Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
theo
Monday hit like a truck.
“I still don’t get how you talked me into this,” he said, plopping into the chair across from me.
“Because you like money, status, and expensive coffee,” I said, flipping through files.
“And because I need someone I trust leading the Tech strategy team. Hayes International is behind the curve in that area.”
He shrugged. “You’re not wrong. But it’s going to cost you. I like first-class accommodations, a good salary, and benefits that signal you work for a multi-billion-dollar company.
I glanced at him. “You’ll have all of that.” He grinned like he’d won something. “Pleasure doing business with you then.”
After a quick sync with Max, who was surprisingly on board, we brought Naomi into the conversation. She walked into the conference room like she was running the place, polished, sharp, unreadable. Nico stood and offered a hand. “Naomi Hayes, you are the hottest and scariest woman I’ve ever met.”
She didn’t even blink. “And you are insufferable and underqualified to be here.” I cleared my throat before the tension caught fire. “He’s coming in as a consultant for the Tech division.” Naomi crossed her arms. “Consultant, huh? Fine. But if he crashes our internal systems, it’s on you.”
“Noted,” I said. We called Cameron and Sam into the boardroom to finalize the vote.
“All in favor?” I asked. Everyone’s hand went up, even Sam’s, though her eyes flicked to mine, unreadable.
When the room cleared out, I asked Harper to come in.
She handed me a folder. “Still thinking about the HR policy?”
“Just weighing my options.” She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Harper had seen me through three startups, one marriage, and a nervous breakdown at thirty-two. She knew what I meant. Once she was gone, I opened Sam’s calendar, found a slot, and typed:
Me: Dinner Date tonight at 7:00 p.m. — Tulips. I’ll send you a car if you want.
Also, wear that red lipstick, please.
Sent.
Later that day, the apartment felt too quiet.
Elena’s bag was by the door. “You sure you don’t want the car to take you?” I asked.
“I’ll survive a cab, Theo,” she said, smirking. “Text me when you land.” She nodded, then pulled back, her gaze softening. “Try not to screw this one up.” My mouth twitched. “I won’t.” She just winked, grabbed her bag, and was gone.
I stood at the window for a minute, watching the cab disappear into the stream of city traffic, then turned to find Nico already halfway through a protein bar and scrolling something on his phone. “She’s cool,” he said, still chewing. “She’s better than both of us combined.”
“The bar is very low.” We sat in the living room for a while, with him pretending to work while I actually did. We reviewed some onboarding plans for his new consulting role, drafted a few notes on the tech integration strategy, and traded barbs like we were still in college.
Then, around 5:45, Nico looked at me over the rim of his glass. “So. Date tonight?”
I glanced up from my laptop. “Yeah.” I kept typing. “Are you nervous?” He set the drink down and really focused on our conversation now. “No.”
“You are.” I rolled my eyes at him, “I’m really not.” He grinned. “Did you shave your balls?”
“Get out of here.”
“Just saying. The first ‘official’ date is in a different territory. You need a clean shave.” That was the cue I needed. I stood to walk toward the bedroom. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t burn the place down.”
As the hot water hit my skin, I let myself think about her. Samantha Hayes. Smart-mouthed, sharp-eyed, frustrating as hell. Inherited charm and danger from her father. And I was walking straight into the fire tonight.
By the time I stepped out, the bathroom mirror was fogged. I wiped it clean and stared at myself, at the man who hadn’t cared this much in a long time. About how I looked. About how she might look at me.
I buttoned a charcoal-gray shirt with rolled sleeves, the collar open, and reached for the cologne she had complimented in Paris. A final check in the mirror. My pulse is steady. My mind is less so.
I texted Harper.
Me: Out for the evening. Forward anything urgent.
And then, I picked up my phone and checked my calendar. 7:00 p.m. — Tulips.
She didn’t text me back, but she still hasn’t declined.
Game on.
The back of Tulips was quiet and intimate, without trying too hard. This is exactly what I wanted for tonight. I was already seated and waiting for her. I keep moving the bottle around, reading the label, but at this point, I’m just trying not to let the nervousness show.
When she walked in, my hands started shaking.
The hostess barely had time to gesture toward our table before Sam was making her way to me.
She wore a deep green dress, short enough to grab my attention, but long enough to leave the rest to the imagination.
Her hair was loose, long waves falling around her shoulders, and her eyes caught the light in a way that I swear, it made my heart skip a beat. But no red lipstick.
I stood to help her sit down, “No red lipstick, huh.” I said as she reached the table. She smiled, that sharp, infuriating, captivating smile. “Didn’t feel like following orders today.” I laughed softly, pulling out her chair. “And here I thought you liked a little structure.”
“I do,” she said, slipping into the seat with grace. “But I also like pushing boundaries. You seem to know that already.” She glanced at the bottle. “Already ordered?” I nodded. “A cab you’ll pretend not to like but end up finishing.”
“You’re bold.” I poured. “I’ve just gotten to know you.
” She took the glass and raised an eyebrow.
“That’s cute.” The waiter came and went, invisible and efficient.
We sipped, we settled in, and suddenly it was like Paris again, playful, light, as if the last few weeks of boardrooms and glass offices had been a shared hallucination.
“So,” she said, crossing one leg over the other, deliberately, I was sure. “Is this a date… or a very fancy 1:1?” I set my glass down and tilted my head. “Do you want it to be a date?” She leaned in, chin slightly raised, fearless. “Yes.”
That one word, so sure, so unfiltered, made something sharp and warm twist in my chest. I smiled. “Then it’s a date.” Her eyes flicked toward the wine, then back to me. “Does it come with dessert?”
“Only if you’ve been very good.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, and for a moment, nothing else existed.
“Define ‘very good,’” she said finally, her tone casual, but her eyes were not.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, smirking.
“You wore that dress. That gets you halfway there.” She pretended to be scandalized.
“So, I’m being judged by how I look now? ”
“You’re being admired,” I corrected. “Wow, you’re being really charming tonight,” she said, taking another sip.
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked. “The total opposite,” she replied with a smile.
“You’re charming in an intense way. You walk into a room and make people feel as if gravity has shifted slightly. It’s… disorienting.”
“I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” she said. “It’s annoying how much I like it, how much I like you.” There was a quiet beat between us, but I couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t think we’d be here,” I admitted. “After we saw each other that last time in Paris, I never thought I would see you again.”
She traced the rim of her glass. “Me neither. I thought Paris would be it. I didn’t expect what’s been happening between us; I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to happen. I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just—”
“You just?” I looked at her. “You just wanted to say yes to a free dinner?”
“I did.” Her voice was quirky, and her laugh was something else, but then she got softer.
“All jokes aside, I said yes because I’m trying to figure this out, to figure you out.
And I know we can’t do that in the office with all those eyes on us, the pressure, and everything.
And, I’ve been enjoying all the… well, let’s say the experiences we’ve been having so far.
But, I don’t know what this is.” I nodded.
“I get it, and honestly, neither do I.” She met my eyes.
“I didn’t allow myself to feel anything for anybody, not after my divorce.
I wanted to focus on my career, on myself.
I didn’t want a distraction, least of all to find someone who makes me question everything I’ve been avoiding for the past eight years. ”
The waiter reappeared, interrupting us to ask if we were ready to order.
We murmured a few choices, laughing over the fact that we accidentally ordered the same entrée.
When he walked away, she tilted her head.
“You were saved by the waiter, but keep going, tell me something real,” she said.
“Something outside Paris, outside the office, the sex, the hotel rooms. Tell me how you really feel about this, about me.” I blinked. “Right now?”
“Yes, Theodore, right now.”
I paused, looking at her, and, pushing my sanity, my control, and everything in between aside, I said, “I like you, Sam. More than I should.” I could see how her brain was trying to process what I just said.
Her brows lifted just slightly, she opened her mouth, but she didn’t speak.
“I know it’s fast,” I continued, voice lower now, rougher.
“I know we haven’t exactly done things the conventional way. ” Her lips parted, but I wasn’t done.
“But, you're in my thoughts all damn day. You drive me crazy, Samantha. In the best and worst ways. I can’t concentrate when you’re near me, and I can’t breathe when you’re not.
And I think—” I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly unsure to tell her all of this.
I feel like I’m seventeen again. What the fuck is wrong with me? “I think I’m falling for you.”