Chapter 13 Selene
THIRTEEN
SELENE
For a moment, I forgot Holt only took me out tonight because he won this date at a charity auction.
Now, though, I remember.
He’s staring at me across the table while I’m cursing my pussy for getting wet at the sight of him and the stupid way he sticks his tongue out slowly before swiping it across his bottom lip.
Or the way he works his fingers across his chin, scratching at the small shadow of stubble lining his sharp jaw.
Or the way his voice is like weighted velvet, floating through the air before shooting straight for my heart, making it feel like I’ve been struck by Cupid’s arrow.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, shoving the last bite of chocolate cake into his mouth.
I watch him chew, working the food in his mouth before he swallows it. His thick neck bobs with the motion, and I cross my legs under the table, squeezing my thighs together until they ache.
Blinking away my thoughts, I force myself to take another drink of wine. We’ve nearly killed two bottles between us. “Think of what?”
His eyes darken as he points his fork at the plate. “Of the cake?”
“Oh.” I shiver, shaking my head. I need to snap out of this. “It’s good.” I quickly shove another bite of cake into my mouth and force myself to eat it.
Holt’s eyes fall to my mouth, watching me chew.
When I’m finished, I lick my lips and lift my napkin to wipe my mouth. “What do you think of it?”
He averts his gaze and smirks.
“What?” I ask.
He frowns as he drops his fork, sits back in his seat, and takes a deep breath, running his hands over his thighs under the table. Then he’s looking back up at me. “I’m not a fan of chocolate flavored things. Chocolate on its own is good, but brownies or cake? Not so much.”
“So, you don’t like chocolate cake?”
“Not really.” He scrunches his nose.
I laugh under my breath, realizing he only agreed after I’d suggested ordering it. I tip my head to the side. “What type of cake is your favorite, then?”
“Coconut.”
I grin. Then I start laughing out loud. It feels good.
“Is that funny?” he asks, staring at me with those shining blue eyes of his.
My world spins the longer I stare at them and my laughter fades. The longer we’ve been sitting here, the more comfortable I’ve become. I’m enjoying Holt’s company.
“It isn’t funny. There’s nothing wrong with coconut cake.” I shake my head and shrug. “Just surprising.”
“Well, I just shared something personal about me. Your turn.”
A familiar ache builds between us, and I reach up, touching my necklace again. “I’m really not that interesting. There’s nothing to tell.”
“That’s a lie but, here, I’ll make it easier for you.” Holt pauses. “What’s the story with Adam?”
“Easy, huh?” I relax with a sigh. “There is no story.”
He tips his head forward as if he doesn’t believe me. He must know its bullshit after I practically begged him to get himself into a bidding war with Adam.
Holt’s brown strands of hair hang just above his eyebrows, and I want to run my fingers through them. I imagine tugging on them with his face between my legs, relieving the constant ache I’ve felt since he stepped out of his car to pick me up outside the flower shop.
I relax in my seat and tuck my hair behind my ear, working out the best way to navigate this conversation.
“Adam was the first guy I’d dated in years.”
I wait for Holt to react, but he doesn’t say or do anything.
Sighing, I continue. “Being with him was like trying to date that boyfriend from high school, only to realize he never grew up. Nothing changed. He reminded me why I swore off dating all together.”
“Why have you sworn off dating?”
The four walls of the restaurant close in on me. Panic sets in, forcing my breathing to hitch. Then there’s an echo of not only one gun shot, but two. I close my eyes and bite back the tears threatening to form.
Memories are weapons. Weapons used against you in the future to keep you from moving on with life. That’s what this one has done time and time again.
“Doesn’t matter, really,” I murmur, shaking the chill from my body.
Thankfully, Holt seems to accept my answer with no further interrogation.
“My turn.” I clear my throat.
“I’m all ears.” I feel his foot inching towards mine under the table.
The tip of his shoe meets the tip of my heel, and my pulse ticks up. No, it practically leaps so hard I think it might tear straight through my flesh and fall onto my chocolate cake, crumb-coated plate.
“How are you…” I swallow thickly. “How are you, um, feeling after the news of Rome’s lawsuit broke?”
“Oh.” He visibly deflates but considers my question. “It’s been a shitshow at the magazine, but I have my team tasked with figuring out who wrote the article.”
“I thought it was anonymous?”
“It is, but there’s always a paper trail,” he says, coolly. “I’ll find out who wrote it.”
“What will you do?”
Holt shrugs. “I plan on showing it to Rome in the hopes it will get him to drop the lawsuit. Hopefully, I can convince the author to own up to it.”
“Are you sure that will work?” I ask, the reality of this lawsuit hitting me. I can see the turmoil it’s causing Holt just by having this conversation.
“It’s my only hope.” A small smile appears. “The Capuletis and Montgomerys may be sworn enemies, but I still know how to handle a crisis situation.”
“Confident, huh?” I smirk and raise my wine glass, only to realize it’s empty. Holt catches on and pours what’s left of our second bottle into my glass.
“Always,” Holt says, lifting his gaze up to mine as he sets the empty bottle down, then relaxes back in his chair. “My turn. Tell me I was right.”
His words are like a bolt of lightning. “Right about what?”
“I was right about our kiss. You enjoyed it.” There his voice goes again, slipping over me like weighted velvet.
“Holt…” I avert my gaze. I can’t look at him. The longer I do, the more I feel like he can see too much.
“If you did - and I know you did – it’s okay to admit it.”
I dart my attention back to him. He’s leaning closer, shoving his empty plate forward. It clinks against the tiny votive candle at the end of its life. His foot has now found its way next to mine, the toe of his shiny black shoe slipping along the inside of my arch.
“But knowing you did makes this all the easier to ask.”
“Ask me what?” I gulp.
“I know you’ve sworn off dating but… why not date me?”
I gasp. “What?”
My heart is racing a million miles a minute. I’m almost certain it’s about to be stripped from my chest at this point. I nervously look down at my plate, expecting to see my heart sitting in front of me, taking its last few beats before flatlining and becoming nothing more than a dead organ.
“Date you?”
“Well…” Holt tosses his head side to side, his eyes shifting to the side. “Help me keep up the appearance of dating me.”
My world collapses around me.
I’ve been so busy paying attention to Holt and this bubble we’ve made for ourselves, I haven’t taken the time to notice the rest of the world around me.
More eyes have turned toward us. The restaurant is packed, and I get the feeling it isn’t unusual for a place as famous as this. But what isn’t usual is the amount of phones pointed in our direction, followed by quick clicking sounds.
Heat radiates across my body, and I feel like I’m standing on stage again with all the hushed murmurs and peering eyes directed at Holt and me.
“You want me to fake date you?” I whisper, bitterness quickly filling me mouth.
Why am I crushed by this idea?
I’ve spent the past ten years holding onto one rule: I will never date. I will never allow myself to fall in love or to even feel a tinge of it. Adam was a test. But now, here I am, sitting in front of Holt, crushed because he’s asking me to fake date him.
“The lawsuit has tarnished my reputation in the worst way. It’s a PR disaster, and I’m working on getting that ironed out,” he explains, matter-of-factly. “But ever since the other night at the auction, being with you…”
I glance around us again. “Everyone is looking at us.”
“Yeah.”
I pull my foot away from his, slinking back into my chair. Disappointment consumes me, and I don’t have the energy to hide it. “You want to use me for a PR boost?”
“Wallflower…” He presses his lips together. The mood has shifted. We’ve gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds.
“Why do you call me that?” I can’t think straight. Fire simmers under my skin, and I can’t tell if it’s from the sudden shift between us or if I’m angry with myself for feeling like this. I shouldn’t care what Holt thinks of me. I shouldn’t care that he’s only using me to restore his reputation.
I don’t fall for anyone. I won’t allow myself.
“Why do you keep calling me Wallflower?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
Ten seconds of silence pass between us before he’s rolling his eyes dramatically and groaning as he scoots down in his seat a little farther to dig his phone from the pocket of his pants.
He flicks his thumb across the screen, then freezes.
His eyes widen, and he lifts his hand to massage his mouth.
I have no idea what message he’s reading, but I can tell it isn’t something he was expecting.
“What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I need to go.”
He won’t even look in my direction. Even as he waves to our server for the check, who barely has a chance to drop the bill before Holt’s whipping out a slate-black credit card.
Then he’s swiftly escorting us out of the restaurant and back to the roof.
This time when we step into the elevator, we aren’t alone. There are already four others in the lift. Holt escorts me in first as he orders the attendant to press the button for the roof level. The three others eye us before turning their attention back to the phones in their hands.
Once we’re inside, I stop and turn as Holt moves to stay behind me. His back is pressed against the mirrored wall, and I stay at least a foot in front of him. There is distance between us, but I can still feel his heated stare burning my back.