Fourteen
Nathan
Sienna has been in her seat for all of thirty minutes, and once we overcame the turbulence, she was back to normal. If we can call this normal. She’s acting like a kid on Christmas morning who just discovered Santa left her a fully interactive cockpit to play with.
She adjusts the headrest, reclining an inch, then sits up straight again. Testing every button as if she’s convinced she’s about to unlock a VIP feature.
I lean back, watching with mild amusement.
“Okay, but seriously,”
she grins, stretching her legs out until her toes graze the seat in front of her, “look at this legroom. I mean, you don’t even have to worry about knee-crunching. This is insane.”
“You act like you’ve never flown before.”
“Oh, I’ve flown plenty.”
She sighs happily, sinking deeper into the seat. “But never like this.”
She leans forward, scanning the luxury cabin, her loose waves slipping over one shoulder. I get a faint whiff of something floral, something warm.
“This is my first time in first class,”
she confesses like it’s some great scandal. Then, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, she adds, “The desk clerk felt sorry for me and upgraded me.”
I glance at her, taking her in properly now, without the dim lighting of a bar between us, without the tangle of limbs and sheets distracting me. She’s all soft curves and sun-kissed skin, with freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and lips still slightly swollen from last night.
She catches me staring. “What?”
I shake my head, adjusting my cuff. “Nothing.”
She narrows her eyes but chooses to drop it. “How often do you fly?”
“Few times a month. More when we’re closing deals.”
She whistles under her breath. “That sounds exhausting.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She hums, considering. “Alright, tell me something. What’s your best and worst flight experience?”
I roll my neck, thinking. “Best? Business-class flight to Dubai. Fully reclining seats, personal mini-bar, actual five-star meal service. The only flight I’ve ever taken where I didn’t mind being in the air for fifteen hours.”
Sienna lets out a dreamy sigh. “Sounds like heaven.”
“It was.”
“And the worst?”
“Flight to Chicago. Mid-air turbulence. The old woman next to me grabbed my thigh and prayed to Jesus for a full twenty minutes.”
Sienna loses it. She throws her head back, full-body laughter shaking her shoulders, drawing a few curious glances from nearby passengers.
The moment she realizes people are looking, she slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Her cheeks flush pink, her laughter still bubbling under the surface.
I don’t think she realizes how distracting she is.
Or how tempting.
She takes a breath, still grinning, as she shifts in her seat. “Alright, what exactly do you do?”
“I told you. Finance.”
“Yeah, but that could be anything.”
“I acquire and restructure companies in high-growth industries.”
She squints. “Okay, but like, in English?”
“I buy struggling businesses, fix them, and sell them at a profit.”
She nods slowly. “So like flipping houses, but for businesses?”
“Sure.”
“Still sounds like a fancy way of saying finance guy.”
I smirk. “And you? What exactly do you market?”
She waves a hand vaguely. “Big companies. Corporate stuff. Products people use every day without thinking about how they got there. The fun, soulless grind of capitalism.”
I huff out a laugh. “Sounds thrilling.”
Sienna rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
“So, you live in California?”
She shakes her head. “New York. The wedding’s in California.”
She shifts beside me, stretching her legs again like she still can’t get over the sheer amount of space she has.
“You live in New York too, right?”
she asks, tilting her head. “Your apartment is beautiful, by the way. Well, the little I saw of it.”
I should spank her for that.
The thought comes instantly, along with a sharp twitch in my pants, as my mind flashes back to exactly how she left this morning. My bed empty, my penthouse silent, a lingering scent of her on my sheets and the faintest trace of her perfume in the hallway.
At some stage in the early hours of the morning, she had slipped out without a word.
Not that she owed me one.
I clear my throat as I try to shove down the unexpected sting of irritation. “It’s mine, but it’s hardly been lived in.”
“How come?”
“I travel a lot.”
She purses her lips before pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek, thinking. Like she’s afraid silence will swallow her whole. “How long are you staying in California?”
“Just a week.”
“Huh, me too. California is just business then?”
I nod. “Just business.”
She taps her fingers on the armrest, mulling something over. “Don’t you have people who do that for you? Business things, I mean.”
“Yes. My business partner is in California. We recently opened there, but sometimes, they like to see both our faces.”
She blinks. “Who’s they?”
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who asks so many questions, but this is a long flight, so I decide getting it over with now is better.
“Investors. Executives. The people who sign the checks.”
“And this trip?”
I hesitate before answering. “We’re close to closing a deal.”
She immediately picks up on the wording. “Close, but not there yet?”
Dipping my chin, I smirk. “You catch on quick.”
She shrugs. “You finance guys have a way of saying things without saying things. It’s a gift.”
I can’t help but feel a smile curling at the corner of my mouth. “We have a final meeting. One last dinner. Then we’ll see.”
“See what?”
I glance at my phone, debating for a second before holding it up to show her the last message from Julian.
Her brows knit together as she reads. “Another reminder that the fundraiser is in three days. Be there. Bring someone. Anyone. They won’t believe I’m settled.”
I take my phone back, pocketing it. “My business partner thinks I should have someone with me.”
“Someone?”
“A woman someone.”
“Why?”
I rub my hand along my jaw. “Our potential investor is a family guy. A very old-school family guy. His wife is the one who runs the show behind the scenes, and they like to invest in people, not just businesses.”
“What does that mean?”
I lean back in my seat. “It means, in their minds, a man who’s committed to his relationship is a man who’s committed to his business.”
She blinks. “That’s insane.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“So what, you need a fake wife or something to impress them?”
I let out a slow breath, adjusting my watch. “Maybe not a wife, but something serious enough that they believe it’s long-term. Julian seems to think it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Julian’s your business partner?”
I nod.
“That’s ridiculous. What does having a girlfriend have to do with running a company?”
“Nothing, but in some industries, perception matters more than reality.”
“You going to rent a date for the night and hope for the best?”
“You make it sound so romantic.”
She scoffs. “You make it sound normal.”
“I never said it was normal.”
She sucks her bottom lips into her mouth before she asks, “So, what’s your move?”
I sigh, closing my eyes. “No idea.”
There’s a pause.
For the first time since we boarded this flight, Sienna goes silent.
It’s unsettling.
Her champagne flute sits empty on her tray table, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she’s looking around the cabin, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the glass, eyes everywhere but on me.
I can practically see the cogs turning in that pretty little head of hers.
Something’s coming.
I can feel it.
“Nathan,”
she says sweetly.
Too sweetly.
That tone is dangerous.
I immediately sit up straighter. “What?”
She turns her head, giving me an expression that clearly says, Are you really that slow?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
she asks, like she’s been waiting for me to catch up.
I just stare at her. “Sienna, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know,”
she continues, gesturing at me, “you’re all pretty face and sharp suits, but I’d hoped there were some brains in there.”
“Did you just call me stupid?”
She waves a hand. “No. Just slower than expected.”
I let out a dry chuckle, shaking my head. “Jesus Christ.”
Sienna ignores me, sitting up, fully turning toward me now, her hands moving as she speaks. “Okay,”
she starts, rambling immediately, “I know we just met, and honestly, you could be a very well-dressed serial killer for all I know, but I’m going to assume you’re not because, you know, you didn’t kill me last night.”
I lift a brow. “You have zero proof I’m not a serial killer.”
“You’re too clean-cut. Serial killers are always weirdly obsessed with taxidermy or some shit.”
“Good to know I passed the test.”
She grins before getting dead serious. “Nathan.”
I stare at her. “Sienna.”
“This sounds completely crazy, and you should absolutely say no—”
“Great, then I will.”
“But if you think about it, it’s actually kind of genius.”
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I pray for just an ounce of patience. “Spit it out.”
Her eyes are locked on mine now, determined. Scary. “You need a girlfriend. I need a date. Why didn’t we think of this before?”
I pause, letting that sink in. “Are you proposing a business arrangement?”
She lights up. “Yes! Exactly!”
I shake my head. Definitely not. “I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t,”
she says, completely serious.
“This is insane. You’re insane.”
“But is it? Think about it. We both need something from this. It’s a win-win.”
What have I gotten myself into?
“Maybe you’re a serial killer,”
I tell her.
She throws her head back and laughs. “How cool would that be?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling hard.
Her mischievous grin only grows.
Then, as if the idea suddenly dawns on her, she grabs a cocktail napkin and a pen from the flight attendant passing by. “Thank you.”
“What are you doing?”
I ask, watching as she scribbles furiously.
“Making it official.”
I sigh. “Of course you are. I haven’t even agreed.”
She underlines something violently, then spins the napkin toward me.
Terms of the Agreement.
I glance down at her list.
Rule number one: No actual feelings.
Rule number two: No unnecessary PDA—unless required for deception purposes.
Rule number three: This deal ends after both events. No contact. No weird post-fake-dating emotions.
Rule number four: No falling in love.
I roll my eyes at her. “No danger there.”
“Don’t speak too soon. I’m an absolute delight.”
I arch a brow, and that’s when I see it—the final rule.
Rule number five: No more sex.
Sienna holds up a hand before I can say anything. “Just putting it out there and being honest, I get attached too easily.”
I stare at the no more sex clause like it’s personally offended me. Like it was designed to be a direct shot at my patience and control.
I glance at Sienna, watching as she props her elbow on the armrest, entirely at ease with the rule she’s just thrown down between us.
A dare disguised as a boundary.
I exhale slowly, shifting in my seat before leaning in, closing the space between us.
She doesn’t move away.
She holds my gaze, just as she did last night when she climbed onto my lap, when she dragged her nails down my stomach, and whispered my name.
I lift my hand, taking her chin between my fingers, and tilt her face toward me. Her lips part, breath catching just enough for me to feel it.
The tension snaps tight between us.
I tip my head, dragging this out, testing her.
Then I whisper against her lips, “Remember how you sounded when I was buried inside you?”
Her breath stutters.
I hum, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “How you gasped every time I got deeper.”
Her pupils blow wide.
“How you begged me to go harder. Faster.”
I drag my lips along her cheek, all the way to the shell of her ear.
“And how you came for me. Over. And over. And over.”
Her chest rises and falls, fast and uneven.
I pull back, watching her, drinking in the sight of her struggling to breathe, her body betraying her even as her mind fights it.
There it is.
A glimpse of the Sienna I took home last night.
The one who wasn’t overthinking.
Who wasn’t cautious.
Who just wanted.
Her lashes lower, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips before she leans in, so fucking slow, savoring the anticipation.
Now she’s the one to close the distance.
Her tongue drags up the side of my neck.
Fuck.
My hands tighten into fists as she bites my earlobe, then whispers, her breath hot against my skin, “You’re a businessman. You know how transactions work.”
I grip the chair, every muscle in my body strung tight.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, a wicked smile curving her lips.
“One week,”
she murmurs.
My cock throbs, hard enough to make me see red.
I glance at her scribbled napkin contract, a swirl of casual bullet points and impulsive disclaimers. Something about that no more sex sets me on edge. But that’s precisely why I need to sign because if I don’t, I’ll find a reason to drag her back to my hotel room when we get off this flight.
Still, caution niggles. I don’t invite people into my world lightly, but this isn’t just about avoiding the loneliness that comes with a high-powered life. I need this deal locked up. This investor’s backing means more than money. It’s the validation of every calculated risk we’ve taken. And Sienna, with her irreverence and charm, might be the perfect accomplice to bridge that gap.
The stakes are higher than a mere charade. If I can pull this off, it will solidify my reputation as a man who gets things done, no matter how unconventional the methods. Every move could either seal the deal or shatter the carefully built image I’ve maintained, and in a world where perception can be worth more than reality, this carefully orchestrated ruse might be my best shot.
Game on.
I grab the pen, scribbling my signature across the napkin before I can talk myself out of it.