Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Charlie
I smooth my black dress one more time, checking my reflection in the car window. Not that I'm trying to impress him or anything. This is a planning meeting. For a fake relationship. With the man I've already had incredible, mind-blowing sex with and now works ten feet from my office.
Totally normal Thursday night.
My phone buzzes for the third time in two minutes. I pull it out to find the group chat has exploded:
GET IT GIRL!!!!
Em
Details. We need ALL the details when you get home.
Lily
Is he wearing a blue shirt? He looks hot in blue.
Em
How do you know what he looks like in blue??
Lily
Instagram stalking. Duh.
Em
I roll my eyes and type back quickly:
Made it to the restaurant.
Silencing my phone now and this isn't a date.
Stop making it weird.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I am Charlotte Whitaker. Marketing powerhouse. Professional to my core. I've faced down boardrooms full of skeptical executives. I can handle one dinner with Sebastian.
I glance at my phone. 6:58 pm. Perfectly punctual, as always. Silencing the device, I shove it down into my purse.
Looking up toward the restaurant entrance, I freeze. Sebastian’s standing there, watching me. Not just looking in my direction, but watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. I pull my coat tighter around me.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I'm right back in my apartment, his hands in my hair, his lips trailing down my neck.
I blink hard, breaking the spell.
His mouth curves into a slow smile as I approach. He's unfairly handsome tonight in dark jeans and a button-down that fits him perfectly. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show his forearms.
The rolled sleeves again. Fucking hell. Does he somehow know that the rolled sleeves are a weakness of mine? God, there should be laws against forearms like those.
"You're staring," he says, his voice low and amused when I reach him.
"I'm assessing," I correct him, stopping a safe distance away. "Making sure you look appropriate for a fake boyfriend."
"And do I pass inspection?"
"You'll do." I brush past him toward the door, willing my heartbeat to slow down. "Let's get this over with."
His hand catches the door before I can reach for it.. "After you."
The restaurant is dimly lit, intimate, with small candles on every table and soft jazz playing in the background. Perfect for actual couples. Terrible for my mental state.
"Reservation for Montgomery," Sebastian tells the ma?tre d', who smiles a bit too brightly at him.
"Right this way," she says, leading us to our table.
Romantic. Great.
Bellini's is upscale without being stuffy, all warm wood and amber lighting. Our table is partially enclosed by a curved booth on one side and a decorative screen of woven copper wire on the other, creating a pocket of privacy that feels both cozy and dangerously intimate.
"Your server will be with you shortly," the ma?tre d' says, placing our menus on the table.
I slide into the booth, determined to maintain my composure. Sebastian sits across from me, the soft lighting casting shadows across the angles of his face.
"Nice place," I say, glancing around. "Very... secluded."
"I figured privacy would be helpful if we're creating our love story." His voice holds that hint of teasing. "So, you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend to make your ex jealous." He asks as he starts scanning the menu.
"Not jealous," I correct sharply. "I just don't want to look pathetic. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His eyes study me over the top of his menu.
"Yes. I could care less what Ethan thinks of me."
He sets his menu down, leaning forward slightly. "For what it's worth, he sounds like an idiot."
I swallow hard, unprepared for the sincerity in his voice. "We're not doing this. The flirting thing. It's unnecessary."
"Who says I'm flirting?" He looks genuinely puzzled. "I'm stating a fact."
Our server appears then—a young woman with a sleek blonde ponytail who introduces herself as Mia. "Good evening, can I start you both with something to drink?"
"I'll have a glass of the cabernet," I say, not even bothering to look at the wine list. "The driest one you have please."
Sebastian raises an eyebrow, "and I'll take a Macallan, neat."
"Excellent choices," she says while flashing us a smile. "I'll be right back with those.”
When she leaves, I fiddle with my napkin.
Unfolding it, I drape it across my lap. "Scotch, huh?"
"Yeah, it's my preferred drink." He leans back slightly, studying me. "Kind of like how you ordered wine without even looking at the options. You already knew what you wanted. Something strong to take the edge off this conversation, because you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous," I lie.
"Mhm." He nods.
Damn him. I reach for my menu to hide my face, but the wall of appetizer options blurs before my eyes. This is ridiculous. We've already had sex, for fuck's sake. Why am I acting like a teenager on a first date?
Hold on.
This isn't a date, I remind myself. This is planning for an elaborate deception.
Our drinks arrive, and I take a large sip.
Sebastian watches me over the rim of his glass. "You look beautiful tonight, Charlotte."
Heat instantly creeps up my neck. The black wrap dress isn't particularly revealing, but it clings in all the places it’s supposed to. "Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself."
"High praise coming from you."
"Don't get used to it."
He grins, and I realize he's enjoying this. My discomfort, my defensive posture. I take another sip of wine.
"Should we order an appetizer?" I ask, desperate to steer us toward neutral territory.
"Sure. The burrata sounds good."
"Fine."
When Mia returns, we order the burrata and our entrees—steak for him, truffle butter chicken alfredo for me.
Because carbs.
As soon as she leaves, I pull a small notebook and pen from my purse.
"Alright, let's get down to business. My family is under the impression that we've been dating for at least four months, which means we got together in late August."
Sebastian leans forward, elbows on the table. "How did we meet?"
"Work, obviously. But we can say there was an immediate attraction when you joined the company."
"Well, that part's true enough." His voice drops an octave.
I pause, still staring at the opened notebook and pen in my hand. "I think we should keep our story as close to reality as possible. Fewer details to remember that way." I continue without looking up at him.
"Smart. We met at work, felt the chemistry, and what? I asked you out?"
I glance up finally, meeting his eyes. "Yes, you asked me out, and I said no."
His eyebrows rise slightly. "You rejected me? That's our story?"
"Repeatedly." I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "You were persistent, though. Kept finding excuses to stop by my office, bringing me coffee, leaving notes on my desk with daily cheesy jokes and always ended them by asking me to dinner."
"So, I wore you down?" He looks amused now, playing along.
"You wouldn't leave me alone," I say, warming to the fiction we're creating. "Always showing up with that... stupid dimple and those eyes, and your charm.'"
"And then?"
"And then I finally said yes." I take another sip of wine, feeling more in control now. "But only because I needed you to stop distracting my team. Zoe practically swoons every time you walk by."
"So our first date was...?"
"Dinner. Italian. You tried to impress me with your wine knowledge."
"Did it work?" His voice softens, and for a moment, it feels like we're talking about something real.
"Maybe a little," I admit, looking down at my notes again. "But I didn't let you know that until the third date."
"And now we're madly in love." His eyes dance with amusement.
I roll mine. "Let's not overdo it. We're in a new relationship. Committed, but not sewing our names on matching Christmas stockings.”
"Got it. Smitten but not whipped."
The burrata arrives, a cloud of creamy cheese nestled among heirloom tomatoes and drizzled with aged balsamic. Sebastian gestures for me to go first, and I scoop a portion onto my plate.
"So what exactly does this trip entail?" he asks. "Beyond facing down your ex and his fiancée."
I take a bite—the cheese is ridiculously good.
"It's a week in Aspen. My family and the Harpers—that's Ethan's family—have neighboring houses.
We do the usual winter activities: skiing, cookie decorating, snowman building, etc.
There's a big dinner the last night where everyone dresses up, and a casual gift exchange afterward. "
"Sounds nice."
"It is." I stare at my plate and automatically grab my wine. "Or it was."
The wine turns slightly bitter on my tongue as I swallow. "This year it's going to be a special kind of torture. Ethan showing off Olivia while his mom will definitely corner me for an awkward 'we still love you' conversation."
"Like I said earlier, his loss." Sebastian's voice is unexpectedly gentle.
I clear my throat. "Anyway, there are some 'couple-specific' traditions too. There's the annual snowman building contest—we compete to make the most creative snowman. And the Harper-Whitaker Olympics."
"The what now?"
"It's this ridiculous competition my dad and Mr. Harper cooked up years ago. A trivia contest, a scavenger hunt through town, cookie decorating competition. All done in pairs."
"Sounds fun."
"It's absurdly competitive. My mom once accidentally tackled Mrs. Harper during a snowball fight."
He laughs, a warm sound that makes me smile.
"Oh, and there's the Mistletoe Challenge."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Do I want to know?"
"It's not what you think. Every couple has to hang a mistletoe in the most creative spot they can find on the day the competition is announced. Then, we all vote on whose placement was best."
"Creative how?"