Chapter Thirteen
Raina
I’d never been so grateful for the relentless pace of Monday mornings. The endless stream of emails, phone calls, and scheduling conflicts gave me plenty to occupy my mind after I’d fled Simon’s office earlier, still reeling from his parting words.
The next time I kiss you, it won’t be a performance, and I won’t hold back.
I’d walked to my desk in a daze, speechless for perhaps the first time in my life.
I’d spent all day yesterday trying to wrap my head around the impossible task ahead of me—pretending to date my boss while harboring very real feelings for him.
When I’d arrived at the office this morning, that challenge had still felt insurmountable.
I couldn’t stop replaying that kiss or shake the disappointment that had crashed over me when I realized it was nothing more than a performance for Alexander’s benefit.
I’d never been good at hiding my emotions, so it wasn’t surprising that Simon had noticed something was off immediately.
Still, I’d tried to deny it, clinging to annoyance and my professional training like armor so I wouldn’t reveal the truth—that I’d wanted that fierce, consuming kiss to mean something.
But the truth had slipped out anyway. I just never expected him to look pleased about it.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and I was taking a break at my desk. There was a breakroom down the hall but I preferred to stay here. My cushioned office chair was far more comfortable than those plastic ones.
And maybe—just maybe—I liked being available in case Simon needed anything.
I had my sketchbook open, a graphite pencil moving across the page in careful strokes. I didn’t have many hobbies, but drawing had been part of my life since I was a teenager. My first sketchbook had been filled with still lifes, landscapes, animals, anything that caught my eye.
Eventually, I’d discovered that my true talent lay in portraits. People were what I drew mostly now, especially those I knew well. It was easier to capture someone’s essence when you understood them, when you could translate onto paper the spark in their eyes or the particular way they smiled.
My entire focus narrowed to the page in front of me.
I rubbed my finger along the pencil marks, blending the lines to create a shadow along the curve of my subject’s neck.
I was so absorbed in my creative process that I didn’t hear footsteps or even sense anyone approaching until Simon was right behind me, peering over my shoulder.
“Who is that?” he asked.
I jolted in my chair at the sound of his deep, masculine voice, the pencil slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor.
“You scared me!” I pressed a hand to my chest as I spun around in my chair to face him, glaring up at his infuriatingly smug expression.
Amusement danced in his green eyes—a look I rarely saw on Simon.
Most days, his face was all sharp edges and stern professionalism, making this fleeting glimpse of genuine humor feel unexpectedly disarming.
“I didn’t exactly sneak up on you,” he said, bending down to retrieve my pencil.
When he straightened, he leaned over me to place it on my desk, and suddenly he was close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could catch the spicy notes of his cologne. His arm brushed against my shoulder as he set the pencil down, and heat bloomed across my skin.
He didn’t immediately pull back. He was right there, mere inches away. I could touch him so easily, just lift my hand and press my palm against the solid wall of his chest. The thought made my whole body flush.
“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble near my ear, “who is it?”
I swallowed hard and mentally shook off my reaction. “My best friend. Wren.”
Simon straightened and shifted his gaze back to the sketchbook, studying the half-finished portrait with an expression I couldn’t quite read. My stomach swooped with sudden uncertainty. Then his lips curved into a softer smile than I was used to seeing from him.
“You’re really talented.”
The compliment, coming from Simon, landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there.
I looked down at the drawing, at Wren’s familiar features taking shape beneath my pencil.
I didn’t usually let people see my work.
Only those closest to me had ever glimpsed inside my sketchbooks, and even then, I was always nervous about it.
Art wasn’t something I pursued professionally, but I poured so much of myself into each sketch that showing them to someone new felt like letting them peer directly into my heart.
Simon’s praise made me want to share more.
“Do you want to see the rest?” I asked, surprising myself with the question.
“Yes,” he said simply.
He positioned himself at my side, one hand resting on my desk, the other on the back of my chair.
He’d shed his suit jacket at some point during the afternoon—the way he usually did as the day wore on—and his black button-down shirt stretched across his broad shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry.
I forced myself to focus on the sketchbook as I flipped to another page, and I saw the recognition in Simon’s eyes.
“It’s Kurt,” he said.
I nodded, because he was right. The drawing showed my brother from the waist up, his body angled slightly to one side with his head turned.
His arms were folded loosely across his chest, and a crooked half smile played at the corner of his mouth—the kind he always wore when he thought he’d gotten away with something.
I’d managed to capture the warmth in his eyes, along with the quiet confidence that had always made people gravitate toward him.
Simon leaned closer to get a better look, and I found my gaze drifting back to him despite my best efforts.
He was so frustratingly handsome. I wished he wasn’t—it would make everything so much easier.
But I couldn’t stop noticing the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, and the full curve of his lips that I now knew felt intimately against mine.
I reached for the sketchbook to turn to the next page at the same moment Simon did.
Our fingers brushed, and his eyes snapped to mine, and the air between us thickened, charged with something electric.
I thought about what he’d said this morning—about kissing me when he wanted to—and I couldn’t help wondering if it was about to happen.
Right here. Right now. Hoping it would happen.
The elevator chimed at the end of the hall, shattering the moment.
The only offices on this floor belonged to Simon and Liam. Since Liam was working at GalvaTech today, whoever had arrived was almost certainly here for Simon.
I looked down the corridor and smiled in surprise when I saw Hazel heading our way. She was wearing a tailored pantsuit with a full face of camera-ready makeup, which meant she’d either just finished recording an interview or was about to do one.
Simon stepped back from my desk, putting professional distance between us just as Hazel reached us. I pushed my chair back and stood.
“Hey,” I said, noting the white envelope in her hand. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything okay?”
Hazel flashed her brilliant smile. “Of course. I just wanted to give you something. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.”
Her eyes shifted to Simon, and I realized he was watching her curiously.
“Simon, this is Hazel,” I said, making the introductions. “She’s dating my brother Miles. Hazel, this is my boss, Simon Powers.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hazel said, extending her hand.
Hazel was stunning, the kind of beautiful that made heads turn wherever she went.
It was something that drove Miles crazy, knowing that pretty much every man they encountered noticed his girlfriend.
But he really had nothing to worry about.
Anyone could see that Hazel was completely devoted to my brother.
Still, I found myself watching Simon as they shook hands, searching for any sign that he found her attractive. It felt petty to even care—we were only fake dating for Alexander’s benefit—but relief washed through me when I saw no indication that he was even the slightest bit interested.
“So, what did you want to give me?” I asked.
Hazel held out the white envelope. “Tickets to the Lynx game this weekend. I was planning to go, but I have to head out of town Thursday for work.”
This wasn’t unusual. As a journalist, Hazel sometimes traveled for stories. She liked to attend all of Miles’s home games when possible, so she always had two tickets—one for her and one for a friend so she wouldn’t have to sit alone. When she couldn’t use them, she’d pass them along.
“Thanks,” I said, opening the envelope to find premium seats. Unsurprising. Miles would want Hazel positioned where she’d have the best view of him on the ice—and where he could easily spot her in the crowd.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Hazel said, checking her watch. “I’ve got an interview in twenty minutes.”
I thanked her again, and she headed for the elevator. The moment she was gone, Simon moved to stand in front of me, a peculiar smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“This is perfect,” he said. “You can take me to the hockey game.”
I arched an eyebrow at his presumptuous assertion. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “I’m a huge Lynx fan. And this will be good practice for us before the resort trip. We need to be comfortable together, and convincing. Spending time outside the office will help with that.”
I considered his words, trying to read past the surface. “So… this would be our first date.”
I aimed for a joking tone and missed by a mile. Probably because a part of me desperately wished it could be real.
Simon’s expression gave nothing away. “It’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of a work environment. Build the kind of ease that Alexander will expect to see between a real couple. The last thing we need is to show up at Neptune’s Kingdom and have him sense that something’s off.”
Of course that was Simon’s concern. The business angle. His answer wasn’t a confirmation that this was a date, but it wasn’t a denial either.
He turned and strode back toward his office, and I had the distinct feeling that his ambiguity was intentional. He was toying with me, and I couldn’t tell what he actually wanted. Was this really about selling our act to Alexander? Or did he genuinely want to spend time with me?
Maybe it was better not to know because hope was a dangerous thing. It had a way of filling in the blanks with the answers you wanted instead of the ones that were true.
Simon had never given me any reason to believe he wanted anything more than a capable assistant.
Every decision he made was calculated, every conversation rooted in logic.
If he suggested we spend time together outside the office, there was probably a practical reason behind it.
Preparing for Neptune’s Kingdom fit neatly into that category.
Anything beyond that was wishful thinking.