4. Scarlett
4
SCARLETT
I’d been on dates before. Plenty of them, in fact.
But none of them had ever left me this nervous.
As I got ready, I kept telling myself I had no reason to be this anxious. It was just dinner. Just Christian.
But that was exactly the problem. He wasn’t just anyone—he was Christian Valen. Billionaire. Enigmatic.
The kind of man women threw themselves at, the kind who could have any woman he wanted.
And yet, for some reason, he was here, taking me out on a date.
I expected him to take me somewhere extravagant—a five-star restaurant, maybe a VIP table at some exclusive lounge.
And honestly, the idea of sitting in some overpriced dining room, surrounded by people who were wealthier and far more polished than me, made my nerves even worse.
But when I met him outside Amélie, dressed in his signature tailored suit, looking as devastating as ever, he had a different plan in mind.
“I thought we’d do something a little more private,” he said, opening the passenger door of his sleek black car.
Private.
The word sent a jolt through me.
I swallowed, slipping into the car, trying to convince myself that private didn’t mean what my overactive imagination wanted it to mean.
But when we pulled up to a stunning high-rise, my heart practically leaped into my throat.
I turned to him, eyes wide. “This is your place, isn’t it?”
A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “I figured you’d appreciate a quiet meal.”
I knew I should have played it cool, but I couldn't help but blurt out, “You invited me to your penthouse for our first date?”
His gaze darkened with amusement as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
“Would you rather I take you somewhere crowded? Maybe a noisy restaurant where people stare at us and interrupt every five seconds?”
Damn him. That was exactly what I didn’t want.
Still, this was dangerous. Being alone with Christian Valen in his penthouse? In his space, where it was just the two of us?
I should have said no.
I should have told him that I preferred something more neutral, something that didn’t have a built-in temptation factor.
Instead, I said, “You are impossible, you know that?”
He grinned. “I’ve been told.”
When we stepped into his penthouse, I took in the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city skyline, the sleek yet welcoming design of his space, the faint scent of something mouthwatering in the air.
“You cooked?” I asked, blinking at the beautifully set dining table near the window.
Christian chuckled. “Not exactly. But I do know a few excellent chefs.”
Of course he did. I should’ve guessed.
The food was plated perfectly—pan-seared scallops, a bottle of red wine already uncorked, the atmosphere intimate but not overwhelming.
It should have felt intimidating. It almost did.
But then Christian pulled out my chair, an old-fashioned kind of gentlemanly move that should have made me roll my eyes.
Instead, it sent a strange warmth curling through my stomach.
I sat down, and he settled across from me, pouring us each a glass of wine before lifting his toward me.
“To Amélie,” he said, eyes locked onto mine. “And to making sure the world knows your name.”
I hesitated for a split second before clinking my glass against his. “To Amélie,” I echoed.
The wine was rich and smooth, but the way Christian watched me over the rim of his glass was enough to make me forget the taste entirely.
For a while, I expected the conversation to be stiff, maybe even a little transactional.
After all, there was more at play here than just romance—he had made it clear he wanted to invest in my restaurant, expand my brand.
But to my surprise, it wasn’t awkward at all.
He asked about me—not just Amélie, but me. My inspirations, my dreams, how I got started in the industry.
And somewhere between the first course and the main dish, I found myself relaxing, my usual walls slipping just a little.
“You’re not how I expected,” I admitted at one point, twirling my fork between my fingers.
Christian raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned back slightly. “I guess I figured you’d be…”
“Arrogant?” he supplied with a smirk.
I laughed. “A little.”
“And now?”
I studied him. “Still a little arrogant.”
Christian let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m wounded.”
“Are you?”
“No.” His voice dropped slightly, eyes flickering over my face in a way that made my pulse jump. “But I like that you’re honest.”
His attention was intoxicating, his focus unwavering.
It wasn’t just that he was looking at me—it was that he was really seeing me. And I wasn’t used to that.
Aaron and the other men I’d dated had been intimidated by my ambition or had tried to shrink me into something more manageable.
Christian wasn’t like that. If anything, he seemed to like that I pushed back.
“Tell me something,” he said, setting his glass down. “If you could expand Amélie anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
I hesitated, caught off guard by the question.
But then I answered honestly.
“Paris,” I admitted. “It’s always been a dream of mine to have a small, intimate restaurant in the heart of the city.”
Christian nodded thoughtfully. “Paris.”
“Not exactly an easy feat,” I said with a small, self-deprecating laugh.
He leaned in slightly, voice low and confident. “Nothing worth having is ever easy.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
I told myself I wouldn’t get too swept up in this—that no matter how charming he was, I had to keep a level head.
But sitting there, under the soft glow of the pendant lights, his gaze locked onto mine like I was the most interesting thing in the room…
I knew I was in trouble.
Because for the first time in a long time, I wanted to take a risk.
And maybe, just maybe, Christian Valen was worth it.
Dinner had been perfect.
Too perfect.
The kind of perfect that made it feel dangerous.
As we lingered at the table, empty wine glasses between us, I could feel Christian watching me.
Not in the way most men did, all surface-level admiration and fleeting interest.
No, his gaze was intent, searching, like he was trying to figure me out, piece by piece.
And maybe that was what made him so dangerous. Because I wanted to let him.
But I couldn’t. Not entirely.
Still, when he suggested driving me home, I hesitated. Part of me wanted to stay.
To let the night stretch a little longer, to see just how much self-control this impossibly composed man truly had.
But the other part—the rational, cautious part—knew better.
So I nodded, pushing back from the table with a small, polite smile. “That sounds great.”
He studied me for a second, as if debating whether to push for more.
But in the end, he just smiled, reached for his keys, and led me out of his penthouse.
The drive back to my apartment was quiet. Not uncomfortably so—just thick with something unspoken.
The tension between us simmered beneath the surface, crackling like embers waiting for the right gust of wind to set them ablaze.
Christian drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting on his thigh.
More than once, I caught myself staring at his hands, remembering how his fingers had brushed mine when he’d refilled my wine, how effortlessly confident he was in everything he did.
I wanted to ask what he was thinking.
If he was feeling the same pull I was.
If he was just as frustrated by the fact that we had to pretend like this was just a simple, innocent dinner.
But I kept my mouth shut, focusing on the city lights flashing past the window instead.
All too soon, we arrived at my building.
Christian stepped out first, coming around to open my door before I even reached for the handle.
It was an old-school move. Chivalrous.
And yet, all it did was make me wish he’d stop being such a gentleman.
He walked me to my door, his pace unhurried, like he wasn’t quite ready for the night to end either.
I turned to face him, fingers curling around my keys as I searched for the right thing to say.
“I had a good time tonight,” I admitted, keeping my voice steady despite the way my pulse had picked up.
His lips curled into a slow, devastating smile, and I hated how much it affected me. “I’m glad.”
I should have left it at that. Should have thanked him again and disappeared into my apartment before I did something stupid.
But instead, I said, “I almost changed my mind, you know.”
His brows lifted slightly. “To dinner?”
I nodded.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might step closer. Might finally close the space between us.
“What made you decide to agree eventually?” he asked, voice lower now, softer.
You.
The word almost slipped out.
But instead, I shrugged, forcing a smirk. “I figured you’d keep asking until I gave in.”
He chuckled, the sound rougher than before. “You’re probably right.”
And then, before I could second-guess myself, I added, “I’m glad I said yes.”
For the first time since I’d met him, something about him seemed to light up. Like my words mattered more than they should have.
The air between us shifted.
The unspoken thing, the tension that had been building all night, finally reached its breaking point.
And then?—
He leaned in.
At first, it was tentative. A quiet question, a test.
His lips brushed mine, warm and searching, and I had a fleeting thought that I should stop this before it went too far.
Before it became impossible to separate business from pleasure, before I lost myself in the way he made me feel.
But then Christian let out the faintest sigh against my lips, like he’d been waiting for this all damn night. And I was gone.
I leaned into him, my fingers curling into the front of his jacket as the kiss deepened.
Christian responded instantly, one hand settling at my waist, the other lifting to cradle my jaw.
His fingers were firm but careful, as if he was savoring the moment, as if he wanted to take his time unraveling me.
The heat between us flared, an undeniable, electric pull that made my entire body feel alive.
I pressed closer, tilting my head to let him in, tasting the remnants of wine on his lips, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him.
I imagined what it would be like to belong to a man like him.
To let him strip away the carefully built walls I’d spent years hiding behind.
The thought sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
But then?—
Reality came crashing in.
Business. My career. The risk of getting involved with someone like him, someone who could so easily turn my world upside down.
This was a terrible idea.
And yet, I still didn’t want to stop.
But Christian did.
He pulled away, just enough to meet my gaze, his breath warm against my skin.
His thumb traced along my jawline, and for a second, I thought he might change his mind.
That he might push open the door behind me and take this even further.
But instead, he smiled—a slow, knowing, devastating smile—and murmured, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Then, just like that, he took a step back.
I swallowed, my mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
Part of me was relieved that he had the self-control I clearly lacked.
The other part?
The other part was downright frustrated.
I watched as he turned, heading back toward his car without another word.
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to unlock my door and step inside before I did something reckless.
The second I was alone, the night replayed in my head on a loop.
The way he looked at me over dinner.
The way his lips had felt against mine.
The way he’d stopped, even when I didn’t want him to.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss.
God, I was in trouble.
Because earlier that night, I’d told myself I’d take a risk.
And now?
Now, I knew I was about to fall headfirst into something that could either change my life for the better?—
Or ruin me entirely.