Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Charlie
Not that I'm trying to manipulate Sebastian with my appearance or anything.
Okay, maybe I am. Just a little. Sue me.
I tug my wool coat tighter around me as the elevator climbs to the fourteenth floor, the light camel color contrasting nicely with the rich burgundy underneath.
The weather report said we're in for another frigid day—typical December in Texas—but honestly, the cold is the least of my concerns right now.
My stomach is doing that uncomfortable twisty thing it does before presentations, except this is much worse.
Because this isn't about quarterly marketing strategies or client retention; this is about swallowing my pride and asking for a favor that could potentially backfire in spectacular fashion.
The doors slide open with a ding, and I step out into the hallway, mentally rehearsing what I'm going to say for the millionth time.
Hey Sebastian, yeah, it's me. The girl you made orgasm so hard that she forgot her own name and the one who has been actively avoiding you since you started working at TMG. Also, funny story...
God, this is going to be a train wreck. But what choice do I have? Emily's plan has backed me into a corner, and I'd rather face humiliation than admit defeat to Ethan.
"Morning, Charlie!"
I nearly jump out of my skin as Zoe materializes beside me, clipboard in hand and somehow keeping pace with me despite her impractical heels that click against the polished floor. Her bright smile is almost offensive this early in the morning, especially given my current state of emotional turmoil.
"Jesus, Zoe. We've talked about the ninja approach." I press a hand to my chest, feeling my heart hammering beneath my palm. "You're going to give someone a heart attack one of these days."
"Sorry!"
She doesn't look sorry at all, her glossy ponytail bouncing as she falls into step beside me.
"I've got your schedule for today. The Apex team wants to move the call to 2 PM, and Amelia asked if you could look over the Q4 projections by end of day.
Oh, and marketing sent up the mockups for the spring campaign.
They're on your desk waiting for approval. "
I nod absently, scanning the office. No sign of him yet. "Is Sebastian in?"
"Not yet." Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "But oh my god, can we talk about how hot he is? Like, is it even fair for someone to look like that AND be good at his job? The man walks into a meeting and my brain just turns to absolute mush."
If only you knew, Zoe. If only you knew exactly how those blue eyes look when they're staring down at you, or how that perpetually messy hair feels between your fingers, or what that voice sounds like when it's whispering in your ear at 1 AM.
"He's... competent," I manage, desperately hoping my face isn't betraying the highlight reel currently playing in my head.
"Competent?" She looks at me like I've just said water isn't wet, her perfectly shaped eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.
"He's a goddamn Greek god who somehow ended up in marketing.
Those eyes alone could convince me to buy sand in a desert.
And have you seen him when he rolls up his sleeves during presentations?
I swear Janet from accounting nearly fainted yesterday. "
"Could you let me know when he gets in, please?" I cut her off before I have to hear any more about Sebastian's eyes, which I'm already far too familiar with, or about his forearms, which are usually featured prominently in my more inappropriate daydreams. "And I could really use a coffee."
"On it. Vanilla latte?" She brightens, already shifting mental gears.
"Make it a double shot please. I have a feeling I'll need it." Or maybe just an IV drip of espresso directly into my veins to get me through this day.
"Coming right up." She turns to leave, ponytail swinging behind her.
"Thanks Zoe." I call behind me as I walk into my office and close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. This is insane. I'm about to ask my one-night stand coworker to pretend to be my boyfriend for a week-long family vacation. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Emily's voice echoes in my head: It's either that or let Ethan think he won.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Did you ask the hottie yet?
Lily
I groan, hanging my coat on my coat rack and sinking into my desk chair.
Right after dinner Emily had called Lily about this ridiculous plan so she could have reinforcements when I got home to make sure I didn't talk myself out of it.
The two of them had spent an hour strategizing as if this were some kind of military operation instead of the most embarrassing conversation of my professional life.
Not yet.
Remember eye contact is key.
And maybe undo an extra button
Lily
I'm not seducing him into this!
Why not? It worked the first time...
Em
That was different. This needs to stay professional.
I type back, even though there's nothing professional about any of this. Or about the memories of that night that still make my cheeks redden when I let myself think about it.
There's nothing remotely professional about asking a colleague to fake date you just to wind up your ex. Might as well make use of all your assets.
And by assets, we mean those fantastic boobs that God blessed you with!!! Show a little cleavage!! It's for a good cause!
Em
I'm typing a suitably outraged response when there's a knock at my door.
"Coffee delivery!" Zoe chirps, sweeping in with my latte. "Also, FYI, Man Hunk just got here. He's looking particularly delicious today. Dark blue suit, minus the jacket and his sleeves are rolled up."
Great. The rolled sleeves. Apparently, my kryptonite.
"Thanks," I say, taking the coffee. "Could you give me about ten minutes, then ask him to come see me? Say it's about the Reebok campaign."
"Ooh, clandestine meeting." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You got it, boss."
When she's gone, I take a long sip of coffee and a deep breath.
My phone buzzes again.
Good luck! Worst case, he says no and proves he’s a right tosser. Best case, the fake dating turns real, and you get to climb him like a bloody tree… again.
Lily
OMG I hate you both so much right now.
Love you too!
Lily
I love you!
Em
I set my phone down and try to gather my thoughts. How exactly does one proposition their coworker for a fake relationship? I should have prepared note cards, a slide deck presentation, or… something.
For a moment, I consider just canceling the whole trip. I could claim a work emergency, food poisoning, spontaneous combustion—anything to avoid this conversation and the trip itself. No one would even have to know.
But then I picture Ethan's face if he saw me alone at the lodge, that pitying look he'd give me, the way he'd introduce Olivia to everyone while I stand there like the pathetic ex who hasn't moved on...
Nope. I'm doing this.
There's another knock at my door, firmer this time.
"Come in," I call, straightening my posture and willing the adrenaline coursing through my body to calm down.
Sebastian enters, and damn Zoe for being right.
The tailored dark blue slacks he has on fit him perfectly, and the rolled sleeves reveal his forearms in a way that should be illegal in an office setting.
His hair is slightly damp, like he showered just before coming in, and I instantly get a whiff of his cologne.
"You wanted to see me?" His voice is neutral, professional. We've been dancing this careful dance all week. Polite, distant, focused only on work.
"Yes. Close the door, please."
He raises an eyebrow, but does as I ask.
I gesture to the chair on the opposite side of my desk. “Have a seat.”
He again does as I ask, looking at me quizzically. "Is everything okay with the Reebok campaign? Zoe said—"
"The campaign's fine." I take a sip of coffee, buying some time. "This is about something else."
"Okay..." He leans forward slightly, studying me.
"I need a favor." The words come out in a rush. "A… sort of personal favor."
His expression shifts, surprise breaking through his professional mask. "A personal favor?"
"Yes." I set my coffee down and force myself to meet his gaze. "My family has this annual Christmas trip to Colorado. We go to our home in Aspen every year."
"Sounds nice," he says cautiously.
"It is. Or it was. Until my ex got engaged to the woman I'm pretty sure he cheated on me with, and now they're both going to be there because his parents and mine have been best friends since the dawn of time, and my sister told my parents last night at dinner that you and I are dating so I wouldn't have to go alone, and now my mom thinks we're sharing a room, and I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a week.
" I finally pause for a breath. "Please. " I add quickly.
He stares at me for what feels like an eternity, face unreadable.
"Let me get this straight," he says finally. "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend on a family trip to save face in front of your ex?"
Put like that, it sounds even more ridiculous than it did in my head.
"Yes," I admit. "I know it's completely inappropriate and probably crosses every HR boundary there is, and you have every right to say no, but—"
"Okay."
I blink. "Okay?"
"Okay." He shrugs. "I'll do it."
"Just like that?" I narrow my eyes, suspicious. "Don't you want to know more details first? Like, when it is, or what it would involve, or why my sister dragged you into this mess in the first place?"
He shrugs again, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "When is it?"
"December 15th through the 22nd."
"Not a problem. What would it involve?"
"Pretending to be completely infatuated with me in front of my family, my ex, and his new fiancée. Sharing a room. Probably some forced participation in humiliating family traditions."
"Sounds manageable." His smile is growing now. "And as for why your sister involved me specifically..." He leans back in his chair. "I'm guessing it has something to do with our previous encounter."
Heat floods my cheeks. "She thought it would be a fitting punishment for you. Her words, not mine."
"Ah." Something flickers in his eyes. "So this is my chance to make amends?"
"Something like that."
"Then I accept. On one condition."
Here it comes. The catch. "What condition?"
"You have dinner with me tonight." He holds up a hand as I start to protest. "Not as a date. As a planning session. If we're going to convince your family we're madly in love, we should probably know more about each other than just..." He gestures vaguely between us. "You know."
"Our sexual compatibility?" I supply dryly.
A slow grin spreads across his face, and damn it, it shouldn't affect me the way it does. "I was going to say, 'how we take our coffee,' but yes, that too."
I should say no.. But he's right. If we're going to pull this off, we need to establish some boundaries and backstory.
"Fine," I concede. "Dinner. But purely professional."
"Purely professional," he agrees, though his eyes say something entirely different. "I'll pick you up at seven?"
"I'll just meet you there. Text me the place."
He pulls out his phone and unlocks it before sliding it across my desk. "Input your details, Whitaker."
His phone's background is a mountain vista. It's a gorgeous shot.
I type in my number and add Charlotte W. in the name field and hand it back.
He stands, and I can't help but notice the way his button up stretches across his shoulders. "Looking forward to it, Charlotte."
The way he says my name, because I made it perfectly clear on day one he didn't get to call me Charlie is drawn out with just a hint of that teasing tone and sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
"It's just dinner," I remind him. And myself.
"Of course." He pauses at the door. "Oh, and one more thing."
"What's that?"
"That dress looks fantastic on you."
Before I can respond, he's gone, leaving me with burning cheeks and the distinct impression that I've just made either the best or worst decision of my life.
Probably the worst.
Definitely the worst.
I grab my phone and text the group chat:
He said yes. I'm having dinner with him tonight to "plan our strategy." This is all your fault Em and I expect full emotional compensation.
Their responses are immediate:
YOU'RE WELCOME!!!
Em
Eeek!!!
Lily
Dinner reservations at Bellinis, 7pm. Dress code: stunning (though you already check that box).
UNKNOWN
I roll my eyes and save the contact.
It's not a date. And stop flirting.
Never said it was, Whitaker. And that wasn't flirting. When I flirt, you'll know.
Sebastian
I bite my lip.
Fuck. Me.