Chapter 7 #2
“Get a grip,” I mouthed to myself. “He’s just drinking coffee, not performing a seduction scene.” Though honestly, the way his fingers curled around that coffee cup should probably come with an adult content warning.
He turned slightly, and I jerked back around the corner, pressing myself against the wall. My heart thundered in my chest like I was hiding from a serial killer instead of my technical husband. Though in my defense, those cheekbones could probably be classified as lethal weapons.
The sound of approaching footsteps sent me into full panic mode.
Without thinking, I yanked open the nearest closet door and dove inside, cramming myself between what felt like every coat Victoria had ever bought.
Perfect. This was exactly how I wanted to start my morning—playing hide and seek with a billionaire while surrounded by enough cashmere to clothe a small country.
“Smooth moves, Zoe,” I whispered to a trench coat. “This is definitely normal behavior for a wife. Hiding from her husband in a closet. Victoria Everett, queen of sophistication.”
A shadow passed by the closet slats. I held my breath, feeling like the world’s most pathetic game of hide and seek.
“Victoria?” Jason’s voice came from right outside the door, rich with amusement. “I know you’re there. I can smell your coffee addiction from here.”
Oh God. Could the floor just open up and swallow me now? Or maybe Victoria had a secret trap door installed for exactly these situations? Rich people had those, right?
“I can hear you breathing,” he continued, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Unless Victoria’s coats have developed a respiratory system?”
Well, this was just great. Day two of being Victoria Everett, and I was already caught hiding in a closet like a caffeinated raccoon. Somehow, I didn’t think this was what the author had in mind for this scene.
“Unless you’re planning to start a new career as a coat hanger, you might want to come out now,” Jason said, his voice coolly amused.
Squaring my shoulders—and elbowing at least three designer coats in the process—I pushed the door open. “I was just… inspecting the coats. For… moths.” Brilliant, Zoe. Because billionaires totally have moth problems.
Jason stood there, coffee cup in hand, looking unfairly attractive for this early in the morning. My eyes betrayed me, drifting to his slightly unbuttoned collar, then to his lips as they curved into that devastating almost-smile. Focus, Zoe. Moths. We’re talking about moths.
“Moths?” One eyebrow rose in perfect aristocratic disbelief.
“They’re very determined moths?” I offered weakly, trying not to stare at the way his throat moved as he took another sip of coffee. The man made drinking coffee look like an art form. It should be hanging in a museum: Billionaire with Beverage, circa Now.
“Here.” He held out his coffee cup. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
My heart stuttered. Not because he was offering to share his coffee—I mean, that’s what normal married people did, right?—but because taking that cup meant putting my lips where his had been. Which was not a thought I needed this early in the morning.
“I…” I stared at the cup, trying to look like my internal chaos was just early morning grogginess. “Thanks.”
Something flickered in his eyes—so quick I almost missed it. “It’s just coffee, Victoria.”
It wasn’t just coffee. It was his coffee. With his lip prints on the rim. The same lips that… Nope. Not going there. “Right. Just coffee,” I managed, taking the cup and trying to look like this wasn’t making my pulse race like I’d mainlined espresso.
I lifted the cup to my lips, hyperaware of Jason’s gaze following the movement.
The coffee was perfect—strong and sweet, with an expensive richness that put my usual diner brew to shame.
A small sound of appreciation escaped before I could stop it.
When I looked up, Jason was watching me with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
His eyes were fixed on where my lips met the rim of the cup—right where his had been moments ago.
I took another sip to hide my confusion, but that only made it worse.
Because now all I could think about was the indirect kiss we were sharing through this ridiculously expensive coffee cup, and how his lips had left their phantom impression on the rim, and…
Oh God, was the temperature rising in this climate-controlled penthouse, or was that just me?
“I’m heading out,” he said, adjusting his cuffs in a way that should be illegal before noon. “Try not to wage war on any more moth armies while I’m gone.”
I clutched his coffee cup like a lifeline, trying not to look as flustered as I felt.
“Have a good day,” I managed, my voice steadier than my pulse.
Jason paused mid-step. “About yesterday morning…” He turned, his expression unreadable. “I apologize for being cold. The merger has been… demanding.”
Oh. Right. Yesterday morning when he’d practically frozen Victoria with that arctic glare. Which technically wasn’t directed at me-me, but at Victoria-me, but still made my stomach do weird flips. “It’s fine,” I said softly. “Really.”
He stepped closer—when had he gotten so close?
The space between us suddenly felt charged, like the air before a storm.
His cologne wrapped around me, subtle and expensive and doing dangerous things to my ability to think straight.
I had to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes, and oh, what a mistake that was.
Because now I could see the flecks of darker blue in his irises, the way his lashes cast tiny shadows on his cheekbones, the almost imperceptible softening around his mouth.
He leaned in, slow enough that I could count my heartbeats. We shared the same breath, existing in that fragile space between intention and action. The coffee cup trembled slightly in my hands. His eyes dropped to my lips, and my brain short-circuited like a toaster in a bathtub.
The first brush of his lips against mine was soft, questioning.
And God help me, I answered. My body moved on autopilot, leaning into him, returning the kiss with a sweetness that surprised us both.
Time stretched like honey, slow and golden and perfect.
For just a moment, I forgot about romance novels and body-swapping and moths.
There was just this—the warmth of his lips, the catch in his breath, the way the world seemed to hold still.
Then my brain finally caught up with my body and screamed “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” in capital letters with multiple exclamation points.
I pulled back, my heart thundering against my ribs. Jason’s eyes were darker now, that indefinable something flickering in their depths again. For a moment, neither of us moved, caught in the aftermath of whatever that had been.
“Have a good day, Victoria.” His voice was lower, rougher around the edges. And then he was gone, leaving me standing there with his coffee cup, my thundering pulse, and the lingering sensation of his lips on mine.
I stood there for a good minute after he left, fingers pressed to my lips like some swooning heroine in a period drama. The coffee in his cup had gone cold, but my face felt hot enough to reheat it.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Who kisses their almost-ex-husband who’s supposed to fall in love with someone else? This isn’t in the book! There’s no chapter titled How to Accidentally Kiss Your Not-Really Husband While Pretending to Be His Soon-to-Be Ex-Wife!”
I slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit on the heated marble floor in a decidedly un-socialite-like heap.
“Get it together, Zoe. It was just a goodbye kiss. Married people do that all the time. Even married people who hate each other probably do that sometimes. For… appearances. Or practice. Or… oh God, his lips were so soft.”
“Mrs. Everett?” Maria’s concerned voice broke through my crisis. “Are you… alright?”
I looked up to find her hovering uncertainly, probably wondering if she should call for medical assistance or an exorcist. “I’m fine!” My voice came out several octaves too high. “Just… checking the floor. For… more moths?”
Maria’s expression suggested she was definitely leaning toward the exorcist option.
“You know what?” I scrambled to my feet, trying to salvage what was left of Victoria’s dignity. “I think I need breakfast. A big breakfast. With pancakes. And bacon.”
I practically fled toward the kitchen, Jason’s coffee cup still clutched in my hand like a lifeline. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard Maria muffle a laugh.
The kitchen. Safe, moth-free kitchen. Where there would be food and coffee and absolutely no devastating goodbye kisses from billionaire husbands who definitely weren’t supposed to be kissing their soon-to-be ex-wives.
* * *
“I said make me look like a spy, not a Bond girl!” I stared at my reflection in Victoria’s floor-to-ceiling mirror, barely recognizing the femme fatale staring back at me.
Anna and Kate had transformed me into something straight out of a nineteen fifties thriller.
My hair was swept into an elegant updo, partially hidden under a silk scarf.
Oversized sunglasses perched on my nose, and the black trench coat cinched at my waist made me look like I was about to either seduce a diplomat or steal state secrets. Possibly both.
“You look amazing, Mrs. Everett.” Anna beamed, putting the finishing touches on my hair. “Very classic Hollywood meets modern sophistication.”
“I was going for inconspicuous soccer mom,” I groaned, tugging at the hem of the impossibly fitted pencil skirt. “This is more How to Steal a Millionaire.”
“Billionaire,” Sam corrected automatically from where she was tapping away on her tablet. “So what exactly is the plan that requires”—she gestured at my outfit with an arched eyebrow—“this whole femme fatale look?”
“Just some intense research,” I said airily, adjusting my sunglasses. “Very important. Very… classified.”