged, voice dropping intimately. “I know you’re scared of being hurt again. But I swear, Dakota, I would never hurt you.”
This is just an act, I reminded myself. He’ll go back to being a dick in … 3 … 2 … 1 …
Following Rebecca’s directions, Axel moved my chair beside his, thighs touching, skin burning through fabric. He draped his arm around me, pulling me closer until I felt his body heat, while he began playing with the ends of my hair.
My defenses were crumbling, and I hated it.
Hated how good his touch felt, how much I wanted this tenderness to be real.
But I’d already learned this lesson today: Axel could switch from caring to cold in a heartbeat.
And seeing his performance made me wonder if he got off on tugging my emotions around.