Chapter 3 #2
“Oh, I’m reading into it,” she teased, scribbling Scout (adorable) into her notebook. “Golden retriever energy makes so much sense for you. Loyal, stubborn, thinks he’s in charge but definitely isn’t.”
James just stared at her, silent, unimpressed, but that faint twitch of his mouth told her she’d gotten to him.
“Your turn,” he said, shifting the subject back to her. “Pets?”
“None,” she said, still scribbling in her notes. “Unless you count the goldfish I won at a carnival. Lasted two weeks. His name was Sparkles.”
He blinked once. “Sparkles.”
“Yup,” she said, popping the “p” like it was something to be proud of.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You have the audacity to mock Scout when you named a fish Sparkles?”
“Scout is a cliché,” she said, shrugging. “Sparkles is iconic.”
His laugh came sharp and short like he hadn’t meant to let it slip out. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her grin.
“Alright, next,” she said, flicking to a fresh page. “How did we meet?”
He raised a brow. “We already went over this.”
“Humor me,” she replied, twirling the pen between her fingers. “If you don’t have it memorized, you’ll freeze when someone asks you at that gala next week. Then we’ll both look stupid.”
James exhaled slowly, like he was recalibrating his patience. “We met at an industry event,” he recited, his eyes steady on her. “You were there as a guest of a mutual friend. I asked you about your opinion on the exhibit. You told me it was ‘pretentious but pretty,’ and we talked for hours.”
“Hours, huh?” she repeated, lips curling into a grin. “That’s generous. I think I’d remember talking to you for that long.”
“That’s the story,” he said with a shrug. “If anyone asks, you loved my taste in art.”
Her grin widened. “Bold lie!”
“You want to pick something more believable?” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on hers.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Nope. I like the idea of you pretending you have good taste in art.”
“Careful,” he warned softly. “I can always change the story to ‘we met on a dating app.’”
She snorted. “Yeah, no one would believe you’re swiping on apps. You’d have a personal assistant to do it for you.”
“Accurate,” he admitted with a shrug.
They both sat there for a moment, quiet but not awkward. The kind of quiet that comes after two people have exhausted all their sharp jabs but are too stubborn to be the first to break it. The kind of quiet that hums with something unspoken.
Evie leaned forward to reach for her coffee, her fingers wrapping around the mug with slow, deliberate ease. The fabric of her skirt shifted, the hem riding just an inch higher on her thigh. Her blazer parted slightly, offering the faintest glimpse of the curve of her cleavage.
She felt it—the weight of his gaze. Not just the shift in fabric—him. His gaze.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t the quick glance most men thought they could get away with.
No, this was slower. Heavy. He watched her like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing, his eyes dragging from the hem of her skirt to the dip of her neckline, lingering just long enough for her skin to heat under it.
And the worst part?
Part of her liked it.
Her eyes flicked up, catching him mid-stare. He didn’t even have the decency to look away.
“See something you like?” she asked, her tone light but dangerous, her brows arching just enough to make it a challenge.
His eyes didn’t move. Not right away. They stayed exactly where they were, taking one last slow pass up to her face like he wasn’t in a hurry. Like he wanted her to know.
His gaze locked with hers, sharp and unbothered, and then, slowly, he smirked.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice low and far too calm. His fingers tapped once on the edge of the table. “But I’m thinking…” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his eyes still locked on hers. Unwavering. “If we’re gonna sell this whole thing, there’s one thing we’re missing.”
Her eyes narrowed, still feeling the heat of where his gaze had been. “Oh? Enlighten me.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t move.
“Practice,” he said quietly, his voice like the edge of a blade drawn slow and deliberate.
Her breath hitched. She leaned back, tilting her head, her eyes scanning his face for the tell. The bluff. But there wasn’t one.
“Practice,” she repeated slowly, tasting the word like it might be poisoned. “Practice what?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth for a second—just one second—before he tilted his head like he’d already decided.
“First kiss,” he said, his gaze sliding back up to hers. His eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t shift, didn’t waver. “Better to get it right now than embarrass ourselves later.”
Her heart thudded, but she didn’t let it show. Not on her face, not in her voice. She raised a brow, tapping her finger slowly against the side of her mug.
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, his head tilting just slightly, his eyes hooded but sharp as ever.
Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous grin.
“You just want to kiss me.”
His smirk returned, slow and sharp, like she’d just handed him the win. He sat back, legs spread, his arm draped casually over the back of the chair like he had all the time in the world. His gaze stayed on her, exactly on her.
“Maybe I do,” he said, his voice low, almost a challenge. “But you’re the one who was worried about chemistry, sweetheart. This is for you.”
Her eyes narrowed, lips parting as she searched for a comeback—something sharp, something that would cut him down a peg. But nothing came. Damn it.
“Fine,” she said finally, setting her coffee down with a small clink. “One practice run.” She leaned forward again, locking eyes with him like she was walking into battle. “But if you mess it up, I’m never letting you forget it.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes flicking down to her lips just long enough for her to feel it. His tongue swept across his bottom lip like he was already tasting the win. “I never mess up.”
Her breath caught, and she hated it. Hated him a little too.
“Prove it,” she said, tilting her chin up like she wasn’t about to feel anything from this.
He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, every movement calm and in control. When he stopped in front of her, he was so close she had to tilt her head back to keep their eyes locked. He smelled like cedar and something faintly spicy, clean, and sharp all at once.
Her heart thudded hard. Don’t move. Don’t show it.
He didn’t touch her at first. Just stood there, looking down at her with that calm, infuriating patience. Like he was giving her time to back out.
But she didn’t.
His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing along her jaw, tilting her head just a little. His thumb grazed her cheek, soft but firm, like he wasn’t testing the waters—he was claiming space. Her breath hitched.
Her eyes stayed locked on his, her pulse hammering against her ribs, loud and fast. She swore he could hear it.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice lower than it had been all day. Quieter. Rougher.