Chapter 12 The Lie
THE LIE
EMMA
I stare at the screen, Kaiden's name glowing in the soft morning light. My heart gives a traitorous thud. I let it ring twice before I answer.
“You actually called.”
“You told me to.” His voice is rough, the low vibration of a man who's only been awake for a few minutes. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” I've been up since six, replaying every word from yesterday.
“Are you getting ready for work?”
“I have the day off. Recovery hours after the conference prep.”
“Good. Then you're free.”
I sit up straighter against my headboard, pulling the duvet to my chest. “That's presumptuous.”
“Is it?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I called, just like you asked. Now I'm asking if you'll spend the day with me.”
“Kai...”
“I know I messed up.” His voice is stripped of the charm he usually wears like armor. “I get absorbed in the work and forget that anything else exists. It's not an excuse. It's just how I've always operated. I'm trying to be different.”
I pull my knees to my chest. “What does different look like?”
“It looks like me calling you first thing in the morning because I haven't stopped thinking about you since you walked away yesterday.” A pause.
“It looks like asking if we can find a middle ground.
One where you reach out to me, too. I don't want to feel like I'm forcing you to spend time with me, Emma.”
The vulnerability catches me off guard. This isn't the polished man who showed up yesterday. This is someone trying.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Middle ground. I can do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Don't sound so surprised. I'm not unreasonable.”
He laughs, low and warm. “Never doubted it. So, today. Will you come out with me?”
“As friends,” I clarify. “This isn’t a date.”
A beat of silence. “If that's what you need it to be.”
“It is.”
“Fine. Friends. Where do you want to go?”
I consider the options. The museum was my world. The painting class was his idea, but it was for me. I've seen nothing of who he actually is.
“Show me something about you,” I say. “Not somewhere you think I'll like. Somewhere that's yours.”
“You sure about that?”
“That's my condition.”
“Do you own jeans? A warm jacket? Boots?”
I frown, looking at my closet. “Yes...”
“Wear them. I'll pick you up at noon.”
“Kai, where are we going?”
“Trust me.”
He hangs up before I can protest.
I change my outfit three times, which is ridiculous for something that isn’t a date.
I settle on dark denim, a cream cable-knit sweater, and brown leather boots.
My warmest jacket is an olive parka, more practical than pretty.
I leave my hair down, telling myself it's for warmth and not because I remember the way he looked at it that night at the museum.
At exactly noon, my phone buzzes.
I'm outside.
I grab my keys and head down three flights of stairs. At the landing, I pause by the window overlooking the street. A habit I've developed since James's texts started again. I scan the sidewalk, the parked cars, the shadowed doorways across the road.
A figure at the corner catches my eye. Male build, dark jacket, standing too still.
My breath catches. Is that...
I press closer to the glass, heart hammering. I blink. The corner is empty. Just a mother pushing a stroller, an old man with his dog.
I exhale slowly. Nerves. Just nerves. James is in Ashford, hundreds of miles away. I'm seeing ghosts.
When I push through the front door, I stop dead.
Kai is leaning against a motorcycle. Not a car. A classic machine in deep forest green, all polished chrome and wide leather seat. My stomach drops.
“You're joking,” I say, stepping onto the sidewalk.
He grins. “I never joke about bikes.”
“I've never been on a motorcycle.”
He pushes off and walks toward me, holding a helmet. “Then I'll teach you. This isn't my usual ride. She's got a wider seat, much more comfortable for a passenger.”
That small detail makes my stomach flip. He thought about my comfort before he arrived.
“Is it safe?” I look at the machine.
“I've been riding since I was fifteen.” He steps into my space, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Without heels, the height difference is staggering. “I won't let anything happen to you, Emma.”
He lifts the helmet and eases it over my head.
His fingers find the strap beneath my chin, adjusting the fit with careful precision.
His knuckles brush my jaw, and I forget how to breathe.
He's close enough that I smell sandalwood, see the faint stubble along his jaw.
His eyes meet mine through the visor, dark and intent.
“Too tight?” he asks, his voice low.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
He holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary, then steps back.
He swings onto the bike. The engine rumbles to life, a low growl I feel in my bones.
“Hand on my shoulder for balance. Swing your leg over and settle in behind me.”
I take his hand. He pulls me up with surprising ease. Suddenly I'm pressed against his back, thighs bracketing his hips. The leather of his jacket is cool against my cheek.
“Hold on to me. Arms around my waist. Tight.”
I wrap my arms around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body. My hands press flat against his stomach. Hard muscle beneath the jacket. This was a terrible idea.
“When we turn, lean with me,” he says. “Don't fight it. Just follow my body.”
“Okay,” I manage, my voice muffled by the helmet.
“Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
The bike surges forward. I tighten my grip instinctively, the wind rushing past as we pull onto the street.
For the first few minutes, I can barely breathe.
Then we hit the coast road, and the city melts away.
The ocean stretches to our left, endless and glittering.
Kai's back is a solid anchor in the rush of speed.
I lean with him into a curve, body mimicking his movement without thinking.
The machine responds like a living thing.
Somewhere between the first cliff and the second, the fear dissolves into exhilaration.
I laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind, and I feel Kai’s stomach muscles tighten under my hands. He heard me.
We ride for forty minutes, the road winding through cliffs and salt spray. By the time he slows and turns onto a narrow gravel path, my cheeks hurt from smiling. The path leads to a weathered wooden building perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.
“What is this place?” I pull off the helmet. My hair is a disaster, but I don't care.
“Best-kept secret on the coast.” He takes my helmet, sets it on the seat. “The owner's a friend. He agreed to open just for us today.”
“You rented out an entire restaurant?”
“I asked for privacy.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Come on. You’re going to love the food.”
Inside, the restaurant is small and warm. Ten tables at most, smelling of garlic, butter, and woodsmoke. An older man with silver hair appears from the kitchen, his weathered face breaking into a smile.
“Kaiden. It's been too long.” They clasp hands, and the man pulls Kai into a brief hug. “And this must be your friend.”
“Emma,” Kai says. There's a weight to the way he says my name, as if he wanted to add something but stopped himself. “Emma, this is Marco. He's been feeding me since I was twenty and didn't know the difference between real food and gas station sandwiches.”
Marco laughs, taking my hand warmly. “He exaggerates. Perhaps only a little. Come, I have the table by the window ready.”
He leads us to a table with a view that looks like a painting. The sun is at its apex, turning the water to liquid gold.
“No menus,” Marco says with a wink. “You trust me, si?”
“Always,” Kai says.
Once Marco disappears, I’m alone with Kai in the quiet room. “This is a lot for a non-date, Kai.”
“I wanted you to see this.” He settles into his chair, gaze steady on mine. “The bike, this place. It’s who I am when I’m not in a suit pretending to be the man my father wants me to be.”
“And who is that man?”
He considers the question. “Someone who needs speed to shut his brain off. Someone with a few people in the world he actually trusts.” He pauses.
“Logan is one. We've been friends since boarding school. We were both miserable kids trying to prove we belonged for different reasons. Ethan came later. We went through something intense together. It made us family.”
Marco returns with wine and a plate of bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes and basil. The bread is still warm.
“So,” Kai says, pouring me a glass of crisp white wine. “Tell me about work. The real stuff.”
I take a sip, buying a moment of courage. “The real stuff isn't very impressive.”
“Try me.”
I set down my glass. “I've been struggling.
There's this guy, Miles, who's been at GVM forever, and he treats me like a threat instead of a colleague.
Keeps me off the big campaigns. Buries me in spreadsheets.
I know I'm good at my job, Kai. Yesterday was just a glimpse of what I can do, but it's hard when you're fighting for space every day.”
He listens without interrupting. His attention is entirely on me, and it's both unnerving and addictive.
“Yesterday was a fluke,” I continue. “I only presented because Vanessa got sick. I'm good at this, Kai. I know I am. I just can't get anyone to see it.”
They will,” he says simply. “You're impossible to overlook.”
“Flattery is a dangerous weapon,” I murmur.
“I only say what I think.”
I change the subject. “The racing. Is that still part of your life?”
“When I can.” He leans back as Marco brings a delicate seafood risotto. “I don't compete professionally anymore, but I still ride. Still race sometimes, unofficially. It's the only thing that shuts out the noise. On a bike, nothing else exists but the next turn.”
“Is that why you chose investment? The adrenaline of the deal?”