3. CHAPTER 3
Jeremy
The early morning San Francisco fog weaves ethereal tendrils around Stone Financial’s towering glass building as I make my way inside. My polished shoes click against the pristine marble lobby floor.
Stationed behind one of the three reception desks, Naina looks up as I pass by. A fresh bouquet of pink roses on her desk adds a splash of vibrant color against the silver company logo sculpture towering over it. She voices a polite “good morning,” and I respond. Her professional demeanor and work ethic are why, in her late twenties, she’s the leader of the Stone office administration team.
Moving past the computer stands, coffee cup warm and firm in my hand, I head for the elevators. I greet Lopez, one of our guards, standing on the other end of the elevators, just as the nearest one slides open. Inside, I’m enveloped in the hushed, reflective space, my mind already racing to the tasks awaiting me.
Besides the security team, I’m usually the first one in the building, but I had a somewhat bigger excuse to pick up a latte for my assistant.
My heart feels uncharacteristically light today. The reason? A potential wedding date. Of course, this hinges on whether I can find time to navigate a few lunch meetings to get to know her better. The wedding is three months away. Still, not only do I like to plan ahead but also I need to get this fake fiancée squared away so I can focus on work.
Yesterday, I summoned the courage to call Clarissa, offering an apology for not reaching out sooner about another date. I met her six months ago at a financial conference where my boss was the keynote speaker. During that event, I led the analytics reports clinic, which Clarissa was attending for her company.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” I told her when I ventured to call last night. It had been three months since our last interaction, but to my relief, she expressed a keen interest in meeting up. Her schedule was open for lunch today, but Mondays being pivotal for setting the tone for my workweek, I hesitated.
Then Clarissa said she’d drop by my office, citing some business in the Bay Area. Meeting at the office seemed ideal, especially considering I don’t want it to be a reunion of some sort. I’d rather keep things somewhat casual.
While I have a grand plan to ask her to be my fake fiancée for a week, Clarissa has no idea why I called her. As the elevator ascends, I shift my stance, less sure of my intent. Will it be too forward to suggest a temporary arrangement, just for the wedding? This meeting with Clarissa feels more like an intrusion than a convenience. Yet, facing Sonya with Clarissa by my side beats giving her the impression I’ve been unable to move on since she broke my heart four years ago. This requires a careful approach. But the first step is gauging Clarissa’s response to my invitation.
When the elevator deposits me on the fifty-eighth floor, Jill stands hunched as if she has an important detail to add to a calendar. Her hands dance over the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping a familiar soundtrack in our high-paced environment. She glances up, her unflappable demeanor faltering as she frowns at my forehead. “Tough weekend?”
“I went to Damien’s party.” Zuri comes to mind, and I smile, handing over Jill’s beverage. I have to bring her an offering when I give her tasks unrelated to work. Before she can get the idea of my intentions, I ask about her weekend. “How was the visit with your in-laws?”
“Wait, wait.” She drawls, her voice tinged with a southern lilt. She blinks and hefts her coffee cup to emphasize her surprise. The way her dark bob swings, framing her features, conjures images of my aunt—though she favors brown suits with a consistency unlike Jill, who reserves her brown attire for sporadic appearances. “You went to Damien’s party? How did that happen?”
I shrug. “He invited me. Shame you weren’t there.” Jill must’ve also been invited but couldn’t attend due to her family commitments. “Everyone kept their distance from me.” Except for Zuri, the only reason I didn’t leave the party before it even began.
“If everyone kept their distance”—Jill’s eyes crinkle—“how’d you get the bruise?”
“Not everyone kept their distance.” I tinker with a coat button. My smile broadens as I reminisce about my time with Zuri—her effortless warmth, her exquisite food, and our easy conversation. I even recall her favorite color, a puzzling detail. Never before have I felt so at ease with someone I just met.
“Does that smile have anything to do with the latte bribe?” Calling me out, Jill takes a sip of the coffee.
“I bring you lattes sometimes.” I glance at the lollipop bowl next to the framed picture of her and her husband with their two teen daughters.
“Aha.” She wags her eyebrows, clearly not believing me.
“It’s a busy day.” I lean in closer to her desk and rest my hands on the tall, smooth surface, cool under my fingertips. “Virtual calls, meetings, tasks, the usual Monday drill.”
She deadpans me. She knows my schedule. She puts it together.
“Only one person is permitted to interrupt me today. Around lunchtime.” Everyone has a different lunchtime, and Clarissa wasn’t specific when she said lunchtime.
Jill waves her cup at me, her expression playful. “Oh, look at you, social butterfly. Since when do you attend parties and allow interruptions at work?”
I lower my voice as the elevator dings open, revealing an empty space. I’d best describe Clarissa, though I’m not good at painting pictures with words. “She’s strikingly beautiful, poised, and stands out. You’ll recognize her immediately.”
Jill shakes her head, lifts her drink to her mouth, and sips it. “All right, Mr. Mysterious. How long have you known each other?”
I ignore her question to stress one more instruction. I can’t afford to slack off on a Monday. Otherwise, the rest of the week will get backlogged. “Just check the camera when Naina buzzes up for anyone looking for me.”
Jill nods, still chuckling. “Must be someone very unusual for you to invite her here.”
I wave her off and head toward my office. Nature-inspired art adorns the walls above a seating area outfitted with white linen sofas and a glass table. The mountain landscapes evoke memories of my childhood home. Adjacent to the seating area, a bookshelf houses my research materials alongside frames showcasing the awards and medals I’ve accumulated over my eight years at Stone Financial. This space is more than just an office. It’s a reflection of my journey and motivating passions.
The city skyline, buried in fog, stretches out beyond the panoramic windows. Fog or sunshine, the view never gets old.
I settle into my chair and boot up my computer. Entering my password brings up today’s updated agenda by Jill. She cheekily added “Jeremy’s date between 11–12:30.” She even highlighted it in yellow and added a tongue-sticking-out emoji. The agenda also includes virtual meetings with branch managers across the country and at several international branches. While I don’t plan to tackle all these calls in one day, I have a virtual meeting with executives at eight—just thirty minutes away. This leaves me ample time to review the agenda once more.
***
The morning vanishes in a flurry of activities, including two scheduled meetings and two unexpected calls. One call is from a vendor seeking to renegotiate their contract terms. The other is from a new, demanding investor eager for updates on our strategies for the upcoming year’s company performance.
I catch a break as I scan the list of the project steering committee, determining which branch needs my immediate contact.
Then Jill’s voice cuts through the intercom. “Your lunch guest is here.”
It’s eleven fifty-five.
“Send her in.” I shift in my chair, now second-guessing this engagement.
My heartbeat accelerates when a soft knock sounds at the half-open frosted-glass door. I clear my throat, then call out. “Come in.”
The door swings open, but it’s not Clarissa.
“Zuri.” I stand from my swivel chair. My heart kicks up another beat as she meets me with a sheepish smile. “Hello.”
In a navy-and-white-print maxi dress, she’s even more striking than Saturday night. The daylight streaming through the windows enhances her natural beauty, catching her curves and the glossy spirals of her curls. She looks taller today. Apparently, those heels peeking out beneath her hem are adding to her height. Her hoop earrings dance against her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle with guilty mischief.
“I thought I’d stop by.” She hefts the bags in her hand, and an unmistakably savory aroma wafts my way. “I, uh, brought you some food. Felt terrible about the door incident. I hope this makes up for it.”
Frozen in place with no idea what to do or say, I clear my throat and grip the back of my neck. Why are my palms sweating? I wipe them on my pants and move around the desk.
“If food is what it gets me, then I’m glad you slammed a door into my head.” Besides the bruise, I can barely feel the pain. “What do you have there?”
Zuri saunters toward my desk—her skirt swishing with her languid movements and drawing my attention to places I shouldn’t be looking. Then she unloads containers from the insulated bags. “You said you love spring rolls, so I got carried away and made some dishes to accompany them. I had to throw in a salad and jalapeno poppers for good measure.”
My stomach rumbles. I move close and lift the lid off one container. “This is quite a salad.” meat, greens, peppers, and an array of colorful vegetables form a visual masterpiece. Also, enough to feed at least four people. “An apology feast? I won’t say no to that.”
I carry the salad and another container, slightly warm in my hand. “I hope you’re staying to feast with me,” I say without hidden intentions because I enjoyed her company. “I’m not eating all this food alone.”
“I’d hate to interfere with your work. I’ve already interrupted when I made this surprise visit.” She carries two other containers and joins me in the seating area. “I won’t stay long.”
“You got blog posts to upload?” I shift further into the chair.
She sits on the loveseat across from me, smooths her dress, then eases her red handbag to the empty white cushion next to her. She hands me a fork from the tote bag, a real one, not disposable.
“I’m only posting one recipe a week, rather than daily.” She pulls a spoon from the tote bag. “I’ll use a spoon.”
I offer her the fork since it’s all we have, but she refuses. “This is your food, and I wasn’t supposed to eat it.”
“All right, all right.” Remembering to wash my hands, I excuse myself to head to the bathroom.
When I return, she wiggles fingers clear of nail polish. “My hands are clean.”
“I’m not making any judgments.” I spring my arms free from my blazer and drape it behind the chair.
She points at me. “I’ve seen how detailed you get into handwashing. It’s like a ritual.”
“With your feasts, there’s a chance I’ll be using my hands.” When I fork the salad and lift the first bite, my mouth waters at an explosion of flavors, rich and balanced. Oh man, I was starving. “This is incredible.”
She has her eyes closed, clearly praying. Something I’ve never done—unless going to church for weddings or the two times I attended church camp count. My brother prays. He became spiritual during his yearlong visit to Africa.
I open another container and fork a bite of the spring rolls, the outside crispy, the inside juicy. “These are the best.” And I’m not kidding, because they beat Bamboo Gardens, supposedly the best spring rolls in San Francisco. “I haven’t even dug into the poppers yet.”
Her smile widens, a visible relief sheening her eyes. “I’m glad you like it. It wasn’t hard to prepare.” She reaches out with her spoon and scoops steak from the salad platter.
“I’d better invite Jill to join us at the feast.” After all, we can’t let all this good food go to waste.
Zuri dismisses me with a wave of her spoon. “I’d brought extra spring rolls and gave her a container. I also gave some to Naina at the front desk downstairs.” She smirks. “I guess I planned to bribe my way in.”
Wow. She’s pretty good at remembering the names of people she’d just met—unless she met them before. “How long have you known Jill and Naina?”
“I met Naina when I came to look at the café three months ago. I just met Jill today.” She snatches a napkin from the bag and reaches for one of the bacon-wrapped poppers. “Jill’s really nice.”
“Not to me.” I scoop another bite, lighthearted. Zuri must have an incredible way of making everyone she meets feel like they’ve been friends forever.
I seldom get women visiting me. Today, of course, I have two of them. Zuri is beautiful, though not in a screaming sort of way, so little wonder Jill mistook her for Clarissa.
I want to know more about Zuri, including how she made this food. I fork the salad again and try to keep an even balance of all the dishes. Everything is scrumptious, but clearly, I’m not the reason she made all this food. Which leads me to my next question.
“Did you come by here after dropping off food for your brother?”
“I made this specifically for you.” She tilts her head to the side. “Damien prefers sandwiches for lunch. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“And if he knew you were here, would it be a problem?” Now why did I ask such an uncalled-for question? Maybe because Damien made those sudden appearances in my office last week. “Afraid he’ll tell your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t need distractions right now.” She waves her spoon in the air. “As for Damien, it would shock him to find me having lunch with you, considering we just met. He can be kind of protective.”
She’d mentioned living with her brother at the party. I almost delve into that topic, but she reaches for a spring roll and steers the conversation back to food, her passion evident. “My priority is Zuri’s Daylight Café. I’m not sure I’ll have spring rolls on the menu.”
“If you do, they’ll be a hit.” I test another bite. “How do you prepare them?”
“I start with fresh vegetables, thinly sliced.” Her eyes alight, she launches into an animated explanation of how she makes her spring rolls, and her delicate hands help her express herself. “Then I sauté them with garlic and Asian spices. The key is to keep them crunchy. For the dipping sauce, I use soy sauce with a hint of honey and sprinkle in some chili flakes to add a bit of a kick.”
I’ve forgotten to eat. Her enthusiasm leaves me enrapt.
“When I open my café, maybe your staff could come for an interactive cooking day.” Her eyes sparkle. “I hear you have staff team-building days. The kitchen is a perfect place to connect.” Her expression falters, a shadow dimming her features while she scowls at her black flats. “Of course, that depends on if my café launches successfully.”
Right, she shared her financial constraints at their party.
With this familiar feeling between us, I’m surprisingly at ease, more so than I would’ve been with Clarissa. “I might have a solution for your business.”
The words escape before I second-guess them. I’m already reconsidering my plans with Clarissa. Asking Zuri is a better decision.
“I’m listening.” She leans forward as she takes another bite of the spring roll.
I set my fork on the folded napkin. “I’ll cover your café’s initial costs.” On Saturday, she mentioned how much she needed when she opened up about the financial strain for start-ups. “I mean…” My throat closes, and I falter, unexpectedly vulnerable. But it’s too late now. I might as well finish what I’m supposed to say. “In return, would you… be my fake date at a wedding in Colorado?”
Zuri blinks as if she didn’t hear what I said. She’s not smiling, but she’s not frowning either. Is she surprised or shocked? Maybe something between those lines. “That’s quite a request. Why a fake date?”
“I’m not looking for a relationship or anything. Been there, done that.” I wave in the air, giving in to the need to explain myself. More than anything, I fear getting rejected. “It’s to stop my mother’s matchmaking. She wants me back with my ex.”
Why am I telling her all these details? Well, she needs to understand this is temporary. “We go back to our normal routine as soon as the wedding is over.” I square my shoulders and meet her gaze.
She bites her lower lip, seemingly weighing my proposition. But it’s adorable, and my gaze fixes on her round lips longer than necessary—unintentionally, of course.
My unconventional proposal seems to clog the room. Zuri nods as she scuffs one foot back and forth on the white area rug over my marble flooring. “This is an interesting twist to our… collision. Let me think about it.” She falls silent, drawing a line with the toe of her shoe, then smoothing it out. Meanwhile, I fork a jalape?o popper and lift it to my mouth to occupy my hands.
“Your request isn’t the oddest I’ve ever encountered.” She breaks the brief lull, a lightness in her voice.
“It’s not?” I wipe my mouth with a napkin, my curiosity piqued now that we don’t have to focus on the awkwardness I created.
“Well… One time I entered a couple’s baking contest by myself. I was so desperate not to miss it that I convinced a guy waiting in line at the coffee shop to be my ‘husband’ for the day.” I’m not sure why I get a sudden discomfort when she talks about this guy. “We ended up winning third place for a cake more lopsided than a sinking ship. He still texts me every year on the ‘anniversary’ of our victory.”
“Now that was a bold move on your end—”
She holds up a hand, silencing me. “You might find this even more odd.” Her eyes dance in the vibrant light through the windows, her hands moving as she talks. “One time, I was walking my neighbor’s dog at the dog park, and I ran into this guy who believed his pet could tell if someone was ‘the one’ for him. Apparently, he was looking for a female dog owner and considered it a sign based on whether the dogs got along. And I’ll spare you the details of my first time in a couples-only salsa dancing.” Her hand covers her mouth, stifling another fit of giggles.
By the time Zuri leaves my office and I get back to my computer, she’d stayed well over an hour, though it barely felt like thirty minutes. Her presence seems to warp time, making it pass unnoticed.
My gaze flits to the now-closed frosted door. I’m half-expecting Zuri to walk back in and accept my proposal. As crazy as the idea might be, it’s a necessary strategy to deal with my mother’s relentless matchmaking with my ex-girlfriend. If you’re going to fake dating, why not with someone whose company you enjoy?
Zuri would be the perfect fake date—fiancée actually since I told Mom I’m engaged. My phone buzzes, and a message from Clarissa flashes on-screen. A frown creases my forehead as I swipe to read her text.
Clarissa: You could’ve just told me you were busy before I wasted my time coming by. Let me know if you want to catch dinner tonight.
Dinner? Yikes. Clarissa might’ve come by while Zuri was in my office. I stand, and my swivel chair rolls further to the cupboards. What happened? Why did Clarissa leave without seeing me?
Jill’s by the watercooler next to the long conference table, deep in conversation with Emma, my boss Logan Stone’s assistant. Emma works on the fifty-ninth floor but sometimes takes the stairs to come down for her breaks so she can exercise throughout the day.
Sucking on a lollipop, Jill stands there, listening to whatever Emma is saying—funny for a woman in her forties to love that kind of candy. As I approach, the women glance at me, and when I say hello to Emma, she lifts her water cup. “I’d better head back upstairs.”
“Hello, Mr. Kress,” Jill singsongs, her knowing grin slightly hidden as she sucks on the red lollipop before walking back to her desk. She believes that, whenever I come to her, she needs to be behind her computer. This is usually true since I often need her to jot something down in the schedule if I haven”t emailed her about it.
“Mr. Kress, really?” I follow her. She calls me Jeremy unless she’s up to some mischief. When she steps behind her tall desk, I lean against it. “Did someone else come by today?” If I were in Clarissa’s situation, I’d be furious about the wasted time.
Jill settles her lollipop on a napkin. “You said to look out for a gorgeous woman. I sent one who wasn’t gorgeous back, told her you were busy.”
I wince against a twinge of guilt. “And Zuri? Who arrived first?”
“The other lady came first. But I have to say, Zuri’s quite a doll, right?” Her eyes twinkle as she tilts her head. “Isn’t Zuri prettier than, well, whoever her name is? Plus, Zuri brought food. A way to a man’s stomach.” She smiles, patting her stomach, then pulls over her chair, and climbs into it. It’s always hard to tell whether she is sitting or standing behind that tall desk.
Zuri’s beauty is subtle, but after spending time in her company, I find her far more attractive beyond her outward appearance. She’s captivating.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, thrown off-balance. And now Clarissa thinks I stood her up again. “I didn’t know Zuri was coming.”
Jill picks up her lollipop and points at me with it. “Jeremy, you never talk about any woman, and now you’ve got two in one day?”
As she laughs at me, I grin. Yep. What a mess I’ve created.
I return to my office, and my phone buzzes again with a text from an unknown number. I read the message, curiosity coursing through me.
Unknown: I snatched your business card on my way out, called Jill, and got your number. Can we meet at the café downstairs tomorrow at five? Rumor has it you like to work until seven, but I’ll bring dinner. We can discuss more about this “fake dating” of ours.
“Of ours.” Does that mean she’s in?
Excitement tingles through me as my thumb hovers over the phone screen. I haven’t clarified my need for her to pose as my fiancée, not merely as a date. This arrangement must be convincing enough to derail my mother’s plans. As I begin to type a response, my mind races with the implications. Goodbye, Clarissa. Welcome, Zuri.